On their third album,
Brain Worms
, Australian group
RVG
refine both the sharp-witted lyricism and high-tension emotional atmospheres they captured on earlier albums, producing some of their most striking work to date. Though they are often classified as post-punk, the band's chorus-drenched guitars, lurching tempos, reverb-heavy production, and aching vocal melodies point more to the influence of
Echo & the Bunnymen
,
the Go-Betweens
the Teardrop Explodes
, and other shining examples of melancholic mid-'80s college rock than the wave of experimenters that arrived just after punk rock.
do turn up the energy and speed on "Midnight Sun," and "Squid" is a jagged blast of angry catharsis (which all but quotes
Joy Division
in an easy-to-miss guitar line), but the most captivating components of
are its most understated. Slow and pensive opening track "Common Ground" begins the album with an air of defeat and resignation, moving so slowly it almost hides how many vocal hooks the song contains, and how many layers of interesting production details snake in and out of the mix. The brittle "Nothing Really Changes" is similar, with harsh synth pop drum machine snares slowly melting into live drums, and the rest of the musical arrangement quietly simmering beneath singer/bandleader
Romy Vager
's commanding vocals about the painful crumbling of a lopsided relationship. Melodic midtempo tracks like "Tropic of Cancer" and "It's Not Easy" tap into the wistful jangle of Kiwi pop bands like
the Verlaines
, and
Vager
's lyrics offset the album's pleasantly sullen musical backdrops with intense lyrical critiques on toxic friendships, wage slavery, families torn apart by political divides, and other existential heaviness. Nowhere is this contrast between spry songwriting and dismal lyricism more acute than on "Tambourine," a song that vividly depicts the experience of attending a loved one's funeral. Set in the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, the funeral is taking place on a video call with bad reception, and all the frustration and grief is doubled by the detachment of having to say goodbye through a screen. Even here,
's lyrics are metered and masterful, injecting dry humor into an opening line about the family playing
Train
's ubiquitous and cheesy hit "Drops of Jupiter" at the funeral because they didn't really have a good sense of the departed's musical taste. It's a wry laugh in an otherwise staggeringly sad song, and serves as the summit to a record that's as catchy as it is emotionally overpowering. ~ Fred Thomas