The key to Ty Segall’s appeal is his sheer volume—not in terms of decibels but rather his creative output. “Hello, Hi” is his 14th proper solo album but that number balloons if his collaborations, cassette-only releases, cover albums, live records, and other miscellanea get added to the mix. Constant motion doesn't leave much time for reflection and, fittingly, there isn’t much room to breathe within Segall’s music: It’s a flurry of fuzz tones and frenzied, frenetic rhythms, all tied together with trippy melodies.
Some gnarly guitars rear their ugly heads on “Hello, Hi”, but it’s mostly a departure for Segall, bringing the 35-year-old songwriter to quieter environs where he can pick an acoustic guitar and harmonize with himself. The shift might be attributed to the isolation of the COVID-19 pandemic if it weren’t for the fact that it’s the second full album he has released since the coronavirus outbreak, preceded by cloistered noise of 2021’s Harmonizer.
“Hello, Hi” shares a basic origin story with Harmonizer. Both albums were recorded at Harmonizer Studios, a workspace Segall installed in his home in Topanga, California. On Harmonizer, he waded through thick smears of synths and guitar grime. Here, he’s weaving plucked and strummed acoustic instruments guitars into tapestries accentuated by layers of harmonies and the occasional noisy squall. It’s like a photo negative of a typical Ty Segall record; every familiar component is in place, they’re just presented in a different shade that makes it clear what colorful elements are missing.
Sudden movements, clattering rhythms, and Segall’s devilish sense of humor may be absent, but the calmer surroundings focus attention on the candied harmonies and sweeter melodies. It's a soundtrack for overcast days, not sunny carefree afternoons. Often, Segall's reedy warble resembles the elfin trill of Marc Bolan, particularly on the soft, spartan settings of “Blue” and “Don’t Lie.” For a musician as steeped in glam and garage as Ty Segall, such T. Rex allusions are certainly deliberate, and while they’re pleasant, even charming, these nods wind up highlighting how so much of his work stems from this formative influence: He's finally worked his way back to the ’60s and delivered his own Tyrannosaurus Rex record.
There are certainly pleasures in such fan worship. Ty Segall is an expert craftsman, sequencing albums so the gaps of silence—such as the slow crawl that acts like a fanfare on “Good Morning”—have as much impact as the burly guitars on the title track. This graceful ebb and flow is evident on individual cuts like “Looking at You,” where a gentle folky guitar phrase expands and contracts with increasingly forceful overdriven guitars. And yet, it’s best appreciated holistically. The dead space and repetition are what give the album its momentum, and the ambling detours have an idiosyncratic charm that belongs entirely to Segall.
