Post-rock bands aren't bound by the same rules that rock bands are. Take Yndi Halda, from Brighton, England. They completely ignored that old rock aphorism that "you have your whole life to make your first album and six months to make the second." Nearly a decade after their debut, Enjoy Eternal Bliss, the band are finally releasing their second LP. But post-rock bands do have their own set of boxes to check off albeit ones that are slightly more specific. Twinkling guitar and bass harmonics? Present! Songs that sprawl uniformly over ten minutes? Absolutely! Moments of quiet that build toward overwrought crescendos? Just look at the wavelengths of these songs on SoundCloud!
Although these traits are all present on Under Summer, they are used sparingly, alongside new aspirations of a band who are clearly challenging themselves and the very conventions of post-rock. Like its predecessor, Under Summer contains only four songs, each more than 10 minutes in length with distinct movements. The elegiac violin that created a niche for the band with the first album is still here too. But the biggest difference is the appearance of vocals, and not just the choral la-la placeholders of Enjoy Eternal Bliss. The lyrics here are mostly outdoorsy and naturalistic, with moments of powerful simplicity.
But there are also occasional dropped articles—"We sneak out at night, in time with owl cry"—and crammed syllables. This occasional awkwardness is the only aspect of Under Summer that feels tentative. A heartfelt line like, "It's something I know, not just something I believe," on Under Summer's final track, "This Very Flight," should sting with spiritual conviction, especially alongside the orchestral intensity of the moment, but the line is delivered demurely like they don't trust the importance of what they're saying.
Yndi Halda's growth shouldn't simply be measured by the fact that they're singing now, though. Enjoy Eternal Bliss felt like a band studying the post-rock playbook, and its consciously mournful songs felt forced. Here they take more risks, like taking a sharp turn at what would have logically been a swelling crescendo on "Helena," the album's sole instrumental number, and deciding to pull into a Fender Rhodes piano groove. Or using what sounds like a banjo and slide guitar. How very un-post-rock! And the last four minutes of the album are gently strummed major chords on an acoustic guitar accompanied by elementary—but nevertheless inspired—piano. With a more adventurous spirit and less rigid adherence to rules than its precursor, this album seems more concerned with expressing feelings than manufacturing them.
