Those vocal harmonies are a much-needed respite on YELL AT CLOUD, as Plosivs pack the record with troubled thoughts and fears of inevitable tragedy. In “Storm Machine,” Crow rattles off the foreboding visions haunting his dreams: daylight freezing over, a shark twisting fishing line in its teeth like floss, and a broken storm machine bellowing “All is lost!” When the band stacks vocal harmonies threefold during the song’s final, repeated line—“Take a piece of you home!”—it verges on angelic. Resigned to the truth that surviving in any state, even battered or hopeless, is better than ceasing to exist at all, Crow sings with optimism—perhaps his most youthful attribute. While characters in these songs burn mattresses and huff at tombstones, Crow can’t help but offer them at least one reason to soldier onward. “Water starts to rise/Not like you’re surprised/Swept away there, anyway,” he pitches on “Falls Equivalency,” focusing not on the flood survivor’s bad luck, but their hardened exterior. As he sings elsewhere in the song, it all comes down to how you handle the ultimatum: “Let it breathe or let it die.”
That sentiment becomes a much-needed reminder throughout YELL AT CLOUD. As Plosivs start losing steam in the album’s final suite of “Destroyed by Touch” and “Vintage Dated,” settling on subpar hooks and tempos that don’t do them any favors, their resolve shifts into apathy. It’s as if the band snapped back to post-pandemic reality like the rest of us: what began with a renewed appreciation for human-to-human collaboration and the arts as a lifeline begins to falter under the weight of bleak headlines. At their best, Plosivs can document the gloom through their interwoven guitar parts and fend it off with their words—a welcome reminder of why Reis and Crow are still two of underground rock’s most favored songwriters.
