Cloud Nothings: Here and Nowhere Else (Carpark/Mom + Pop) Review | Under the Radar Magazine Under the Radar | Music Blog for the Indie Music Magazine
Tuesday, July 23rd, 2024  

Cloud Nothings

Here and Nowhere Else

Carpark/Mom + Pop

Apr 03, 2014 Cloud Nothings Bookmark and Share

Cleveland’s Cloud Nothings return, following up the Steve Albini-produced Attack on Memory with a John Congleton-produced Here and Nowhere Else. Which is to say another recordist with a penchant for room mics and capturing sheer loudnessappropriate with this batch of tunes. It’s markedly more frantic and reckless than the deliberate, measured anger and restraint of its predecessor. In press materials, frontfellow Dylan Baldi has copped to simply feelin’ good, and injecting that spiritwith a raw and wild edge, of courseinto this album.

Baldi, in his newfound happy-swagger, maintains (and maybe elevates) his talent for brash, snotty melodicism. “Just See Fear” is a welcome example, with an absolutely unstoppable chorus hook that echoes in your head long after each listen. Or reach for standout “Psychic Trauma,” which opens with a wonderful verse melody of fist-pumping, anthemic alienation before it explodes into its all-out bridge and chorus. These songs tend to speed up as they hit the choruses, with sudden tempo jumps and a just-barely-controlled propulsion. Torque is the wordthese gents are full of sudden horsepower, slamming it into a lower gear and flying right past you on some of these choruses, with Baldi going all sexually frustrated young Bob Mould on his guitar and drummer Jayson Gerycz just destroying, running off the rails. Gerycz’s drumming is worth special note here, and Congleton has aptly showcased it throughout (although it’s clear that all you gotta do is set up the mics with this beast).

Other hits continue to pick up that Hüsker Dü thread, like “No Thoughts” going after its own Land Speed Record, right down to the frank and emotive chorus lyrics: “You don’t really seem to care and I don’t even talk about it.” Or “Giving into Seeing,” with Gerycz’s rapid-fire, tom-heavy backbone and Baldi screaming his throat ragged. “Pattern Walks” marks the climax of all the speed and volume, the dense and raw production finally falling in on itself in a crescendoing mess of vocal delay, drum distortion, and other noise. Poor fucking microphones. Lucky us. (

Author rating: 7/10

Rate this album
Average reader rating: 9/10


Submit your comment

Name Required

Email Required, will not be published


Remember my personal information
Notify me of follow-up comments?

Please enter the word you see in the image below:

There are no comments for this entry yet.