A Brand-New Venture Down No Normal Lane

Trevor Powers, otherwise known as Youth Lagoon, brings the junk to paradise with his latest release, seemingly making beautiful things from the previously dirty. The title he’s chosen is Heaven Is a Junkyard, and eventually he aptly sings that “it’s [his] home,” letting all listeners know that his poetry is lowly yet deeply compelling. Listeners must not neglect the emotional depth of this album, as it includes inches upon inches of intense subject material within each curve of every letter, a part of the words that soon become recognizable as Powers’ relatable yet distant lyrics. This work is his emotional montage of sorts and embodies the chaotically shifting forms of his wanderlust. 

Powers’ sounds have varied throughout the years. Now, he’s returned to channeling that Bob Dylan-esque vibe, while imbuing some of the ’80s pop energy into a few select tracks. After all, he’s a seasoned artist, building himself up, attempting to augment the allowance of his ambition in order to feel content with the inner workings of his cryptic psyche. Familiars are the invisible folks whom he’s looking to meet up with on Heaven Is a Junkyard and the repercussions are a calm, gentle, delicate representation of his turmoil. 

“Rabbit” seems to serve as Powers’ celebration of his individuality. Perhaps it’s an acceptance of his dire circumstances, or it could be a tug-of-war between him and the lingering child inside of him. Regardless, its synthesizers are consistent, as well as the percussion rumbling on the track; it’s characterized by his welcoming knack for storytelling. 

Already established because of the aforementioned track, the piano is a constant on Heaven Is a Junkyard. Calm is what the keys bring, so their over-and-over inclusion here is made all the more comforting, and they, thus, become heavenly, just as the chords which often accompany them do too. This album, because of its instrumentation, will surely be careful with its audience, remaining serene around whoever finds themselves a member of it.

“Lux Radio Theatre” puts all its reliance on it, in fact, and the effect is something similar to what’s found by users playing Minecraft for hours on end: endlessly tranquil key-clicking over the visuals of animated landscapes for the sake of the establishment of perpetual relaxation. The piano weaves tales of its own, showing Powers’ destruction while simultaneously revealing his innovation and it’s inviting listeners to follow along, so it’d be wise for all to RSVP. 

“Prizefighter” and “The Sling” provide a glimpse into the hardship of Powers’ life. They’re not entirely lamentable, but instead mostly reflective, certainly. Both highlight the imbalance of normalcy in his reality, the former even recounting the departure of someone close to him named Tommy. Considering that, it’s only fair that his sense of wonder is magnified here, as who wouldn’t feel nervous about the absence of one whose knuckles “could make the devil shy”? The latter is more visceral. There, Powers’ dreamy voice echoes through the chambers of an unseen theatre.

Lyrically, “Idaho Alien” and “Deep Red Sea” easily have to be the one-two punch of potent poetry here. Each of these tracks emphasize the bizarre nature of Powers’ mind. However, it’s valid to be curious regarding the question of whether they’re all indeed about his journey through modes of therapy in his pursuit to see some clarity. He really blends miscellaneous noises with genuine music on these tracks in particular, one includes the whooshing sound of an airplane soaring through the air while the other features an odd squeaking effect. Variety’s pretty, remember, but when does it get to be too much? There may not exactly be an answer for Powers, and that’s just alright. 

“Helicopter Toy” is the last of Heaven Is a Junkyard, and it’s no stranger to sounding different, since it literally possesses the loop of a barking puppy dog in its background. But what needs to be said about this album is that it’s not one corresponding with some other entity through a walkie-talkie. No. It is Powers’ own beast, his child and the madness present is mayhem galore, even though it’s still amazingly remarkable.