It’s tough to survive as a punk band. Yet the most adored artists are subject to an unique kind of dull fatigue where, very understanding, they find that collaborating to create an album and journey alone isn’t worth cruising the time off from work. Seven years, six songs and, Joyce Manor has thus far escaped this destiny. On “You’re Not Famous Anymore” a track from their new record, 40 oz. From Fresno, Frontman Barry Johnson seems to address someone who didn’ t. “You’re working in a grocery store” vocalist Barry Johnson notes. “No Meet and Greet, no UK tour, now you’re not famous anymore.”
There may be a suggestion of boasting There. Joyce Manor are certainly certainly an album of fame nevertheless, as far as album punk bands go; they celebrated the 10th anniversary of their debut single with nights at the large Hollywood Palladium. They’ve accomplished revival durability unlike some of the artists that they were when dealing with. This bonus is a reduced bet, issuing their songs to a peak of long-time audiences, rather than hoping for too many new ones. As a conclusion, 40 oz. Fresno becomes less deliberately optimistic than the band’s next two songs. While 2016’s Cody accepted shiny’ 90s alt-rock, and 2018’s Million Dollars To Kill Me let them change course into’ 80s power-pop, 40 oz. For Fresno s readiest comparison point is just Joyce Manor itself. They discovered the boundaries of Joyce Manor; it’s about focusing on what’s inside.
It gives them freedom to concentrate on the big picture and not on the music. “Dance With Me” and “Don’t Try” feature two of their catchiest choruses ever; the former jangly and Pixies-esque, and the latter a driving outburst of pop-punk. Meanwhile, lead singles “Gotta Let It Go” they try something they’ve never done before: it sounds absolutely enormous. Its weighty production works beautifully to prop up the fired-up-but-nowhere-to-go vibe of the song. The album is over before you know it’s started, it’s not cohesive or groundbreaking enough to feel as satisfying as on previous albums. But the songs are carefully written, almost mathematically propellant, creating a rush of exhilaration that feels equally earned.
Johnson’s witty and sardonic songwriting is mostly the same as ever. He plays the role of someone who would be romantic if He wasn’t so misanthropic — or the other way around. The narrator is always looking for connection, and then he threw it away like a stubborn kid. “It’s not a confession if I was just messing with it” He insists on “Gotta Let It Go.” On “NBTSA” He wants to confess a mystery, then a line blurs: “I don’t know why I want you to know.” Many of the emotions he recounts are lit with the sparkle of a careless youth falling in love in a garden, posing in the back seat of a car. But here is also a fresh smudge on the subject that expresses the fact that Johnson is now in his mid-30s today. Here’s the melancholy of it “You’re Not Famous Anymore!” while a similar world-weariness shows up in “Gotta Let It Go” the thing that must be let go alternates between a relationship and the narrator’s own youth.
But here’s a little bit of lopsided optimism in there “Dance With Me.” Johnson addresses the rag-tag crowd for’ ‘that Joyce Manor made music for “You’ve never been a junkie, you’ve only received a little lifestyle that you couldn’t cope without” — culminating in a kind of fuck-it theme song. Toward the end of it, he asked: “Could it be that the room’s blank and I’m only breaking out of my love for the noise man?” The possibility of disappearing into obscurity is on his mind. 40 oz. To Fresno, there does seem To be an attempt To counteract that, as much as to get the most out of Joyce Manor as a vehicle while people are still listening. This is the Joyce Manor album for Joyce Manor fans — a lovingly produced album, uncynical refinement of the band’s best.
