youbet’s music has always been spooky, but in a good way. Now, on the project’s self-titled third album, Nick Llobet’s work is given a textural upgrade with the addition of bass player and teacher Micah Prussack. The fact that both Llobet and Prussack are music teachers is obvious from the jump: each song is crafted with a level of care and attention to detail that shows a knowledge of the theory behind their practice. Over thirty-five carefully wrought minutes, the duo unspools a complex, often unexpected run of moody, atmospheric songs that delight in taking the listener by surprise with their idiosyncrasies.
The pair’s songs feel sculptural and self-contained, crisp and lucid. The album volleys between roomy acoustics and dizzy post-punk numbers, replete with a purposeful dissonance, making the LP feeling taut and economic. On lead single and opener “Ground Kiss,” a buzzing, distorted guitar line blossoms into Prussack’s dramatic soprano. Unexpected harmonic additions from Llobet build the song from bedroom pop into something almost choral—a chewy melody that sticks to your tongue for hours afterward. The lyrics themselves are sparse: “I’ve been face down / I’m kissing the ground,” Prussack purrs. “Face strong / I can rebuild.”
The tension between defeat and optimism draws a clear line through the record. On “Undefined,” Llobet and Prussack look towards a better day while leaning bravely into the confusion that defines their lives. Soothing and loopy, with a lovely soaring chorus, the song charts a metamorphosis marred by nostalgia. “I’m a little undefined / I’m rising up to,” Prussack murmurs. The song climbs into a mountainous chorus, exploding into a wall of sound that retreats as quickly as it begins. It’s a trick the duo deploys regularly, and one of the album’s defining textural elements—numbers like “See Thru” and closer “Bad Choice” follow suit.
These dissonances already frame the album as an evolution from its predecessors, but Prussack’s presence is also defined by her enormous vocal contribution. She imbues a majority of the album’s songs with a measured, distilled voice whose clarity is rivaled only by its precision. It’s a treat, and it elevates many of the album’s best moments. “Nadia,” a soft, gentle piece on the album’s back end—and one of its longest, at four minutes—features an easy, impressive alto that carries the song’s emotion despite youbet’s penchant for minimalist lyrics. “Wait, I’m nothing,” Prussack breathes in an arresting realization, repeating the line as the song falls gently back into itself.
Llobet and Prussack made it a point to play hundreds of others’ songs together before they began mapping out their own musical identity, and that long-built trust in one another shines through. Their collaboration here feels less like a necessity than a natural alignment—the kind of mind-meld a band can’t fake. It makes the album easy to sink into, easy to be absorbed by, and it allows the duo to walk a delicate tightrope between heavy and bright emotions. That balance is the album’s greatest success: youbet is supremely purposeful, and we’re the better for it. [Hardly Art]
Miranda Wollen is a staff writer at Paste and is based in New York City. Follow her @mirandakwollen or email her.
