Better than you might Fink

Self-awareness and dissatisfaction flourish in Sean Henry’s latest album, Fink. He has figured out a way to make three-and-a-half minutes seem like a full conversation, or perhaps a therapy session. Through the thickets of the grungy, slapped-to-and-fro hi-hats and the drunkenly sung tunes lie honest lyrics that boast an admirable sense of confidence and willingness to share. Lonely musicians don’t always share their problems, but if they do, they tend to either passively avoid solutions or not be able to admit their flaws more than once. Timidity is not an obstacle for Henry, most of the time.

The album flows nicely, opening with “Imperfection.” The makeshift home studio fills the mind while Henry’s lyrical candor and soothing guitar strokes lead listeners into the rest of the album. It’s a strong start and a tune that impresses without being grandiose. Not only does the title, “Imperfection,” match the lyrics, it also sets up the rest of the project thematically, immediately carried through with “Hard Down,” a moment in the limelight for an angsty boy, expressing his emotions in a more raw, less controlled fashion than in the opener. This is what happens when a prospective prom date says no by shaking her head and walking briskly past while clutching her books extra tight. And the name of that girl might just be “Jessica,” considering the name-dropping in track three.

“Party Fiend” opens with some subtly wicked chords in the guitar and some stylistic nods to The Beatles and The Flaming Lips in its composition. The layered vocals are not quite in tune, but instead of coming off as rushed or haphazardly assembled, it shows true emotion, the reality that existence is “Imperfection.” A quite audible tipping of the hat is heard and seen. If it wasn’t clear before, it’s now noticeable that Henry wants to get better, while knowing that he is not the star of anyone’s envy—quite a different approach to excessive partying than heard in The Weeknd’s “Party Monster.”

Away from the party, he goes to a rural spot to focus on himself. “Those Imaginary” is a somewhat twisted look at this C-average character, one who has “Too many friends / Too many friends in his head.” Others call him lonely, but he wouldn’t consider himself so. Venturing further, “The Ants” introduces itself with Henry’s take on surf rock, only to morph into a joint that a theater person would string together at a kickback. The layered vocals seem particularly effective here, sounding like the backup singers in a musical joined in with unspoken ease, all in agreement with Henry and/or his character; whether or not is he alone with how he feels, he certainly doesn’t have to sing alone.

“Gum in Hair.” Who wants that? Honestly, no one. Henry created one of the best “f**k you” songs in recent times, without being as explicit as Cee-Lo Green or Lily Allen. The lyrics speak for themselves, but his “you-ripped-my-heart-out” delivery makes this song casually magnificent. To prove how little he cares, he mimics his own melodic line with a bunch of “la la la la’s” and layers folksy guitar over grungy cymbals; he may be dissatisfied and indecisive, but he knows for sure that he does not like this girl. Condolences to whomever is the subject of this diss track.

The shortest of the ten is the existential “Are We Alive?” Half-pondering, half hope—all of his problems wouldn’t be so bad if this was all a dream. Differently, it could be the impromptu jam session of some pre-Woodstock hippies. Henry feels more certain of his existence in “Virgo” but amidst all of the drugs and alcohol, he puffs out “I miss my dog, I miss my home.” Goosebumps, folks. Goosebumps.

Having woken up earlier than intended after one of his many nights of partying, Henry is caught up in his emotions—those sober and those not. He uses the title, “No More Feelings,” not as a statement of fact, but as his desire to feel less. A grumbly sound effect sends ripples down the spine as listeners hear him lay out his problems but not know how he should solve them. This one’s a trip. And to close, we find “Going Backwards,” a more profound track (in its overall packaging) that wraps the self-awareness bow tie around a guitar stroked gift that is this surprisingly good album. Fink may not be for everyone, but if seeing how far the emotional rubber band can be stretched is something on the bucket list, this one is worth a listen.