After the crepuscular sprawl of the second side of Skunk, Patrick Holbrook’s second record as Well Yells, it was fair to wonder how much further down that semi-proverbial well Holbrook’s project could go. Having moved further into the shadows from the goth songcraft of debut Waves in the Woods to the almost inhuman climes of the end of Skunk, it wouldn’t have been impossible for any follow up to have pulled the same kind of manoeuvre Robert Hampson did going from Loop to the increasingly abstracted sounds of Main. But while the impressive We Mirror the Dead makes clear that the increased range and inscrutability of Skunk were valuable lessons (and now firmly parts of Holbrook’s repetoire), it also makes clear that this is where Well Yells brings that experience to bear on more conventionally darkwave tunes again.
While all three Well Yells records have followed roughly the same format, eight songs ranging from 32 to 37 minutes, clearly divided even in digital form into two sides (this time each side ending with one of two “Crying Ghost Dimension” instrumentals), and all three have clearly and happily occupied the same genre niche, so far the work of Well Yells is among other things proof of how much genuine variety you can create within those kinds of bounds. Foregrounding his drum machine and a higher vocal register, these are the Well Yells songs that are most straightforwardly aimed for the Goth Night dance floor, even as the strange, off-kilter ways each song (and Holbrook’s vocals) approach they can feel downright otherworldly as well. Whether it’s the distortion into squealing as the synthesizers overwhelm the track on the chorus of “Form” or somehow forbiddingly lilting “Orion,” these songs combine the dour catchiness of Holbrook’s inspirations with the increasingly far out muse he’s been chasing.
The result, even on less rhythmic tracks like the gracefully, eternally sinking “Illusion” and the gentle drones of the “Crying Ghost Dimension” interludes, make for another impressive progression in Well Yells’ work. Tipping slightly towards the slightly industrial/EBM side of the genre, We Mirror the Dead gains a kind of gloomy propulsion without losing any of the atmosphere or intensity of Holbrook’s prior work. It all comes together on the opening “Kill the King,” simultaneously one of the creepiest and one of the grooviest songs Well Yells has released. Three albums make for a pattern, not just a lucky coincidence; if any of the many things you might describe with “darkwave” are appealing to you, at this point anything Holbrook does as Well Yells is well worth a listen.
If, last time, Patrick Holbrook’s choice of band name made sense because his darkly reverbed songs conjured up the feeling of being projected down into the depths of an empty well, he’s made an interesting turn on Skunk. There’s a sometimes-playful sense here that Holbrook has withdrawn away from the (relatively) poppier aspects of his synth-heavy, absolutely goth sound; vocals are even more cloaked, choruses less immediately obvious, settings turned thicker and heavier. It feels distinctly like Holbrook and the listener have moved from projecting into the well to being down there in the pitch black, as if Skunk is now less that sound of what goes into the well than what’s managed to escape its gravitational pull.
Both albums are eight songs in about 36 minutes (or seven songs and a partially field-recorded outro), but here the separation between sides feels more pronounced, and not just because it’s noted on the cover/tape card. Side A follows Waves in the Woods in being clearly and unabashedly influenced by the classics (the Cure and Joy Division most clearly) whether it’s the funereal crawl of “Anniversary” or the distorted pulses Holbrook’s guitar and synth washes curl around on the title track. This side alone manages the impressive feat of making that first Well Yells record sound by comparison light and airy; there’s no way something as (relatively, very relatively) bright as the last album’s “Sun in Your Eyes” could survive down here.
Side B begins with a queasily wobbling instrumental called “Light” and only one of the four songs here will even have vocals. Most of the side is taken up by the penultimate, 9:31 spectral crawl of “Inanna”, Holbrook’s guitar unwinding endlessly over banked drones. For all the dense gravity of the songs on Skunk, “Inanna” is the event horizon, the sound of the camera pulling back and away from the rest of the scene on one endless, unbroken take. It ends with “Surface” and that song’s quieter drones end with the sound of loons and crickets, night in the woods, the title suggesting the verb rather than noun form.
The result is an album that, however brief, leaves a mark. Holbrook’s songwriting is just as strong here as before, but his turn towards the more abstract on the second half of Skunk pays off brilliantly, lending some dynamic variation while keeping the whole thing feeling tightly focused and cohesive. If this is the bottom of the well, it’s a surprisingly comfortable place to be.
THE ONLY THING THAT THE POP GIRL SAYS TO CASSIE IS HOW SHE KNOWS HOW CASSIE IS GOING TO DIE!!!! WELL I’M SURE CASSIE ALREADY KNOWS THAT SO CAN YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP TYSM.
If you were wondering why Patrick Holbrook chose Well Yells as the name for his solo darkwave project, just wait until he opens his mouth. He probably didn’t actually find a well to record from, but the almost sumptuous reverb adding an extra layer of stentorian bark to his deep, controlled voice certainly sounds like it could have come from the depths of one. And fittingly enough for these internal, quietly surreal songs, the name could also make you think of someone singing into that well, making these the sounds that only something down there in the dark get to hear.
The elements here are simple enough, restricted enough, and well-worn enough that the focus is going to be put squarely on how well Holbrook uses them; just careful electric guitar, drum machine programming, plenty of synthesizers and Holbrook’s voice. Over the course of these seven songs and the brief, field recorded coda of “The Way” (which could be a rusty old swingset on a windy day) he proves an agile and adept wielder of them, managing to evoke foreboding instead of pantomime scares, sorrow instead of glumness, the stateliness of ritual instead of overegged portentiousness; in short, pathos instead of bathos.
“Entropy and Thieves” begins the album gently, mostly just a showcase for the most overtly lovely synthesizer work on here and some of Holbrook’s best singing, as a single held guitar line slowly curls around the rest of the song like smoke. But it’s followed up with maybe the most overt song here, the syncopated stomp and doleful refrain of “Sun in Your Eyes”, almost sounding like a hybrid between the most and least pop sides of the Cure. The rest of Waves in the Wood colors in the areas between those two songs, albeit mostly in monochrome. Holbrook can pivot between sounding like a barely overheard, probably not that sinister liturgy on “Idium Atu Zed” to the slow-motion, post-Closer crawl of “Splinter” without it ever feeling like a stretch.
It should probably be admitted that the ferocious sonic and tonal focus of Well Yells is possibly as much drawback as it is selling point; that is, if you like this kind of sound at all, you probably really like it, and Waves in the Woods is a great example of it, as beautiful as an overcast sky. If you don’t like this kind of sound, though, it’s not as if Holbrook is about to bust out a sunny love song halfway through the album. But he never makes the dark sound boring (surprisingly easy to do, as plenty of young goths discover), partly because he never makes the mistake of treating it like it’s just negative or scary. Most of us, at one time or another, will spend some time in the well. It’s nice to having someone singing these songs at us when we do.
