Words by Sean Moeller, Illustration by Johnnie Cluney, Recording engineered by Mike Gentry
These HRVRD songs have the makings of one of the letdowns that you cannot dodge. They are the remnants of too many nights with too few overarching, little beauties to hang anything on. They've all been built up or hyped into recognition. The buildings in these big cities were towering. The exhaust-filled, exhausting streets were loud. The bars were packed and the people were warm. The lights were hot, but participating only as much as they could project, only as far as they could spill. Everything was ready for something other than what happened to happen.
It's the anticipation that always trips us up. We should have learned by now that when we hope - when we take our big eyes with us - we're going to find that there are more gray linings than silver ones. It's the kind of gray that's like a cheap pewter and it will rub off onto your fingers and your clothing, staining with a sad dirtiness. It just annoys you, more than anything and then it's up to you to do with it what you can, with what energy is still available to you.
HRVRD, the Charlotte, North Carolina, band fronted by singer Jesse Clasen, reminds us of those tense vignettes that The Killers worked on their debut album, "Hot Fuss." There are all sorts of Mr. Brightsides throughout these songs of varying magnitudes. They are songs that produce quite a lot of hiss, quite a lot of emotional mess, quite a lot of quickened blood. These are the very real proceedings of what it means to expect a body to know better.