The story/concept behind the new Pierce Alexander project is an intriguing one.
Despite its title, “I Don’t Know How to Behave Online” is less a commentary on technological etiquette and more of an examination of the quiet things that no one ever knows. The issues that we carry inside and that lie beneath the surface of our presented exteriors. It delves into the private stories that we rarely share, broadcast, or indeed post about.
As the artist puts it: “I kept noticing the ways people curate their lives, even unintentionally…a lot of these songs came from moments where someone seemed fine from the outside, but the truth was more complicated”.
Somewhere between an EP and an album, the 7-track release (mini-album?) from Nashville-based musician Pierce Alexander – made in close collaboration with producer/engineer/songwriter Coco Camp – is a wealth of things then, sometimes all at once.
On the opening track – Stain – the music in the verses brings to mind The National and Bon Iver collaboration Weird Goodbyes – it must be the drum machine – and the shimmery, reverby guitar chords in the background feel like something lifted from Stranger On The Alps. The vocal is a lethargic, softly emo-tinged delivery – think Her Space Holiday, Only Son or perhaps a little bit like Nada Surf at their most subdued. Around halfway through, the tune picks up and becomes more indie-disco in its approach; it could almost be an off-cut from Digital Ash In A Digital Urn, such is the fusion of elements. As much as the artist has put a huge amount of thought and effort into the lyrical content, it’s the musicality that we find most striking.
Followed by the recent single Esmeralda, the tone is incredibly delicate. The instrumentation incorporates – interestingly – an I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning-style indie/folk-feel, whilst still holding on to certain aspects of the vibe of the first track. The resulting combination is an enchanting amalgamation of influences that instantly beguiles and comforts you with its familiarity, like a cosy cardigan from long ago that you forgot that you had. There’s also a touch of Grandaddy to the tender delivery here and maybe just a dash of I Am Kloot, or Phoenix gone (mostly) acoustic.
Colours has an almost bossa nova feel to it. There’s a straight-up warmth created by the acoustic instruments that we haven’t yet encountered, paired with the distinctive percussion, which gives this song a unique character that sets it apart from the rest of the release. A song about the life of a homeless street painter, it somehow manages to find beauty in – and almost romanticise – the sorry state of affairs (“summer days waiting by the overpass / beauty in the shadows cast / a stranger’s smile from across the street / the fleeting days retreat”). It’s a seemingly rather charming, albeit somewhat idyllic, take on a worldwide epidemic.
Dispel is almost funky as it starts, with the instrumentation sounding like Prince might’ve if he ever staged an MTV Unplugged concert; it has a choppy acoustic rhythm accompanied by some staccato plucking (or keys, perhaps?) that gives it a particularly percussive and expressive feel. Just before the chorus, there are some wonky electronic sounds introduced to the mix that give the song a bit of an abstract lean. It’s folk-pop, but not as you know it. With a tenderness that reminds us a little bit of the recently reviewed Vincent Yelle, the song builds in confidence and structure over its almost three and a half minute duration and features some lovely lyrical moments – “wander through the park / searching for meaning in the garden”. It’s an enjoyable melodic journey that leads to somewhere that feels vaguely like home.
Nothing Personal has a swagger and a coolness to it that is new to the record. There’s an icy undertone to the verses that feels like the antithesis of some of the moments that preceded it. It’s a bit of a yin to the album’s yin and a nice artistic deviation. The tight drums and bubbling electronic elements complement the airy vocals nicely, and the whole thing melds together like a lava lamp – the wax and the water – separate, but together, and beautiful and compelling in their contrast.
Picture Perfect is up next and is Alexander’s most popular song with over 10,000 Spotify streams at the time of writing. It’s not hard to see why. Neil Young or Ryan Adams-style acoustic guitars intermingle with a delicate piano part that seems to float around the listener, engulfing you in melody, emotion and sincerity. There’s also a touch of the songwriting of Ben Gibbard about it. The tone of voice feels like it was made to be paired with this instrumentation. A particular highlight is the introduction of strings (courtesy of Zoe Walker) towards the end. Lyrically, it carefully looks at the disparity between external sheen and internal anxiety, and it’s the most overt instance of the record’s theme – of the outside not matching the inside – that we’ve encountered.
Get Away begins with drums that remind us instantly of Sweater Weather by The Neighbourhood, but the vocal is as gentle as ever. “Everyone needs a space to get away sometimes”, Pierce sings shortly after noting how “ever since (he) was a child / people are reaching for the bottle / and for a moment I was too / drowning in my mind’s darkest room”. Pretty dark, but at the same time, unnaturally light. Again, the stings add a lovely dimension to the song. It would be good without them, but it makes it great. He may well have saved the best for last.
An exercise in earnestness and a poignant observational study, I Don’t Know How to Behave Online is a crucial document for the modern age and a record that, once heard, won’t soon be forgotten.
Written by Kinda Grizzly
