Last year, Tilly and the Wall's Derek Pressnall had what was either a mental breakdown or a hallucinatory case of mono. Feverishly convinced that he could sense the future, the Omaha-based musician was compelled to create, transforming the pressure of those premonitions into his new band: Flowers Forever. Accordingly, the trio's self-titled debut rings with the urgency of newfound creative rejuvenation while also wallowing in painful vulnerability and flickering with anger.
With baroque orchestration, often aggressive rhythms, and crunchy, buzzing textures, these songs are an obvious departure from the cheery tap-dancing pop of Tilly. But what they've lost in exuberance and childlike sweetness, they make up for in sober (if a tad heavy-handed) maturity and artistic ambition. Unsurprisingly, given that it's being released by his Team Love imprint, the album's closest relative seems to be early Conor Oberst recordings (albeit without the lo-fi tape hiss). It's nearly impossible to not hear the Bright Eyes frontman's influence when Pressnall's voice cracks and strains with desperation on "Wet Diamonds" and "Black Rosary". But with a shambolic orchestra of carnival organs, mournful horns, fuzzy guitars, and trembling tambourines, Pressnall (aided by drummer Craig Dee and Baby Walrus multi-instrumentalist Chris Senseney) sidesteps the boy-and-his-ballad traps of other Conor wannabes, embracing the artier, more aggressive sounds of those other Saddle Creekers in Cursive.
Unfortunately, Flowers Forever's unchecked cynicism and anger can seem overindulgent-- on the expletive-laden "Happy New Year" where Pressnall rages against, what, the holidays?-- but when it is earned, as on the galloping, gypsy-brass re-imagining of Billie Holiday's "Strange Fruit", Pressnall's emotive, electrifyingly tuneless shout-singing is incredibly powerful. It is put to its best use on "Golden Shackles", when, in one of the album's most affecting moments, he repeatedly screams, "Change better come/ We're not fucking around no more," reminding listeners of the desperation that spurred him to create these tracks in the first place. Standout song "American Dream" enlivens his disillusioned lyrics with whirling, celebratory orchestrations of Continental accordions and western-standoff horns then devolves into a dissonant, drowsy vocal outro. Amidst such heightened drama, the album's more buoyant moments-- the delightfully jaunty piano track "Beach Bum" (the only clue here to Pressnall's Tilly heritage) and the all-too-brief acid-fried Pavement paean "Beautiful Tornado"-- are welcome bursts of modulation.
Though Flowers Forever's songs aim to be anthems, their disorienting melodies aren't quite accessible enough. And though there is plenty of crashing cacophony, most of the silvery percussive bursts are too jagged to get fists pumping in the air. That's not a criticism. There is something intriguingly off-kilter about these tunes that warrants repeated listens. And after all, for an accidental clairvoyant, Pressnall's songs are surprisingly prescient.
