A Sisyphean weight in living.
Following the thread of the eyes sink into the skull (2014), eponymous Peaer (2016) and A Healthy Earth (2019), the Brooklyn-based band comes back after seven years of studio work with Doppelgänger, a culmination of its previous works distilling all the right ideas.
Doppelgänger comes across as a classic bedroom indie rock listen. Clothed in pure instrumentals, the production is light, raw and hardware-forward – Doppelgänger is, for the most part, made to survive outside of the DAW, and thrive on the stage. Electric guitar, bass and acoustic drums dominate the wavelengths, while studio tricks remain sparse, limited in the latter part of the record to distorted, side-chained pads and voice effects. The structures are well established and follow a recurring recipe: softer, restrained intros, verse-to-chorus buildups, culminations in a heavier rock or distorted bridge and finally a retreat or collapse rather than a resolution. This amalgamation of classic rock and ominous ambient takes on alienation and malaise coalesces into a Radiohead-adjacent restraint and tension, and Salvia Plath-like looping and unease.
Thematically, Doppelgänger is a chasm that gradually swallows the audience in its existential angst. The production grows darker as the album progresses, though the early tracks feel lighter, almost joyful despite anxious undertones. The opening track “End of the World” is a textbook bedroom-rock template; quite conservative, it relies on familiar gestures – it sets a tone, but does not challenge it, which allows Peaer to play on the contrast between the sound and narration, as lyrically, the overarching themes of the record are already pervasive; self-doubt, over-analysis and ontological despair. “I don’t know where it starts, I don’t know where it ends,” “Am I truly safe? Am I really awake?” or “maybe I’ll make first place In this Sisyphean race” are sung over an upbeat tempo and major guitar chords in a paradox that colours the first half of the record.
Progressively, the rock ballads turn into complaints; “Part of the Problem” takes the second spot on the track list and consists of a guitar/voice intro, climaxing in a cinematic rattle that fills the second half of the song, introducing the drum and bass. “Just Because” follows and introduces the idea of recurring thoughts through its use of an ambient guitar riff looping throughout the piece. Scale escalations and the drum-heavy bridge render a haunting questioning of the fleeting, inconstant nature of life; “Do you miss the way it was? Did you change just because?”
“No More Today” and “Rose in My Teeth” form a turning point in the record’s emotional descent. The former commits fully to the ballad form, unfolding through sparse guitar and bass before gradually introducing percussion. Its catalogue of renunciations frames distraction as both coping mechanism and exhaustion, mirroring burnout through repetition rather than release. “Rose in My Teeth,” by contrast, leans into darker, more symbolic territory. Ambient guitar textures establish an ominous atmosphere, while the vocal delivery remains subdued, almost whispered, blurring confession and warning. The track’s distorted, drum-heavy outro feels earned, marking one of the album’s most effective moments of escalation through restraint.
“Button” and “IDWBWY” further narrow the album’s focus onto internal tension and fixation. “Button” is structured around an intrusive, sustained, distorted pad that hums throughout the track, exaggerated by sidechaining and producing a constant sense of unease. This oppressive texture contrasts sharply with a lighter, almost playful vocal delivery, evoking the cadence of a nursery rhyme and creating an unstable emotional register. “IDWBWY” strips the album’s anxieties down to their barest expression. Built almost entirely on repetition, it functions as a maxim of dependence and fear. Though its insistence exhorts immediacy, the song resists development, inviting suffering to remain suspended, unsolved – “I don’t want to go back there” repeated five times over, or “I don’t want to be without you” repeated six times over.
“Bad News” and “Future Me” function as a paired closing gesture, shifting the album from internal fixation toward temporal and emotional dislocation. “Bad News” is built on instability: reverb-drenched guitars closely shadow the vocal melody while a prominent bass line anchors an otherwise drifting structure. Midway through, distorted guitars performing a compelling solo rupture the ambient calm, briefly pulling the track into more familiar rock territory before receding again. These abrupt transitions suggest emotional stages rather than linear progression, reinforcing a sense of disorientation rather than release. “Future Me” extends this unease by stripping the production down to its most fragile elements. Acoustic guitar, bells and heavily reverberated vocals create spatial distance, as if the voice were coming from another room or another time. The repeated question, “have you given up on everything?” accumulates, becoming increasingly unsettling through insistence rather than intensity. The record ends abruptly midway through the sentence with the sound of a needle lifting off a spinning record, foregrounding the act of listening itself in a mise-en-abyme that denies any form of closure.
Taken as a whole, Doppelgänger favours coherence over reinvention, committing fully to its inward focus and palette. Through patience, repetition and careful control of dynamics, the record constructs a quietly immersive atmosphere that feels intentional and cohesive, allowing its emotional weight to emerge gradually rather than through spectacle.
Leave a Comment