On Cerulean, Baths’ 2010 debut LP, songs sounded splintered, shot through with percussive interruptions that were unwieldy yet ear-catching. These arrangements made Will Wiesenfeld, then loosely associated with Los Angeles’ Low End Theory scene, stand out in a company of seemingly likeminded beat-heads. Since then, his output has become deceptively simple, retaining the signature characteristics of his earlier work, and Baths' latest EP, Ocean Death, hits you in the head with enormous, blunt impact.
Following Will Wiesenfeld’s most recent record, last year's Obsidian, the EP showcases the singer’s continued focus on mortality and heartbreak. He approaches each subject with the misdirection of an experienced comedian: death is discussed with morbid joy, and heartbreak is met with anger instead of sadness or self-pity. Wiesenfeld’s songwriting remains evocative as ever, and while Ocean Death lacks the thematic cohesion of its predecessor, it’s another beguiling offering from a singer and beatmaker who continues to evolve into a singular artist.
At points, Ocean Death takes cues from dance music, evoking '90s dub techno while slowing things down and revealing a darkly humorous streak. The title track at once resembles Vincent Floyd and early Four Tet; it's a whirring, humming paean to death that sounds eerily ceremonial. A baroque atmosphere lingers throughout the EP, even as Wiesenfeld's subject and sound shifts track-by-track. Wiesenfeld's an admirer of Björk and Kate Bush, artists whose surface approachability offers passageway into complicated songs; on Ocean Death, he’s working in a similar way, adding static prickles to represent a growing contempt for a lover on “Yawn” and burnishing the otherwise dour “Voyeur” with what sounds like harp strings.
Obsidian was informed by Wiesenfeld’s battle with a deadly strain of E. coli, and its lyrics were both gruesome and vulnerable in a way that bred a unique intimacy. For the majority of Ocean Death, he's moved away from the pain and venom that he expressed so vehemently last time. Compare Obsidian's “Earth Death” to the EP’s title track: where “Earth Death” described the fear of a person trapped in his own dying body, “Ocean Death” is gleeful, as Wiesenfeld takes on the role of the ocean, asking for someone to be sacrificed to him. It's a fitting image on a release where Wiesenfeld widens his scope.
There are still hints of Wiesenfeld's scorched-earth songwriting. The cruelest couplet here, on “Yawn”, masterfully combines the mundane and the vicious: “Your steady breath when you’re reading/ I think about our love and its lack of meaning.” Wiesenfeld’s sharp sense of humor pokes through elsewhere, especially in the coy attitude on “Fade White,” which finds him coaxing a companion to join him in the embrace of nonexistence.
Ocean Death scan as less personal than Wiesenfeld’s earlier work, but the more generalized approach suits the music's expanse. He no longer seems obsessed with his own death: the perspective here suggests a broader apocalypse, and in that sense, the EP represents something larger than anything Wiesenfeld's done previously. Dark and painful at points, Ocean Death is still filled with wonder at the largeness of the world and the awesome power of endings.
