album: Survival — Wares
words: Sean Fennell
There’s an early moment during Wares’ newest album, Survival (out now via Mint Records) that tells you all you need to know about the kind of record you’re diving into. It lies in the empty space, the transition from the album opener “Hands, Skin”, an explosive, visceral account of assault, to the intimate, painful disconnect of “Tall Girl”. This moment is essential to Survival, setting it apart from other albums of its kind.
At its heart, this is a record about perspective, about a world of trauma and growth, darkness and hope, identity and community all seen through the eyes of songwriter Cassia Hardy. The fact of the matter is, I have very little experience with any of this. I am a Cisgender white male. I have not survived assault. I have not, as had Hardy, experienced the emotional intricacies of gender reaffirming surgery . The world tilts toward people like me. I am lucky. To say I will understand what any of this is like is patently disingenuous. A record can’t do that. I tend to believe nothing can. But what a record can do, what Survival does, is push you as close as possible to a place of undiluted empathy.
The brilliance lies in its ability to make its point of view plain, not as some shouted lesson, but an exercise in understanding. Where other records might tell you, Survival shows, a distinction that makes all the difference. Take “Tether”, a song whose opening line, “Come into the light” leads you up a set of spiral stairs with a scowl of determination, but only truly comes alive when things start to fray. Hardy is a brilliant vocalist, with full control of the range of emotions her voice is able to convey. “Tether” hinges on this control, the breakneck bend of resolution right there in the composition, her voice breaking from fragility to potent vulnerability just as the chorus swoops in with its indignant earnestness. “No, hold on, I’ll do you one better // just watch me claw it off // that toxic tether.” This isn't some diatribe on the faults of others, but someone genuinely grappling with the toxicity that can build up within and how liberating it can be to escape its grasp.
“Jenny Says,” finds the band taking a more restrained, acoustic approach with Hardy yanking back the reins on her vocals. Rather than hold the song back, it serves to highlight singular moments with clarity, with lines like “You stupid motherfuckers won’t ever see a goddamn cent,” galloping to the front, leaving an indelible mark upon an album full of these kinds of moments.
It is crucial, though, to recognize when a song's narrative will only take you so far. Survival has several moments of lyrical brilliance, where a cutting line is able to wrangle disparate feelings into something cohesive, but there are times when feeling, rather than specificity, comes to the forefront. A song like “Surrender Into Waiting Arms”, while having one of the record’s most ready-made choruses, is far more notable for its blistering coda, a three-minute surge of half-formed thoughts and ideas. While its swerving emotional submission can veer drastically, Hardy and company never lose control, able to convey total surrender in a way even the most succinct chorus cannot. “Complete Control” uses a different method, but finds similar success in its reliance on the ethereal. While far less chaotic than “Surrender Into Waiting Arms” it is no less emotive, using its exacting structure and athletic guitar work to aid in its riveting directness.
Whether handing out devastating one-liners or losing themselves in a rush of feeling, Wares’ skill is abundant. It’s rare for a record to handle both emotion and precision so deftly, but even more uncommon for these to come together in such an engaging, approachable way.