![]() The aspects of this set of tracks that do function as entry points aren’t just well-lit paths and open doors. Gone is the mystery and effortlessness of songcraft (the following of structures and introduction of new musical parts relatively formulaic) or even trying to write a chorus that pops, the band urge the songs to come to you instead of the other way round, something difficult to do when the songs have nothing there to really stick. Myself In The Way puts the band in the neighbourhood of someone like Tame Impala rather than their emo counterparts (a move they’ve been seeking to make for a few years now), but instead of each song being a bold, sparkling statement in the way Kevin Parker would make, Turnover’s songs amble along, so chilled that the record often feels like a glorified jam session. For longtime listeners, it’ll be a welcome reminder of singer Getz’ improved mental state in terms of general outlook on things, but the way it’s delivered is, for now, the furthest removed from what Turnover used to be. Lyrics detailing depressive slumps and the helplessness that sits alongside seeing your loved ones watch you fall apart are replaced with mission statements of open-mindedness and self-betterment. The lyrical journey across Turnover’s discography has been on an increasingly more optimistic trajectory for years now, something Myself In The Way continues. Most notably above all else, it’s probably Turnover’s happiest record yet. At this point, it should be a given that with a new record, Turnover will have made drastic stylistic changes, which is the case with fifth album Myself In The Way. Its introduction of shoegaze and dreampop into the traditional emo framework also made Turnover a group of trailblazers setting themselves apart from their peers, a goal they have taken on and pushed further and further with each album, culminating in the soft and sweet Good Nature and chilled-bordering-on-lounge-act Altogether. ![]() A gorgeous, often heartbreaking chronicle of a transitional, reflective period in singer Austin Getz’ life, it never shies away from putting the darkest parts of our narrator’s life under the microscope. There’s an intimate echo around Getz’s voice as he sings over raw acoustic strums: “Now my weary eyes/Won’t stop glancing at the door/I can hear the sirens outside.” Stripping the song naked, if for only a few seconds, is the closest Turnover get to making us feel those same emotions, right in the moment with them.When it comes to filling in the Hall Of Fame of the most beloved emo albums of the last decade, Turnover’s Peripheral Vision is a total shoo-in. A lava lamp’s worth of wavy synth and viscous electric guitar make the music feel weightless, and by song’s end, the Pink Floyd melancholy fades into birdsong. Some lyrics are wistful nods to the region’s natural beauty, while others outline a loose narrative: “Moving as fast as when I was/Spending my time running/From the lawman,” Getz sings. “Mountains Made of Clouds” is an ode to Sebastopol, California, where Gerz lived for five years before recently moving away. The album’s most striking moment is also its most bizarre. Whether he’s detailing a partner’s facial expression after a quarrel or the way the floorboards shake during sex, Getz’s delivery is boring and stale. Love’s rapture is on full display on the lyrics sheet, but throughout Myself in the Way, the chemistry feels lab-sterilized. The lifeless attempt at Nile Rodgers-style guitar and the Muppet-esque synths do not add to his conviction. Yet he sounds eerily controlled, like a robot processing romantic pastiche. ![]() ![]() “When you’re wrapped around me in your warm embrace/How can I control myself?” Getz chirps on “Pleasures Galore,” his voice again veiled in Auto-Tune. The guest vocalists, particularly Temple of Angels’ Bre Morell’s soulful appearance in “Ain’t Love Heavy,” underline the odd sense of emotional detachment across the rest of the album. A guest appearance from Turnstile’s Brendan Yates, a performer who can deliver corpse-reviving vocals from a mid-air leap, surfaces in the outro almost like an afterthought. “I think I can do this forever, girl, if you will,” he sings awkwardly in Auto-Tune. Is it self-sabotage or fear of commitment that’s standing between him and the deepening relationship he describes as a “puzzle of dreams”? Unfortunately, this earnest line of questioning is watered down further by Tame Impala-lite instrumentation and Getz’s inability to sell his narrator as either determined or even fully willing to leap his emotional barricades. ![]() The title track offers the album’s guiding philosophy: “Can’t put myself in the way of love again,” Austin Getz proclaims. ![]()
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