album: Titanic Planet - lowercase roses

words: sean fennell

Wow, I didn’t know this was coming. “Surprise!” the world seems to say. “I’m not all bad. A 70-degree day in late April, let’s see you complain now!” I have to give credit where credit is due. I have a to-do list, sure, but...screw it? I’m going for a walk, one of those meandering, no destination, deep breath kind of walks. I’m not the only one. Faces I vaguely recognize, many I don’t; a dozen or so teenagers at the park, basketball and flirting, toddlers screaming around the playground, constantly on the verge of tumbling, parents giving chase. The smell of omelettes and the ding of mimosas glasses escape from the insanely popular brunch spot around the corner. I slip on my headphones and out comes “Slush”, from lowercases rose’s new record, Titanic Planet, because of course it does, because it’s the song for this very moment, because it’s a tight, 2-minute hit right to my bloodstream, a perfect cocktail of Badly Drawn Boy style pop piano and Hovvdy’s inspired intimacy. I’m going to have to give this a few more repeats. 

Of course. Of freaking course. I knew it wouldn’t last. No walk, no sun, and don’t even get me started on that tacky brunch place. I don’t want to see any of it, any of them, not right now, not when I feel like this. I need something rough, something a little dirty. I need “Chillin (Out)”, that fuzzed-out, hazy, rainy night to “Slush’s” sunny morning. I need the longing, the guilt, the one where lines like “I’m happy to see you // in any capacity” have that sweet sadness you find on early David Bazan records or, apparently, present-day Matt Scheuermann records. 

But no, no, no. I can’t get stuck down there. I want it all, everything at once. Why not? What else have we got to do? Give it to me, whole and uncut, the whole spectrum, the guilt, the hope, everything, with no thought of what comes next. Put on “Borrowing Cars'' and leave me alone. Titanic Planet. Now this is the song that can really do that title justice; giant and hulking and so, so vulnerable. It’s got drama, regret, seismic riffs, hundred-mile high synths and a Jim-James sized chorus. I’m desperately sad and vaguely hopeful, I’m infinitesimal, I’m vital. This is the distillation of Titanic Planet, a record where I can ride highs and lows and everything in between, where shifts in tone and style never feel like cosplay. When I put on Titanic Planet I know I’m in good hands. I need that, now more than ever.