album: Every Bad - Porridge Radio
words: Steven Spoerl
Porridge Radio’s Every Bad announces itself with no shortage of immediacy, pushing self-defeatism to the forefront by way of a telling, unnerving mantra: “I’m bored to death, let’s argue.” Three times the record’s opening line rings out, allowing “Born Confused” to establish Every Bad’s urgency as well as its desperation. “Born Confused” also has the crucial distinction of re-introducing Porridge Radio as a full band, expanding on what was previously guitarist/vocalist Dana Margolin’s solo project.
The move to full band territory pays immediate dividends. “Sweet,” which was gifted one of the most arresting music videos 2020 has had to offer, makes the benefits of that transformation remarkably clear. Tense and seething, “Sweet” frequently erupts into short bursts of a distorted wall-of-sound, creating the kind of massive backdrop that can only be conjured up by a newly galvanized band giving themselves over to attack mode. Marigold remains the unmoving center of the Porridge Radio tapestry, but the whole piece now sprawls out further, and to sharper edges.
While lesser songwriters may get caught up in the temptation of exploring the power of their new trappings, Marigold takes the inverse route and builds concise foundations that anchor Every Bad, even in its most unwieldy moments. Much of the record draws its white knuckle strength from repetition in its narratives: on the opener it’s “I’m bored to death, let’s argue” and “Thank you for making me happy,” on “Long” it’s “I’m wasting my life” backed by “I’m wasting your time” and “I’m glad it’s not me,” on “Sweet” it’s “I am charming, I am sweet and she will love me when she meets me,” on Circling it’s “everything’s fine,” and on “Lilac” it’s “I’m stuck,” each instance a piercing reminder of life’s casual brutality, the hilt of the knife driven further into some invisible armor.
More than the repetition, one thematic relationship defines Every Bad: the sea. References and allusions to the water and Margolin’s relationship to its unknowable vastness and power litter the record. “Nephews,” “Homecoming,” and, especially, “Circling” address it directly, while the impact can be felt in several of the song’s compositions. A peculiar ebb-and-flow on several tracks mirrors the motions of the tide, both when it’s calm and when it’s threatening.“Pop Song” and “Nephews” are among a small handful of tracks that boast an unavoidable unease that’s nearly enough to induce an empathetic form of seasickness. In terms of metaphorical choices to utilize in the pursuit of exploring anxiety, fear, depression, totality, and uncertainty, it’s hard to think of anything more suitable.
Musically, Every Bad generally falls somewhere in between the records PJ Harvey and Nick Cave were making when they were partnered, only aided by a British new wave bent that owes more to David Bowie and The Cure. “Give/Take” brings that extra dash of vibrancy to the forefront but it’s matched by Margolin’s sardonic deadpan, leaving it for the listener to determine whether the song’s intended to be ironic, sincere, or a bit of both. In acknowledging the flat circle of ingrained uncertainty without hesitance or reservation, Margolin finds an unlikely counter in the conviction that the act of creation necessitates.
On the album’s most climactic moment, Porridge Radio tilt forwards at full force, volume swelling towards necessary obliteration, barely containing a manic desperation that’s finally projected outward instead of inwards, and it serves as Every Bad’s emotional centerpiece. “I don’t want to get bitter, I want us to get better. I want us to be kinder to ourselves and to each other.” Margolin repeats that line for the final two minutes of change, letting the delivery grow increasingly frantic and the music around the refrain to match its wild-eyed pleading before the entire thing disintegrates and the titular flower is driven backwards from full bloom to expectant seedling.
Wisely, Porridge Radio elect to let that be their fire’s peak and spend Every Bad’s closing trio of tracks in epilogue mode. A calm falls on the proceedings and the embers still occasionally flare, threatening to set everything ablaze once more but a sense of restraint prevails, leading to some of Every Bad’s most experimental moments. “Circling” is a carnival-esque waltz that maximizes a circular narrative and a memorable organ figure, “(Something)” is largely comprised of drone patterns and digital vocal effects, and “Homecoming Song” is a grim march that calls back and corrects some despairing declarations made in “Pop Song” before hanging onto Margolin’s final, bruising mantra: “there’s nothing inside.” A sliver of hope creeps through the very end, with three utterances of “I’m coming home,” matching the opening trio of “I’m bored to death, let’s argue,” and creating an incredibly powerful and ingeniously structured loop. I
n the end, Every Bad stands tall and defiant as an astonishing statement on habit, especially in the face of chronic anxiety and self-destructive thinking patterns. There aren’t any easy answers to be found in perpetual unrest and Every Bad doesn’t offer any. What Porridge Radio provides instead is an empathetically structured window into a quiet, often unseeable torment, offering up a heart that’s irreparably scarred but still proudly beating. As a coming out party, Every Bad is a show of resilience and bravery. On its own merit? It’s a masterpiece.