The meaning in the noise
Formerly Teen Suicide, indie-rock band American Pleasure Club (APC) takes on a new sound in their March 29th release of Fucking Bliss. Written and recorded by musician Sam Ray, the album finds itself wedged between the crevices of musical experimentalism and noise.
American Pleasure Club’s musical evolution has steered more towards Sam Ray’s solo project Ricky Eat Acid and diverged farther from their origins. The 2018 albums A Whole Fucking Lifetime of This and Tour Tape contain familiar lo-fi love stories that are generally more accessible to an audience of alt-rock fans. APC’s Fucking Bliss stirs with sound vibrations too complex to comprehend.
By listening to Fucking Bliss, you consent to vulnerability and psychological distress. Sam Ray is your psychologist, and the music is your secret contract that binds your doctor-patient privilege. Fucking Bliss is like rehabilitation for the emotionally deranged, relieving you from a state of mental recklessness. A carbon copy of the collective conscious condensed into cuts on vinyl, and cuts on skin.
Barely audible lyrics in the intro track “the miserable vision” are layered over a backdrop of sonic waves of ambient noise. But at 2:11 the eerily serene track embodies its fitting title: screeching static TV accompanied by a backtrack of metal drum beats. The following track “what kind of love?” cuts in-and-out like an antenna receiver with no transmission signal. Melodies are stifled by amplified feedback, and the vocal track is buried so deep it’s barely there. Sifting through layers of noise texture in “hello grace” is an intangible feat, but a soft voice peeks through like a hint of hope. Fucking Bliss’s back and forth between chaos and calm is cautiously created by Sam Ray’s artistic vision.
The pixelated noise in “ban this book” feels like the soundtrack to an anxiety attack: the clutter of instruments resembling the clutter of thought. Lingering nervous energy takes form in shaking rhythms that boil over. Transitioning into a recovery period, “let it go out” seeps into the listener’s mind with innocuous intentions. The backtrack closes in like an inescapable shadow that trails behind you with remnants of your past mistakes and regrets. The most accessible song on Fucking Bliss “dragged around the lawn” paints an ethereal landscape for the conscience to explore on its own accord, as distorted vocals transcend through the airy atmosphere and guide the listener through a mental journey that continues through album closer “faith.”
Fucking Bliss is a tangible reflection of the reality that exists in our consciences. Sam Ray wants his listeners to hear him through the echoes of his convoluted mind and internal anxiety. Although maybe not the most radio-playable, Fucking Bliss holds its own among the Teen Suicide/AMC discography with its genuine musical intention.