That “Jack of all trades” quote comes to mind when Bartees Strange comes on. Strip away the “oftentimes better than a master of one,” though. Horror is a surface-level understanding of everything from indie pop to post-punk electronica. Such is the ever-changing mood of a Bartees Strange album. There is a likeability to it, in the same was,y there is a forced grin on the face of a parent looking at the drawing of a child which could show a puppet or a penguin. While we may not ever make heads or tails of Horror, it is not for lack of trying, it is for lack of consistency. Much of Horror is, as its opening track suggests, too much. Too Much is a nostalgic throwback to some guitar-led joys, some well-produced and sharply mixed material which never goes anywhere. Lyrically underwhelmed, and the instrumentals soon stoop to said level.
Hit it Quit it is another example of this. Punchy remnants of those post-hardcore origins, the soft shift of heavy percussion and some intense guitar sections. Horror is an expression of everything all at once. A brilliant voice, and a bold instrumental experience, but they never match up with one another. Before one idea or image has settled, it is on to the next. Half-finished experience after half-finished experience. One blow after another and Horror begins to suffer relatively fast. For an artist moved by the fundamentals of post-hardcore, for someone who spent time around opera singers and their sparkling vocal charms, there is little left-field horror to hear on Horror. It cowers away from moments which could explore the theme, like the end of Hit it Quit it, which halts when it starts to get interesting in favour of some soft heartland acoustics on Sober. But here is where Strange is his most accessible, his very best pours out when he is an open book.
Horror is pleasantly frustrating until it finds its footing with Sober, a song which finds the fine line between instrumental joys and the vocal talents Strange holds. But just as it takes form, it falls to pieces once more with Lie 95, a very tame and plain back-and-forth love song. Tonal whiplash is what rips at Horror, but when it steadies course and finds a love for the spirited performance, consistent as it is from Strange, it blows up with exciting flourishes. Wants Needs is a great example of this, an electrifying five minutes. When it sounds like a build of this tone will occur, it is swiped from under us and the club beats of Lovers come through. Every song is a new project, a different direction. If it were a motorway, Horror would be a gruesome pile-up.
From rocking electrics to club tones and on to bass-heavy and ethereal sounds, Horror becomes a frustrating reason. A lot of great ideas are thrown together, clattering in the air and falling into fragments. Strange has an album of brief moments on his hands, rather than anything fully fleshed out. Horror is a box of fun but half the toys are broken. The other half shouldn’t be in there. Strange struggles under the weight of so many ideas and is either unable to choose a clear direction or is hoping his everyman persona pays off. When a project is as lopsided as Horror, it is hard to hear where it wishes to end, and who it hopes will listen and feel the rhythms of everything between pop power and heavy rock urgency. In being this unfocused, Horror becomes not a staggering, balanced album but a piece of frustrating moments which could have led somewhere, but are cut short to focus on the next genre.
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