Music – listening to it, creating it, writing about it, or appreciating it in any way – breeds discovery, and vice versa. I think that’s why I continue to return to it. It’s like walking into a place of worship – a church, a mosque, or (in my case) a synagogue – and hearing the musical chanting of the leader’s voice. Some temples may feature the heart-stopping blare of the organ, the gentle twang of the piano or guitar, or – in certain evangelical halls – a full-fledged rock band busting out modern melodies of praise.
Either way, the musical element remains key to religion because it prompts self-reflection. Any fan of Sufjan Stevens might point to the singer-songwriter’s relationship with God as an inspiration for his music, even if his tunes aren’t implicitly religious. But the spiritual side of Sufjan shines on records like Carrie & Lowell and Come On Feel The Illinoise.
I would recommend, therefore, that any fan of Sufjan (or similar acts such as Elliott Smith and Bon Iver) take a listen to Laika Songs’ second album, I can feel an ending, out December 5th. It is the work of Brooklyn’s own Evan Brock, who says in the Bandcamp album description that “pockets of discovery and growth can appear behind the obscurity of frustration, leading to stretches of brilliance.” Brock ties his new record to this sentiment, citing how his moments of discovery led to the creation of I can feel an ending, and how the music continued the cycle.
The theme of discovery comes through from the beginning of the album. On “Visitor”, the first track, Brock repeats the phrase “I know better how I’m feeling” as the music grows and swells around him. Instruments and vocal swells from collaborators add themselves around his refrain. The repetition hints at the main theme of the canon of Laika Songs, which Brocks describes as “a project that has always been about learning and finding my way.” Every song, like every day, presents an opportunity to reveal another truth, whether it’s to an audience or just to himself.
“Look up and see the past/I want to know the future”, Brock sings on the second track, “Shaking”. This juxtaposition stems from Brock’s style of “lyrical slippage”, which he describes as a choice where “lines rub against one another unevenly.” Such contradictions create an ethereal space in which growth can occur, such as in “Turned Around”: “We were turned around, we saw sunlight/We’re jumping off, it’s not headfirst, we’re falling backwards.” In this chorus, there’s conflict, self-sacrifice, and a sense of letting go, but because the subject “we” is plural, it’s as if the song is saying, “If we’re going to give ourselves up to whatever happens, at least we’re doing it together, for better or for worse.”
Speaking of togetherness, Brock did not go into I can feel an ending alone. While he makes up most of the input on the record – contributing the words, main vocals, and most of the instruments – he also features a handful of fellow musicians, some of whom also performed on his first Laika Songs record, Slowly Spiraling Towards The Light. They include bassist Dominic Angelella, vocalists Chanele McGuinness and Heaven Schmitt, guitarists Kris Hayes and Meg Duffy, Joseph Shabason on woodwinds, violinist Abby Gundersen, and Dan Bailey on drums and percussion. Brock reached out to these musicians with his demos for the record, choosing to “let control fall to chance” and have his collaborators provide their own touch to the music, rather than dictate the exact way the songs should sound. Because of this, the songs on I can feel an ending feel organic, blooming from the space of possibility.
Other songs on I can feel an ending dwell in that space. “Arpeggiator” highlights nostalgia and the freedom of youth, while also breaking free from home. On the flip side, “High School” seems to mourn those who never left, whose promising childhoods turned into trapped adulthoods, “leaves in the pool” of a “vacant motel.” And between the songs of freedom and entrapment are those in which Brock describes seeking opportunity and the necessity of breaking free, despite the pains that might come with it (“Optimism Shame”, “The Plan”, “Press Coverage”).
The final two tracks on the album, “Sinking” and “I Get Lost”, explore the frustrations of self-discovery in different musical ways. “Sinking” describes the feeling of wanting forward motion, fearing rigor mortis otherwise, using any source possible to get a physical or mental rush (“Morning spent indoors/Someone else’s words trying to spark the lines in my brain”). Its slowed and relatively sparse instrumentation is opposite to “I Get Lost”, where the frustration manifests in the song’s build to a climax of fuzz. On that last track, Brock defines having to move forward with menial day-to-day tasks, such as paying the bills, while his body defies him and his mind fails at helping him find a new way forward.
And yet, he asks in “I Get Lost”: “If we start at the beginning, will we find a way?”
With every new song, Laika Songs’ I can feel an ending is a new opportunity for Brock – and for his listeners – to reflect on life, to ponder a new course of action, to ask their spirit where it’s gone, as with anything that aligns itself with an ending, a beginning – no matter how small – is always inherent. Thus, the cycle of self-discovery continues. And for anyone feeling like they need a moment to close the door, turn off the lights, and take a moment to reflect on the direction of their life, I can feel an ending is a wonderful soundtrack for that moment.
It may not have the answers, but Brock didn’t write the album to provide answers, as he doesn’t have them himself. He wrote it so that you might walk into the chapel with him – wherever that chapel might be – and wonder where you’ve gone and where you are, letting the next step come naturally afterward.
Written by Will Sisskind
