It is September 12th. We are nearing midnight, and I am sitting at a bar in the city of my birth. I guess that they call it Dutch courage for a reason, as I grab my phone and text Tony: “Hey, if I review the record, would it be an issue if I am myself, or would you prefer American optimism?”
Hey, it beats the time I told the singer of Elliott that ‘it was a really good show, but just so boring.’ Call it character growth. Don’t worry, I’ll post another hot take on Facebook about how I’d be happy never hearing Waiting Room by Fugazi ever again, or I might tell you about how I tried to give the Hotelier another listen and shouted something close to “oh god, this is so boring, why is this guy droning on and on, when does this pick up, oh now it’s just whining behind fuzzy production, I can’t do this” – out loud, in an empty house.
Now that I have properly disqualified myself from having any opinion about music, it’s time to dig into the new Tired Radio record.
The summary? “Tired Radio released a brilliant emo record.”
Opening up with the acoustic ‘Seem OK’, you are reminded of what day two of the worst hangover you had in a while feels like; Monday morning, staring outside, as you try to place the emptiness of the moment within the all-out buzz of the Saturday before. It sets a tone for the record: depression.
“I will try to get out of bed today, if I can somehow find the strength to fake a smile long enough to seem okay. I’m not okay.”
Having that song move immediately into ‘D.R.E.A.M.’ is a stroke of pure genius. This song is that Saturday night. Kicking in immediately: “The things that used to make me happy, they don’t work no more, so I’m staying out til 4am and passing out on the floor.” This song sneaks into your head, refusing to leave. This is the song you’ll find yourself singing along to, wondering how you picked up all the words that quickly. Yet, at times, this is the kind of song that, during a moment of self-reflection, makes you wonder if it is time to change your ways. Maybe. Next week.
“I wish I could stop myself from thinking, find some quiet in the loud. Me and all my friends we’re always drinking, it helps us feel better for now.”
‘On & On’ is up next, changing the pace. The song feels a lot slower than most Tired Radio songs, and to me, it misses the variation or hooks to justify four minutes. The best thing is the drums: the more I listen to it, the more I am appreciating all the small fills happening. That said, it’s an emo song, and those who love the genre and have more patience than me would love it.
“It’s a bird, no it’s a plane, it’s a constant guessing game, it’s just never-ending pain, and it goes on and on and on and on.”
Tired Radio is at their strongest when the songs are simple and catchy. Within those moments that you know that singing it out loud will be cathartic. When Chris makes the guitar sing over a strong vocal melody, when Kevin’s drums and Jay’s bass play with the tension, building it up and tearing it down. The Great Escape delivers on that front, and brings back the energy. Lyrically, I interpret this song as an inward conversation – finding yourself somewhere else again, and still not doing any better, the duality of the self who worked hard to get where they are, who wants to stay and make something happen, and the self who runs the moment things are good enough to be worth missing.
“You’re the reason to believe I don’t mean anything, a ruined chance to take a stance against this pain you bring, and when you make your great escape this time I won’t forget to cut the strings.”
We’re fiercely back in emo territory with “When You Say My Name.” If a song hasn’t kicked off after twenty to thirty seconds, my fingers tend to hover over the skip button. Forty-four seconds in, it starts with a great verse, showing Tony’s growth and improvement in range as a singer. But, as emo as a genre tends to do, it never feels like the song fully kicks in. To me, it just doesn’t need four minutes, and would be brilliant in a shortened version.
“Of all the promises she made, the one to stay is the one she breaks, and only memories remain.”
Onward to the title track, “Hope in the Haze.” The intro almost has a gothy vibe to it. If ‘Seem OK’ is the Monday morning, and ‘D.R.E.A.M.’ the Saturday night, this song is Sunday. The party is over, you can barely make it from the bed to the bathroom, and you’re considering leaving it all behind – it doesn’t feel worth it. Even though I initially set this song aside as ‘too emo for me’, I came around to loving it. The vibe is set from the first moment, the almost drone-y chorus fits in instead of bores, and the feeling of dread and anxiety is woven through it – not in the smallest due to some amazing guitar work.
“Time lends itself to wounds that never heal, they just fester as we grow. Wear my depression like a boutonniere, a bouquet of sorrow.”
Next up, ‘Records and Regrets’, is as positive as it gets on this record, and it almost brings a smile to my face. Depression can be overwhelming, but finding solace in music – in feeling our feelings to the tune of someone who felt them before – can be the crutch that allows us to hobble on. This song has two of my favorite things: a strong chorus, and the use of drums to create atmosphere during a chorus or bridge.
“If these walls could talk, they would probably say that they’d rather collapse than bear the weight of watching me drown in this mess that I’ve made.”
“Midnight: Miserable (Everyone I Love is Going to Die)” is another one of the strong songs. It starts with Tony singing over muted chords, to kick in fully in the verse, and almost swing into an emotional chorus. It loses a bit of power at the end, and when it comes back full force, the end stays hanging between feeling like an album closer and the intro of the interlude.
“Life is a waiting room in the office of death, we await our names and look to the ceiling for answers to questions we can’t understand.”
But it isn’t, and ‘Fade Away…’ is an atmospheric interlude and the intro to the actual album closer. Emo fans, rejoice. This is where I grab another drink instead. Shots, anyone?
“How much longer will this take before I start to fade away.”
By now it should be obvious that I believe that no song should be longer than four minutes, and most songs have no reason to be longer than three. Whelp. ‘Mountains // Molehills’ clocks in at 6:38. It starts off really strong, bringing bit of a pop-punk feel to it that I haven’t heard in Tired Radio since Monsters. It’s fun. It deserves a full three and a half minutes on my scale of patience, which is a great rating. I can see this being absolutely amazing as a set closer during a live show, those last minutes of strong repetition, shouting “this is not the way it’s supposed to be” with the rest of a sweaty audience. It misses that power on record, but let’s be fair, that’s something that’s hard – if not downright impossible – to get right.
In the end, this is a brilliant emo record, with a foot in melodic punk. It’s a record filled with atmosphere, build-ups, and moments that feel like they can only be captured in full during live shows. To me, it has some of the strongest Tired Radio songs from start to finish (D.R.E.A.M and Records and Regrets come to mind), but there’s a bit too much intentional fuzziness in the production – it’s a bit too emo-influenced. That said, Tired Radio has grown a lot, and you can hear it in every song. You want this record on your shelf.
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