Troubled Coast – Letters

For every great post-hardcore group, there are a handful of mediocre acts that just don’t get it.  For every well-paced and emotionally taxed line, there’s the stale vocal growl of overused breakdowns and bleak repetition.  That being said, I get quite excited about beating the odds and becoming completely consumed by the tortured wails of a new post-hardcore act.  Reading the band bio, I knew Troubled Coastcould go either way, but the unsettling ship at sea cover art hinted at something intriguing, depicting an atmosphere of buoyant possibility.

However when the album started up, I was met by deceptive disappointment.  Mike Scornaienchi’s vocals pierced the accompanying inquisitive chords, and thoughts of past disappointments like labelmatesVyger and other faceless hardcore flooded back.  Forty-five minutes of this?  “No thanks,” was my first reaction.  Moving past the minute long intro though, it seems to be a classic case of a band’s bait and switch – or whatever the opposite might be called.  Like forceful waves upon a defiant bow, “Wolf Republic” bucks trends, eluding drowning from engulfing waves of toothless breakdowns in favour of a meticulously nuanced interplay of harmony and dissonance. Scornaienchi takes a nod from emotional hardcore acts like The Saddest Landscape and Renae, shifting between throaty outbursts and restrained, quivering bouts of emotional reserve.

From here Letters becomes a continuously evolving work.  Lyrical meaning and delivery synchronize effectively, and no two songs follow one predictable formula.  Take the trying emotionalism of “Breathing.”  Mike channels his inner Brand New, calming to a near-whisper only to rise his emotional roof, exploding into what Thrice might consider a temper tantrum before retreating to the safety of swirling pedal work.  After a final ominous outburst of defeat (“Breathing’s not for you, breathing’s not for me”), such anger recedes like the tide after a full moon, leaving an aftermath of simple piano keys. “Night Drives” follows mindful of pacing with a powerful spoken intro.  The track centres around a desperate conclusion of predestined failure, a topic captured in the waves of pronounced guitar, and full circle call for an accepting protagonist to meet “at the top of the crooked wall” where a fallen love first blossomed.

From here the album rides the waves with little prediction, “Not Good For You” representing the cresting whitecaps of a hardcore storm, “Absent Father, Holy Ghost” hiding what might be the acoustic eye of the storm (more of this, please).  “Me And My Shadow” takes an instrumental route with great effect, and finally “Love” offers one final, deeply polarizing experience.

For a band so young, Troubled Coast demonstrates a deep commitment to self-exploration through a lens of wisdom beyond their years.  In many ways Letters serves as a teaser to future possibilities (I’d love to see what else they can do in an acoustic setting).  The confidence within suggests many avenues of future pursuit, so let’s hope the boys keep their sights and ambitions firmly set on that watery horizon.