Destroyer (solo) with Jennifer Castle
What is a "boogie"? In the common tongue, it's a dance or an occasion to dance, a song or a shindig, an incitement to move, quickly, whether it's on the floor or out of town, getting down or lying low. This being a Destroyer album and not the common tongue, the implications of a title like Dan's Boogie are at once more alluring and dangerous. "A boogie is a hustle, a scam that doesn't quite work, the moves we make when we're up against it," explains Dan Bejar. "I think of spy work, double agents, sleeping with one eye open, an eye on the exits. But I also think of petty street-level victories and losses and improv."
Dan's Boogie is a breakthrough album for Destroyer, both in the sense that it makes moves that no Destroyer album to this point has made, and in the sense that, to record it, Bejar had to burst through a series of intentional and unintentional barriers to write the songs. Initially challenging himself to not write songs so the ideas would well up inside of him until they breached containment, the months following the completion of LABYRINTHITIS turned into one year then two, at which point Bejar gave himself a New Year's resolution to play the piano every day for an hour. That lasted about four days, but the songs Bejar credits as coming from that resolution--"Cataract Time," "Hydroplaning Off the Edge of the World," "Bologna," and "Dan's Boogie" among them--are all-timer Destroyer songs across the vast spectrum Bejar and his collaborators have established for themselves: spectacle-laden pop epics, personal piano ballads, and smouldering works of mood that blur the lines between song and novel and cinema, each brimming with the urgency of a state secret in the mind of a tortured spy.
Lead single "Bologna" is the most radical frame for this energy, as it's the first time Bejar wrote a song where he imagined himself as a supporting character. Taking lead is Fiver's Simone Schmidt, whose voice--tough and expressive, piercing through the murk of the scene--is a siren's call that haunts the album. The gravity of their voice pulls Dan's Boogie into order around a sense of impending doom, the way a fatale's promise of the unusual and the ecstatic dooms the principal character of an erotic thriller.
"Hydroplaning Off the Edge of the World" is a delicious bit of contradiction, a peppy song that came out of the havoc Bejar was intentionally wreaking on himself--its holiday cheeriness making the angst of its lyrics go down smoothly until the song veers off the road. "We are now entering a new phase," Bejar intones, introducing layers of guitar and synthesizer that considerably darken the palette as he alternates between singing and speaking. The lyrics and vocals are improvised, invented as Bejar recorded the demo in his garage--a manic stream-of-consciousness and simultaneously exquisite display of his songwriting mastery.
Contradiction informs much of Dan's Boogie, the fog swirling around Bejar illuminated by the friction between competing truths and tastes, as when his interest in jazzy ballads runs aground on producer and bassist John Collins' interest in bands like Led Zeppelin and Scritti Politti. When Bejar told Collins that he was thinking of Sammy Davis Jr., the title track bloomed into being, Bejar adopting a Rat Pack swagger with almost delusional glee against a dreamy soundscape of soaring guitars, lush horns, jazz drumming, spaced-out synths, and, perhaps truest to how Bejar sees himself, plinking lounge piano.
In terms of shaping sound, the centerpiece of Dan's Boogie may be "Cataract Time," an eight-minute epic that ranks as some of the heaviest lyrics Bejar has ever written, and one of Destroyer's most musically intricate compositions. Borne aloft on an easygoing groove, Bejar's lyrics--"a reckoning, a dressing down" as he describes them--are transfigured, their melancholy tasting almost counterintuitively like hope. It's an intimate song that puts away Destroyer's usual urban fable milieu in exchange for bracing interiority, but its lilting groove can see a future, one that Bejar and his band are eager to meet.
It is, to use Bejar's phrase, the kind of song you make when you're up against it, when it seems as if the world is crashing down upon you. And therein lies the album's most radical shift: Where previous Destroyer albums were locked in combat with the world, Dan's Boogie dances with it, its nine reveries coalescing into one long hustle. Dan Bejar's eye may be on the exits, but he's not leaving anytime soon.
~~~
Destroyer's latest album, LABYRINTHITIS, brims with mystic and intoxicating terrain, the threads of Dan Bejar's notes woven through by a trove of allusions at once eerily familiar and intimately perplexing. The record circuitously draws ever inward, each turn offering giddy surprise, anxious esoterica, and thumping emotionality at equal odds. "Do you remember the mythic beast?" Bejar asks at the outset of "Tintoretto, It's for You," the album's first single, casting torchlight over the labyrinth's corridors. "Tintoretto, it's for you/ The ceiling's on fire and the contract is binding." Delivered in a Marlene Dietrich smolder, Bejar's lyrical menace seeps like smoke through the brazen march's woozy synths and dizzied guitar. "There's some character here that feels new to me, a low drawl, an evening gown draped over a piano," Bejar says of the song. Throughout,
LABYRINTHITIS insists that everything's not all right, but that even isolation and dissolution can be a source of joy-- stepping into the sunlight at the other end of the maze in your ear, Bejar strolling alongside like a wild-maned, leisure-suited minotaur.
More than an arcane puzzle for the listener, LABYRINTHITIS warps and winds through unfamiliar territory for Bejar as well. Written largely in 2020 and recorded the following spring, the album most often finds Bejar and frequent collaborator John Collins seeking the mythic artifacts buried somewhere under the dance floor, from the glitzy spiral of "It Takes a Thief" to the Books-ian collage bliss of the titletrack. Initial song ideas ventured forth from disco, Art of Noise, and New Order, Bejar and Collins championing the over-the-top madcappery. "John is in his 50s, and I'm almost there, but we used to go to clubs," Bejar laughs. "Our version may have been punk clubs, but our touchstones for the album were more true to disco."
Bejar and Collins conducted their questing in the height of isolation, Collins on the remote Galiano Island and Bejar in nearby Vancouver, sending ideas back and forth when restrictions didn't allow them to meet. "From the vocal manipulation to the layered electronics, making this record pushed us to a new place, and reaching that place felt stressful," Bejar recalls. "But I trust that that stress is a good feeling." That cuddly anxiety excels in tracks like "Eat the Wine, Drink the Bread," Joshua Wells' percussion and Collins' drum programming pushing Bejar's voice forward. "The whole world's a stage/ That I don't know/ I am going through," he sighs, before reaching the frustrated religious imagery of the title.
Lyrically, LABYRINTHITIS embraces a widescreen maximalism, blocks of text dotted with subversions and hedges. Building from the koans of Have We Met, Bejar continues to carve his words precisely, toying with expectations and staid symbols, while Collins' production reconstructs the pieces into a unified whole. "Even though everyone recorded in their own isolated corners, this is the most band record that we've done in the last few years," Bejar says. "Everything's manipulated, but the band is really present, and our plans wound up betrayed by what the tracks wanted. I've written 300, 400 songs in my adult life--I don't know how to do anything else--but this album feels like a breakthrough into new territory."
That unprepared synchronicity and mutual discovery shines brightest on "June," a six-and-a-half-minute track that features a blend of funk bass, fluttering synth, and charred poetry recitation. While Bejar initially envisioned LABYRINTHITIS as a straight dance record ("just like Donna Summer's greatest hits"), the end of "June" explodes that simplicity into a million shining pieces, finding joy in mutual discovery instead of isolated certainty. Bejar and Collins' initial jam expands until the edges of the universe run through their fingertips, the band members peeling off in cathartic helixes. While the album's songs may have been patched together like a mosaic of enigmatic ideas, the band rolls the entire Destroyer universe together--abstruse celestial waves unified despite the players' physical time apart.
LABYRINTHITIS closes on "The Last Song," Bejar singing and strumming all alone, a gentle yet no more settled exodus out of the fractured dance party. "I try and sneak in sweet moments where I can," Bejar laughs. After spending the record in the depths of the labyrinth, Destroyer step into the open air, overwhelmed by the burst of light surrounding them. "An explosion is worth a hundred million words/ But that is maybe too many words to say," Bejar repeats, the roiling electronics replaced with a single ringing guitar echoing into the night.
As LABYRINTHITIS closes, the reorienting vertigo lingers, its implacable aura and bewitching lyrics wriggling ever deeper into the mind.
show less
What is a "boogie"? In the common tongue, it's a dance or an occasion to dance, a song or a shindig, an incitement to move, quickly, whether it's on the floor or out of town, getting down or lying low. This being a Destroyer album and not the common tongue, the implications of a title like Dan's Boogie are at once more alluring and dangerous. "A boogie is a hustle, a scam that doesn't quite work, the moves we make when we're up against it," explains Dan Bejar. "I think of spy work, double agents, sleeping with one eye open, an eye on the exits. But I also think of petty street-level victories and losses and improv."
Dan's Boogie is a breakthrough album for Destroyer, both in the sense that it makes moves that no Destroyer album to this point has made, and in the sense that, to record it, Bejar had to burst through a series of intentional and unintentional barriers to write the songs. Initially challenging himself to not write songs so the ideas would well up inside of him until they breached containment, the months following the completion of LABYRINTHITIS turned into one year then two, at which point Bejar gave himself a New Year's resolution to play the piano every day for an hour. That lasted about four days, but the songs Bejar credits as coming from that resolution--"Cataract Time," "Hydroplaning Off the Edge of the World," "Bologna," and "Dan's Boogie" among them--are all-timer Destroyer songs across the vast spectrum Bejar and his collaborators have established for themselves: spectacle-laden pop epics, personal piano ballads, and smouldering works of mood that blur the lines between song and novel and cinema, each brimming with the urgency of a state secret in the mind of a tortured spy.
Lead single "Bologna" is the most radical frame for this energy, as it's the first time Bejar wrote a song where he imagined himself as a supporting character. Taking lead is Fiver's Simone Schmidt, whose voice--tough and expressive, piercing through the murk of the scene--is a siren's call that haunts the album. The gravity of their voice pulls Dan's Boogie into order around a sense of impending doom, the way a fatale's promise of the unusual and the ecstatic dooms the principal character of an erotic thriller.
"Hydroplaning Off the Edge of the World" is a delicious bit of contradiction, a peppy song that came out of the havoc Bejar was intentionally wreaking on himself--its holiday cheeriness making the angst of its lyrics go down smoothly until the song veers off the road. "We are now entering a new phase," Bejar intones, introducing layers of guitar and synthesizer that considerably darken the palette as he alternates between singing and speaking. The lyrics and vocals are improvised, invented as Bejar recorded the demo in his garage--a manic stream-of-consciousness and simultaneously exquisite display of his songwriting mastery.
Contradiction informs much of Dan's Boogie, the fog swirling around Bejar illuminated by the friction between competing truths and tastes, as when his interest in jazzy ballads runs aground on producer and bassist John Collins' interest in bands like Led Zeppelin and Scritti Politti. When Bejar told Collins that he was thinking of Sammy Davis Jr., the title track bloomed into being, Bejar adopting a Rat Pack swagger with almost delusional glee against a dreamy soundscape of soaring guitars, lush horns, jazz drumming, spaced-out synths, and, perhaps truest to how Bejar sees himself, plinking lounge piano.
In terms of shaping sound, the centerpiece of Dan's Boogie may be "Cataract Time," an eight-minute epic that ranks as some of the heaviest lyrics Bejar has ever written, and one of Destroyer's most musically intricate compositions. Borne aloft on an easygoing groove, Bejar's lyrics--"a reckoning, a dressing down" as he describes them--are transfigured, their melancholy tasting almost counterintuitively like hope. It's an intimate song that puts away Destroyer's usual urban fable milieu in exchange for bracing interiority, but its lilting groove can see a future, one that Bejar and his band are eager to meet.
It is, to use Bejar's phrase, the kind of song you make when you're up against it, when it seems as if the world is crashing down upon you. And therein lies the album's most radical shift: Where previous Destroyer albums were locked in combat with the world, Dan's Boogie dances with it, its nine reveries coalescing into one long hustle. Dan Bejar's eye may be on the exits, but he's not leaving anytime soon.
~~~
Destroyer's latest album, LABYRINTHITIS, brims with mystic and intoxicating terrain, the threads of Dan Bejar's notes woven through by a trove of allusions at once eerily familiar and intimately perplexing. The record circuitously draws ever inward, each turn offering giddy surprise, anxious esoterica, and thumping emotionality at equal odds. "Do you remember the mythic beast?" Bejar asks at the outset of "Tintoretto, It's for You," the album's first single, casting torchlight over the labyrinth's corridors. "Tintoretto, it's for you/ The ceiling's on fire and the contract is binding." Delivered in a Marlene Dietrich smolder, Bejar's lyrical menace seeps like smoke through the brazen march's woozy synths and dizzied guitar. "There's some character here that feels new to me, a low drawl, an evening gown draped over a piano," Bejar says of the song. Throughout,
LABYRINTHITIS insists that everything's not all right, but that even isolation and dissolution can be a source of joy-- stepping into the sunlight at the other end of the maze in your ear, Bejar strolling alongside like a wild-maned, leisure-suited minotaur.
More than an arcane puzzle for the listener, LABYRINTHITIS warps and winds through unfamiliar territory for Bejar as well. Written largely in 2020 and recorded the following spring, the album most often finds Bejar and frequent collaborator John Collins seeking the mythic artifacts buried somewhere under the dance floor, from the glitzy spiral of "It Takes a Thief" to the Books-ian collage bliss of the titletrack. Initial song ideas ventured forth from disco, Art of Noise, and New Order, Bejar and Collins championing the over-the-top madcappery. "John is in his 50s, and I'm almost there, but we used to go to clubs," Bejar laughs. "Our version may have been punk clubs, but our touchstones for the album were more true to disco."
Bejar and Collins conducted their questing in the height of isolation, Collins on the remote Galiano Island and Bejar in nearby Vancouver, sending ideas back and forth when restrictions didn't allow them to meet. "From the vocal manipulation to the layered electronics, making this record pushed us to a new place, and reaching that place felt stressful," Bejar recalls. "But I trust that that stress is a good feeling." That cuddly anxiety excels in tracks like "Eat the Wine, Drink the Bread," Joshua Wells' percussion and Collins' drum programming pushing Bejar's voice forward. "The whole world's a stage/ That I don't know/ I am going through," he sighs, before reaching the frustrated religious imagery of the title.
Lyrically, LABYRINTHITIS embraces a widescreen maximalism, blocks of text dotted with subversions and hedges. Building from the koans of Have We Met, Bejar continues to carve his words precisely, toying with expectations and staid symbols, while Collins' production reconstructs the pieces into a unified whole. "Even though everyone recorded in their own isolated corners, this is the most band record that we've done in the last few years," Bejar says. "Everything's manipulated, but the band is really present, and our plans wound up betrayed by what the tracks wanted. I've written 300, 400 songs in my adult life--I don't know how to do anything else--but this album feels like a breakthrough into new territory."
That unprepared synchronicity and mutual discovery shines brightest on "June," a six-and-a-half-minute track that features a blend of funk bass, fluttering synth, and charred poetry recitation. While Bejar initially envisioned LABYRINTHITIS as a straight dance record ("just like Donna Summer's greatest hits"), the end of "June" explodes that simplicity into a million shining pieces, finding joy in mutual discovery instead of isolated certainty. Bejar and Collins' initial jam expands until the edges of the universe run through their fingertips, the band members peeling off in cathartic helixes. While the album's songs may have been patched together like a mosaic of enigmatic ideas, the band rolls the entire Destroyer universe together--abstruse celestial waves unified despite the players' physical time apart.
LABYRINTHITIS closes on "The Last Song," Bejar singing and strumming all alone, a gentle yet no more settled exodus out of the fractured dance party. "I try and sneak in sweet moments where I can," Bejar laughs. After spending the record in the depths of the labyrinth, Destroyer step into the open air, overwhelmed by the burst of light surrounding them. "An explosion is worth a hundred million words/ But that is maybe too many words to say," Bejar repeats, the roiling electronics replaced with a single ringing guitar echoing into the night.
As LABYRINTHITIS closes, the reorienting vertigo lingers, its implacable aura and bewitching lyrics wriggling ever deeper into the mind.
Destroyer (solo) with Jennifer Castle
What is a "boogie"? In the common tongue, it's a dance or an occasion to dance, a song or a shindig, an incitement to move, quickly, whether it's on the floor or out of town, getting down or lying low. This being a Destroyer album and not the common tongue, the implications of a title like Dan's Boogie are at once more alluring and dangerous. "A boogie is a hustle, a scam that doesn't quite work, the moves we make when we're up against it," explains Dan Bejar. "I think of spy work, double agents, sleeping with one eye open, an eye on the exits. But I also think of petty street-level victories and losses and improv."
Dan's Boogie is a breakthrough album for Destroyer, both in the sense that it makes moves that no Destroyer album to this point has made, and in the sense that, to record it, Bejar had to burst through a series of intentional and unintentional barriers to write the songs. Initially challenging himself to not write songs so the ideas would well up inside of him until they breached containment, the months following the completion of LABYRINTHITIS turned into one year then two, at which point Bejar gave himself a New Year's resolution to play the piano every day for an hour. That lasted about four days, but the songs Bejar credits as coming from that resolution--"Cataract Time," "Hydroplaning Off the Edge of the World," "Bologna," and "Dan's Boogie" among them--are all-timer Destroyer songs across the vast spectrum Bejar and his collaborators have established for themselves: spectacle-laden pop epics, personal piano ballads, and smouldering works of mood that blur the lines between song and novel and cinema, each brimming with the urgency of a state secret in the mind of a tortured spy.
Lead single "Bologna" is the most radical frame for this energy, as it's the first time Bejar wrote a song where he imagined himself as a supporting character. Taking lead is Fiver's Simone Schmidt, whose voice--tough and expressive, piercing through the murk of the scene--is a siren's call that haunts the album. The gravity of their voice pulls Dan's Boogie into order around a sense of impending doom, the way a fatale's promise of the unusual and the ecstatic dooms the principal character of an erotic thriller.
"Hydroplaning Off the Edge of the World" is a delicious bit of contradiction, a peppy song that came out of the havoc Bejar was intentionally wreaking on himself--its holiday cheeriness making the angst of its lyrics go down smoothly until the song veers off the road. "We are now entering a new phase," Bejar intones, introducing layers of guitar and synthesizer that considerably darken the palette as he alternates between singing and speaking. The lyrics and vocals are improvised, invented as Bejar recorded the demo in his garage--a manic stream-of-consciousness and simultaneously exquisite display of his songwriting mastery.
Contradiction informs much of Dan's Boogie, the fog swirling around Bejar illuminated by the friction between competing truths and tastes, as when his interest in jazzy ballads runs aground on producer and bassist John Collins' interest in bands like Led Zeppelin and Scritti Politti. When Bejar told Collins that he was thinking of Sammy Davis Jr., the title track bloomed into being, Bejar adopting a Rat Pack swagger with almost delusional glee against a dreamy soundscape of soaring guitars, lush horns, jazz drumming, spaced-out synths, and, perhaps truest to how Bejar sees himself, plinking lounge piano.
In terms of shaping sound, the centerpiece of Dan's Boogie may be "Cataract Time," an eight-minute epic that ranks as some of the heaviest lyrics Bejar has ever written, and one of Destroyer's most musically intricate compositions. Borne aloft on an easygoing groove, Bejar's lyrics--"a reckoning, a dressing down" as he describes them--are transfigured, their melancholy tasting almost counterintuitively like hope. It's an intimate song that puts away Destroyer's usual urban fable milieu in exchange for bracing interiority, but its lilting groove can see a future, one that Bejar and his band are eager to meet.
It is, to use Bejar's phrase, the kind of song you make when you're up against it, when it seems as if the world is crashing down upon you. And therein lies the album's most radical shift: Where previous Destroyer albums were locked in combat with the world, Dan's Boogie dances with it, its nine reveries coalescing into one long hustle. Dan Bejar's eye may be on the exits, but he's not leaving anytime soon.
~~~
Destroyer's latest album, LABYRINTHITIS, brims with mystic and intoxicating terrain, the threads of Dan Bejar's notes woven through by a trove of allusions at once eerily familiar and intimately perplexing. The record circuitously draws ever inward, each turn offering giddy surprise, anxious esoterica, and thumping emotionality at equal odds. "Do you remember the mythic beast?" Bejar asks at the outset of "Tintoretto, It's for You," the album's first single, casting torchlight over the labyrinth's corridors. "Tintoretto, it's for you/ The ceiling's on fire and the contract is binding." Delivered in a Marlene Dietrich smolder, Bejar's lyrical menace seeps like smoke through the brazen march's woozy synths and dizzied guitar. "There's some character here that feels new to me, a low drawl, an evening gown draped over a piano," Bejar says of the song. Throughout,
LABYRINTHITIS insists that everything's not all right, but that even isolation and dissolution can be a source of joy-- stepping into the sunlight at the other end of the maze in your ear, Bejar strolling alongside like a wild-maned, leisure-suited minotaur.
More than an arcane puzzle for the listener, LABYRINTHITIS warps and winds through unfamiliar territory for Bejar as well. Written largely in 2020 and recorded the following spring, the album most often finds Bejar and frequent collaborator John Collins seeking the mythic artifacts buried somewhere under the dance floor, from the glitzy spiral of "It Takes a Thief" to the Books-ian collage bliss of the titletrack. Initial song ideas ventured forth from disco, Art of Noise, and New Order, Bejar and Collins championing the over-the-top madcappery. "John is in his 50s, and I'm almost there, but we used to go to clubs," Bejar laughs. "Our version may have been punk clubs, but our touchstones for the album were more true to disco."
Bejar and Collins conducted their questing in the height of isolation, Collins on the remote Galiano Island and Bejar in nearby Vancouver, sending ideas back and forth when restrictions didn't allow them to meet. "From the vocal manipulation to the layered electronics, making this record pushed us to a new place, and reaching that place felt stressful," Bejar recalls. "But I trust that that stress is a good feeling." That cuddly anxiety excels in tracks like "Eat the Wine, Drink the Bread," Joshua Wells' percussion and Collins' drum programming pushing Bejar's voice forward. "The whole world's a stage/ That I don't know/ I am going through," he sighs, before reaching the frustrated religious imagery of the title.
Lyrically, LABYRINTHITIS embraces a widescreen maximalism, blocks of text dotted with subversions and hedges. Building from the koans of Have We Met, Bejar continues to carve his words precisely, toying with expectations and staid symbols, while Collins' production reconstructs the pieces into a unified whole. "Even though everyone recorded in their own isolated corners, this is the most band record that we've done in the last few years," Bejar says. "Everything's manipulated, but the band is really present, and our plans wound up betrayed by what the tracks wanted. I've written 300, 400 songs in my adult life--I don't know how to do anything else--but this album feels like a breakthrough into new territory."
That unprepared synchronicity and mutual discovery shines brightest on "June," a six-and-a-half-minute track that features a blend of funk bass, fluttering synth, and charred poetry recitation. While Bejar initially envisioned LABYRINTHITIS as a straight dance record ("just like Donna Summer's greatest hits"), the end of "June" explodes that simplicity into a million shining pieces, finding joy in mutual discovery instead of isolated certainty. Bejar and Collins' initial jam expands until the edges of the universe run through their fingertips, the band members peeling off in cathartic helixes. While the album's songs may have been patched together like a mosaic of enigmatic ideas, the band rolls the entire Destroyer universe together--abstruse celestial waves unified despite the players' physical time apart.
LABYRINTHITIS closes on "The Last Song," Bejar singing and strumming all alone, a gentle yet no more settled exodus out of the fractured dance party. "I try and sneak in sweet moments where I can," Bejar laughs. After spending the record in the depths of the labyrinth, Destroyer step into the open air, overwhelmed by the burst of light surrounding them. "An explosion is worth a hundred million words/ But that is maybe too many words to say," Bejar repeats, the roiling electronics replaced with a single ringing guitar echoing into the night.
As LABYRINTHITIS closes, the reorienting vertigo lingers, its implacable aura and bewitching lyrics wriggling ever deeper into the mind.
read more
What is a "boogie"? In the common tongue, it's a dance or an occasion to dance, a song or a shindig, an incitement to move, quickly, whether it's on the floor or out of town, getting down or lying low. This being a Destroyer album and not the common tongue, the implications of a title like Dan's Boogie are at once more alluring and dangerous. "A boogie is a hustle, a scam that doesn't quite work, the moves we make when we're up against it," explains Dan Bejar. "I think of spy work, double agents, sleeping with one eye open, an eye on the exits. But I also think of petty street-level victories and losses and improv."
Dan's Boogie is a breakthrough album for Destroyer, both in the sense that it makes moves that no Destroyer album to this point has made, and in the sense that, to record it, Bejar had to burst through a series of intentional and unintentional barriers to write the songs. Initially challenging himself to not write songs so the ideas would well up inside of him until they breached containment, the months following the completion of LABYRINTHITIS turned into one year then two, at which point Bejar gave himself a New Year's resolution to play the piano every day for an hour. That lasted about four days, but the songs Bejar credits as coming from that resolution--"Cataract Time," "Hydroplaning Off the Edge of the World," "Bologna," and "Dan's Boogie" among them--are all-timer Destroyer songs across the vast spectrum Bejar and his collaborators have established for themselves: spectacle-laden pop epics, personal piano ballads, and smouldering works of mood that blur the lines between song and novel and cinema, each brimming with the urgency of a state secret in the mind of a tortured spy.
Lead single "Bologna" is the most radical frame for this energy, as it's the first time Bejar wrote a song where he imagined himself as a supporting character. Taking lead is Fiver's Simone Schmidt, whose voice--tough and expressive, piercing through the murk of the scene--is a siren's call that haunts the album. The gravity of their voice pulls Dan's Boogie into order around a sense of impending doom, the way a fatale's promise of the unusual and the ecstatic dooms the principal character of an erotic thriller.
"Hydroplaning Off the Edge of the World" is a delicious bit of contradiction, a peppy song that came out of the havoc Bejar was intentionally wreaking on himself--its holiday cheeriness making the angst of its lyrics go down smoothly until the song veers off the road. "We are now entering a new phase," Bejar intones, introducing layers of guitar and synthesizer that considerably darken the palette as he alternates between singing and speaking. The lyrics and vocals are improvised, invented as Bejar recorded the demo in his garage--a manic stream-of-consciousness and simultaneously exquisite display of his songwriting mastery.
Contradiction informs much of Dan's Boogie, the fog swirling around Bejar illuminated by the friction between competing truths and tastes, as when his interest in jazzy ballads runs aground on producer and bassist John Collins' interest in bands like Led Zeppelin and Scritti Politti. When Bejar told Collins that he was thinking of Sammy Davis Jr., the title track bloomed into being, Bejar adopting a Rat Pack swagger with almost delusional glee against a dreamy soundscape of soaring guitars, lush horns, jazz drumming, spaced-out synths, and, perhaps truest to how Bejar sees himself, plinking lounge piano.
In terms of shaping sound, the centerpiece of Dan's Boogie may be "Cataract Time," an eight-minute epic that ranks as some of the heaviest lyrics Bejar has ever written, and one of Destroyer's most musically intricate compositions. Borne aloft on an easygoing groove, Bejar's lyrics--"a reckoning, a dressing down" as he describes them--are transfigured, their melancholy tasting almost counterintuitively like hope. It's an intimate song that puts away Destroyer's usual urban fable milieu in exchange for bracing interiority, but its lilting groove can see a future, one that Bejar and his band are eager to meet.
It is, to use Bejar's phrase, the kind of song you make when you're up against it, when it seems as if the world is crashing down upon you. And therein lies the album's most radical shift: Where previous Destroyer albums were locked in combat with the world, Dan's Boogie dances with it, its nine reveries coalescing into one long hustle. Dan Bejar's eye may be on the exits, but he's not leaving anytime soon.
~~~
Destroyer's latest album, LABYRINTHITIS, brims with mystic and intoxicating terrain, the threads of Dan Bejar's notes woven through by a trove of allusions at once eerily familiar and intimately perplexing. The record circuitously draws ever inward, each turn offering giddy surprise, anxious esoterica, and thumping emotionality at equal odds. "Do you remember the mythic beast?" Bejar asks at the outset of "Tintoretto, It's for You," the album's first single, casting torchlight over the labyrinth's corridors. "Tintoretto, it's for you/ The ceiling's on fire and the contract is binding." Delivered in a Marlene Dietrich smolder, Bejar's lyrical menace seeps like smoke through the brazen march's woozy synths and dizzied guitar. "There's some character here that feels new to me, a low drawl, an evening gown draped over a piano," Bejar says of the song. Throughout,
LABYRINTHITIS insists that everything's not all right, but that even isolation and dissolution can be a source of joy-- stepping into the sunlight at the other end of the maze in your ear, Bejar strolling alongside like a wild-maned, leisure-suited minotaur.
More than an arcane puzzle for the listener, LABYRINTHITIS warps and winds through unfamiliar territory for Bejar as well. Written largely in 2020 and recorded the following spring, the album most often finds Bejar and frequent collaborator John Collins seeking the mythic artifacts buried somewhere under the dance floor, from the glitzy spiral of "It Takes a Thief" to the Books-ian collage bliss of the titletrack. Initial song ideas ventured forth from disco, Art of Noise, and New Order, Bejar and Collins championing the over-the-top madcappery. "John is in his 50s, and I'm almost there, but we used to go to clubs," Bejar laughs. "Our version may have been punk clubs, but our touchstones for the album were more true to disco."
Bejar and Collins conducted their questing in the height of isolation, Collins on the remote Galiano Island and Bejar in nearby Vancouver, sending ideas back and forth when restrictions didn't allow them to meet. "From the vocal manipulation to the layered electronics, making this record pushed us to a new place, and reaching that place felt stressful," Bejar recalls. "But I trust that that stress is a good feeling." That cuddly anxiety excels in tracks like "Eat the Wine, Drink the Bread," Joshua Wells' percussion and Collins' drum programming pushing Bejar's voice forward. "The whole world's a stage/ That I don't know/ I am going through," he sighs, before reaching the frustrated religious imagery of the title.
Lyrically, LABYRINTHITIS embraces a widescreen maximalism, blocks of text dotted with subversions and hedges. Building from the koans of Have We Met, Bejar continues to carve his words precisely, toying with expectations and staid symbols, while Collins' production reconstructs the pieces into a unified whole. "Even though everyone recorded in their own isolated corners, this is the most band record that we've done in the last few years," Bejar says. "Everything's manipulated, but the band is really present, and our plans wound up betrayed by what the tracks wanted. I've written 300, 400 songs in my adult life--I don't know how to do anything else--but this album feels like a breakthrough into new territory."
That unprepared synchronicity and mutual discovery shines brightest on "June," a six-and-a-half-minute track that features a blend of funk bass, fluttering synth, and charred poetry recitation. While Bejar initially envisioned LABYRINTHITIS as a straight dance record ("just like Donna Summer's greatest hits"), the end of "June" explodes that simplicity into a million shining pieces, finding joy in mutual discovery instead of isolated certainty. Bejar and Collins' initial jam expands until the edges of the universe run through their fingertips, the band members peeling off in cathartic helixes. While the album's songs may have been patched together like a mosaic of enigmatic ideas, the band rolls the entire Destroyer universe together--abstruse celestial waves unified despite the players' physical time apart.
LABYRINTHITIS closes on "The Last Song," Bejar singing and strumming all alone, a gentle yet no more settled exodus out of the fractured dance party. "I try and sneak in sweet moments where I can," Bejar laughs. After spending the record in the depths of the labyrinth, Destroyer step into the open air, overwhelmed by the burst of light surrounding them. "An explosion is worth a hundred million words/ But that is maybe too many words to say," Bejar repeats, the roiling electronics replaced with a single ringing guitar echoing into the night.
As LABYRINTHITIS closes, the reorienting vertigo lingers, its implacable aura and bewitching lyrics wriggling ever deeper into the mind.
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August Hall
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420 Mason Street, San Francisco, CA 94102
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