If you didn’t have a chance to catch their blistering release show at the Empty Bottle, truly do grip the CD or vinyl. Sometimes, I think the trio often times find their evocative balance when they hit syncopated blowouts on “Idiot Bliss” or a propulsive steady thump on “Lie Design” hell, even the Louisville twanger, “Fear” sees Grant pulling out a swooning lap steel fit for the desert highway. There’s an abundance of strengths to this approach, as Luggage is able to provide ample room to stretch out the noise. Yet, those buzzsaw guitars and heavy feedback, gnarly, throbbing bass, hefty pulverizing drums, and monotone vocals evoking thousand-yard-stares are welcome in their viscerally affect.įor the resulting twenty minutes, the trio- Luca Cimarusti (drums), Michael John Grant (bass), and Vallera (guitar, piano, vocals)-stretch their perpetual sonic muscles, remapping an indie lineage that feels further drawn out of frame. On repeat listens, every track becomes its own little sonic nugget to latch onto. It parallels the concise DIY work ethic of a Touch & Go punk ripper. Now lyrically, it’s not about having an argument with god (Bedhead’s WhatFunLifeWas) or a relationship at its own emasculating impasse (Codeine’s Frigid Stars) Michael Vallera more or less conjures up an evocation of doomer sentiment. If the RIYL wasn’t enough, Bob “Rusty” Weston recorded and mastered the album in a single February day. Happiness’ approach to “the slow” has been touted as a “90s Chicago throwback,” which is not too far off in terms of general description of their approach to sludgy slowness. At this moment it's a sound that is viciously out-of-vogue on almost any major indie. More often than not, these are the types of albums that take stock of piercing details, contextualizing their own approaches to stillness out of regional quirks or genre codifiers. While they might end up tagged under the “slowcore” tag (‘tis true that speed was a secondary concern, if at all), it is shorthand that often misses the meticulous levels of thoughtfulness and delicacy brought to the table. They’re the kinds of acts I would have oozed over at the college station music desk. When Ryley Walker announced Happiness, he threw down a four-of-a-kind RIYL list composed of “Bastro, Bedhead, Codeine, and Bitch Magnet”. Luggage are one of the inaugural bands to pass through Husky Pants and their six track EP, Happiness, is a fairly nifty summation of an honest day’s batch of work. He’s warped the label into a showcase for the litany of magic coming out of Chicago’s various interconnected music scenes, going under the radar. In between releases of live recordings and his own solo material, Walker has found a curatorial (and CD-release driven) impulse. By Matty McPherson ( Walker’s Husky Pants Record Label has quickly outgrown its “fake imprint” era.
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