Church Road Records have followed the progress of LA alt-rock quartet, Iress, for some time, and it’s clear that signing them to their label is a highlight for their staff. We know that co-founders, Sammy Urwin and Justine Jones, like three things – extreme metal, metallic hardcore and shoegaze. For every death-doom, black or prog metal artist, you’ll find something more ethereal and sorrowful. After all, this is a label that hosts hardcore death metallers, Burner, and New Zealand post-punk quartet, Landlords.
Given the resurgence of shoegaze over the last fifteen years, it becomes harder to find anything interesting in this renaissance, especially among those that cite Deafheaven as an influence. Iress are one such band, but you’ll find nothing to dislike in their new album. In fact, it might annoy you how good they are if you’ve already decided to write them off as another doomgaze experiment for NME elitists and subscribers to The Guardian newspaper.
Iress tease you into a solipsistic dream as soon as Michelle Malley’s introspective vocals and the electric guitars enter after twenty seconds of light bass strumming in opener, ‘Falling’. Words soothe and sever from their meanings like splitting dew drops. The vocal lines are pleasant but tinged with an undefined sorrow. Music like this can be relaxing despite the distorted guitars and intangible chord shapes. An accompanying video showing the slow metamorphosis of a butterfly would be ideal. Everything seems to be in harmony without a conscious effort. Observe how the longing in the lyrics match the mood of the instrumentation: “Always waiting for you to call my name / Always waiting for you / You say you will, you won’t / You push and you pull.”
Of course, we’ve heard the great paradox of this record in shoegaze and in the alternative rock of the Smashing Pumpkins. Seething guitars contrast with a tone and tempo that venerates the simplistic beauty of, say, snow-covered trees or harmless sneezes in a meadow of buttercups. The verse parts in ‘Ever Under’ quieten the tempo with crystal clear drum snares guiding the direction of the words. “I can touch the pain in your eyes / I know what it’s like to be broken,” cries Malley. Much of this feels like a lullaby from a benevolent but sombre guardian who struggles to hide their burdens from those under their care. An analysis of the two guitar channels reveals some interesting mid-range chord-play and abstract pedal effects in the wet humidity.
The blurry textures are a permanent feature of this music and can become oppressive if you let them affect your listening experience. So, don’t. Instead, follow the emotions of the louder dynamics and let these be your passages underneath the waterfalls. ‘Mercy’ is not too far away from the dream-pop-meets-doom of the new GUHTS record. A gentle breeze and a misty drizzle are all you crave in your autumn solitude. The peace of being alone is sublime in ‘Leviathan (The Fog)’. You don’t need human company to be content. Here, Glenn Chu’s rim clicks mirror the soft and vibrant beats of your heart. Malley’s words pine with tuneful regret: “Didn’t wanna go / Sick obsession / Didn’t wanna go / I don’t want more.”
Michelle Malley knows how to unleash a brooding chorus at just the right time, but you need to be in a melancholy mood to get the most out of this form of art. ‘Lovely (Forget Me Not)’ is like The Sundays with intrusive electric guitars and the sorrowful fairyland melodies of Cocteau Twins. The debut Curve album feels more important than ever after thirty-two years. Those harmless whirlpools of melody emanating from the amps are easy to follow and appreciate. After all, this is just as much an album for guitarists who value the supremacy of textures over flamboyance and red emotions.
It’s not always dangerous to be in and out of consciousness – that’s the effect Iress have on you. Something as simple as heavy-gain guitars playing seventh chord shapes can be as soothing as a wet flannel to the forehead. But this record is also the band’s heaviest in their catalogue. Listen how the bass strings hang by the thread in their drooping encasement of the powerful drumbeats in ‘The Remains’. Here, Malley forces her emotions into an aching lament, dwelling on her words for a longer suspense than usual. A surprise growl of metallic guitars fights with a reverb-drenched arpeggio in the outro. Likewise, ‘Knell Mera’ evolves in the manner of a shoegaze interpretation of post-metal with luscious vocal arrangements that sparkle like empurpled petals in the early morning mist.
The albums you want to dismiss as overrated can be the most enjoyable when they connect with you. This is a prime example of the virtues of an open mind.