The Weekly Coos

Time is an intriguing concept, especially in music, as you get winded break in between albums. For some, it might make sense, especially in the indie-sphere, since having a studio or funds for time is not everyone’s budget to have consistency with releases. But this idea becomes moot when you spin that new record, and the time between the past and now can get retroactively thrown away; that’s how I felt when I started playing The Beaches’s second album, Blame My Ex. Since Late Show, they’ve been predominantly quiet, dropping a few EPs in between to keep fans and listeners engaged and express growth – they do, specifically as they continue to add an alternative spin to Glam/Dance-Rock instrumentations, bringing forth potency in themes and performances, even when some of the writing can feel direct, the perspectives taken and how they deliver it is what drives it home even if it isn’t all creative. I enjoyed this much more than their last album, even during the weaker parts, which include some apropos instrumentations that get balanced out by the vocal performances.

From the jump, The Beaches brings intuitive layering that focuses on varying emotions instead of relaying the same harangue content as others. As they focus more on themselves, you can hear this ease from feeling free with their words, like “What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Paranoid,” which bandmate Jordan Miller described as an anxiety from loneliness. It’s expressive, specifically in the verses, which get grounded with its approach to relaying such emotions; they know we don’t need these ostensive narratives that want to world-build instead of telling you how it is. As sung by Jordan Miller, “I think I’m becoming some kind of validation fiend/Cut my hair ‘causе I needed a fix/Of an acquaintance’s compliments,” relaying that unease of feeling unsure about who you are when not with someone as consistently as one would be with their significant other. With how they get into these unique tangents, you’re feeling heard through the direct P2P relativity, and more so when you get into the nooks of each song and what The Beaches felt when making it.

In the following track, “Me & Me,” The Beaches continue to build upon these characterizations that are partial to the title, Blame My Ex, but. Bringing this sense of self and exploration creates quirky blocs to counteract expectancy. They’re defining character with an understanding of worth, whether it’s nervousness post-breakup in “What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Paranoid” or the resilience of feeling whole by yourself with “Me & Me,” it becomes a blend of some grounded writing and cheeky, more tongue-n-cheek, moments that relays what the band wants to vividly. It’s this unique blend that has us listening to the words and their emotional dexterity while still retaining a sense of self and writing with these serialized perspectives that you’re getting more and more out of the band, like how “Kismet” was written with an outlook relative to Romantic Comedies, and creating this fun meet-cute. It’s this beautiful contrast to the more sex-positive and less love-happy “My Body ft Your Lips;” it contains some of my favorite lines – Jordan Miller sings, “And call me Mandy/I’ll bring home the money/And you bring the drugs/Know you like to party/Like it’s 2001,” feeling engrained into similar vibes set by “1999” by Prince, even if the parallel aren’t so direct. It adds dimensions to the music.

The Beaches carries that tongue-n-cheek quirkiness a bit with songs like “Blame Brett,” “Everything Is Boring,” and “Shower Beer,” the latter of which beautifully expresses notions of FOMO, which can be all too real. As for the others, the former sees them singing about a person named Brett who jumped the gun too quickly with his emotions and made Jordan Miller uncomfortable; for her, it’s a song that apologizes to future partners for not being the most alert and loving person. Though a little silly, it’s a fun romp to open the album, like “Everything Is Boring,” where it speaks on individualism when focusing on interests – or as Kylie Miller put it, “And she’ll be like, ‘Oh my god, you guys are so boring, you have nothing to talk about—I don’t want to talk about TikTok anymore.’” The blend they bring to the two is full of color, even when it doesn’t all connect. More often than not, the fun romps were more highlights when compared to the more grounded track, the ballad-esque “If A Tree Falls.” Though these other songs are direct and austere, at least they are having fun, like the closing track, “Cigarette,” where the instrumentations and melodies collide beautifully.

When it comes to the production, the sound is crisp and clear, and this sly sensation you get when the instruments connect drives the impactful wedge that has the album flowing smoothly and tangentially. One major proponent is the blending of tone, written emotion, and overly catchy and hooking choruses. It isn’t always there, but the band tries to incorporate it subtly, like with the duet on “My Body ft Your Lips,” where the strings help emphasize the synergy between Jordan Miller and Nico Santino from Beach Weather, something of which the production faintly does with the other similar tempo, “If A Tree Falls.”  Much of what surrounds them is this energizing rhythmic force that can take simpler avenues to weave together, but the final outcome is listenable and fun. It’s what makes it an attractive choice to approach, especially for fans of the Alt-Rock subgenre and what it branches out to. Despite all this, I very much enjoyed this album, as I feel those who discover it, via here or online, will get something out of it. I know I did.