Deep in the tracklist is “Tucson”, the longest cut on Tearless, thoughtless, and at its conclusion, lead songwriter Nara Avakian is engulfed by crashing percussion and swirling slacker riffs. Attempting to cut through the pearly wall of sound, courtesy of bandmates bassist Ethan Nash, producer Will Fisher, and drummer Brendan Jones, they poignantly sing about how “this old world keeps changing the course of its stream.” The band situating themselves between the future and the past, live like that indeed. Their shoegazing flows like a sparkly, glowing river, the stream’s glint like the bright orbs adorning the lustrous Y2K-indebted artwork.
The immediate nostalgia that Nara’s Room displays is irresistible. There’s an endearing worldbuilding element to the band, with their website constructed as a fusion of Windows XP and Vista – indicative of a time when the internet beheld its most substantially idyllic promise. Then, there’s their profound musical chops – the cover would suggest a digipop or vapor-adjacent release. Instead, the contents resemble a cross between Hum and Lush, paired with reflective, confessional songwriting not dissimilar to Soccer Mommy’s. If their 2024 debut album Glassy star remarkably introduced this palette, then this follow-up elevates it with a memorable presentation of change.
By design, the record falls into two sides, but not to its detriment: The first half is anthemic rocker after rocker, such as the massive power-pop one-two punch of “Reseda” and “Cut to blue”, both carrying a Third Eye Blind sensibility. “Lizzie mcguire” is especially bittersweet for its chirpy, glitchy synths and reasonable words on a fear of the future: “Everything’s new, don’t think I wanna be a part of it at all.”
The narrating interlude “AOL away msg” is the turning point, declaring the physical media listeners’ next move: “Those listening on cassette or records will stand up, or sit down, and turn over the record or tape,” Avakian says. The flip to the other side isn't just literal; the music does enter more introspective territory. Aside from Avakian’s dreamily prolonged notes, “Stars” is largely voiceless – an escalating showcase of the band’s ethereal, resonant alt-rock prowess. “Sketchers” is a stream-of-consciousness offering of a memory on displacement, followed by the centrepiece mentioned earlier, “Tucson”, a proactive confrontation of family estrangement and nostalgia that’s onset with age.
The visual aesthetic undeniably supplements the album’s thrilling exploration of shifting nostalgia. I’d personally cite such graphics to hook me back to the iPod era – sometimes that and the like will still feel new to me, despite today’s massive advancements. Yet that oldness feeling new with a fresh perspective affirms nostalgia as cyclical, and Nara’s Room radiantly explore what that looks like for a young person in the hyper-personalised present. Navigating this change, or any at all, may be scary, and sticking to familiarity is safe. Yet the band's rejuvenating sonic world on Tearless, thoughtless shows the welcome reinvention that can come from openly embracing change.
