Lonely Pa­rade


The Pits

Lonely Pa­rade will be the first to tell you that they don’t have their shit to­gether, not that you can hear it in their mu­sic. The Pits, the Mon­treal-vi­aPeter­bor­ough trio’s first al­bum since sign­ing to Toronto la­bel Buzz Records, sets the frus­tra­tions and in­se­cu­ri­ties of young adult­hood to an as­sured, tech­ni­cally com­plex brand of fu­ri­ous post-punk. Lyri­cally, vo­cal­ists Au­gusta Veno and Char­lotte Dempsey craft terse nar­ra­tives about love, pain and the tri­als of grow­ing up. They’re tense and re­lat­able, as fraught and un­set­tling as the post-punk in­stru­men­tals they’re set to. But there are sev­eral mo­ments on the al­bum where words fail them, where they’re too frus­trated to ar­tic­u­late elo­quently, which serve as some of The Pits’ most pow­er­ful mo­ments. Few phrases cap­ture the pithy agony of ado­les­cent in­sta­bil­ity bet­ter than “New room­mate. Fuck,” or “I’d like to thank you but... fuck you.”

It all serves to show­case Lonely Pa­rade’s in­stincts, sharply honed af­ter six years as a band. Tracks can turn on a dime, driven by drum­mer An­wyn Cli­men­hage’s im­pres­sive tech­ni­cal prow- ess, bol­stered by ex­as­per­ated waves of fuzz and peals of feed­back. Con­vey­ing the prob­lems of their youth through mu­si­cal chops far be­yond their years, Lonely Pa­rade use their am­ple tal­ents to make songs that are as un­pre­dictable and en­gag­ing as the ex­pe­ri­ences they’re singing about. (Buzz, buz­zrecords.ca) SOUL

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