There’s something about being a teenager that music just captures so perfectly. Even as we grow older and begin to resent that whiny, obnoxious thing we probably once were (“What are you talking about? I was a model teenager,” you say) there are still those albums and those sounds that can pull us right back into that temperamental state of mind, when our innocence was slowly slipping, when every emotion was a tidal wave, when we still questioned why about the world, and parental shrugs of “that’s just the way it is” felt like the height of defeatism. These are the emotions and questions of the album Island Universe, the sophomore effort of Feeding People, a band whose members can boast being under the legal drinking age.
Sporting influences in commercial pop, indie rock, heavy metal, country and folk, Island Universe gathers all these genres and dements them with a mask of irreverent, youth-loving psychedelia. The key feature here is nineteen year-old singer Jessie Jones’ voice, which can shade itself in manners both haunting and beautiful and seems to oscillate on its own special, entrancing frequency. Meanwhile, guitars shred, drums crush, and distorted ambiances scream out to flood your ears. It is music that can be meaningful when it speaks to the hopes and disillusionments of juvenility, but of course it is also the sort of music that’s great for consuming certain substances and just having a really, really interesting time.
“Silent Violent,” alternates eerie, seeping vocal interludes with heavy trampling percussion and trippy guitars until the last minute where it kicks up a gung-ho folksy vibe. “Other Side” and “Big Mother” both feature dark, dirty rock and roguish vocals. “Insane” and “Inside Voices” turn up the psychedelic with hellish textures, fiendish guitar play, and sinister vocals that sound like someone might be wailing in tongues. “Island Universe” is a pleasantly melancholic and simple-sounding reflection on passing youth, while “The Cat Song” is also a minimal, vocally-isolated invitation to the abode of a diviner or clairvoyant. The final song “Closer” abandons the psychedelia for a melody that could belong on Broadway, but it carries a heavy maturity to its images and contemplations. “Let’s not forget what was and is yet,” a musical chorus cries out—youth is ending for this group and they understand they must move on. Let’s hope it is to even greater music.
