Darn Felski - Arid Airs

I can't say for certain if my opinion of this album would be any different did I not know Darn Felski personally. I like to think that Darn Felski's (née Daren Sprawls) punk-rock stylings, wry and dry sense of humor, and mid-20s ennui would appeal to me even if I hadn't gone to college with the man and seen exactly where many of these personal flourishes stem from (and felt many of the same trials and pressures in my own life). Of course, I've been listening to Darn Felski for almost ten years now in the form of demos, EPs and G.O.O.D. Friday-esque recording sessions under many different monikers--including the overarching Ghost Island concept, which calls fellow musicians and friends out to the California/Arizona desert in a sort of cult-collective of freaky experimentation--so perhaps I'm biased. But I choose to believe that had I stumbled across this "debut" release all on my own, not knowing the man under the hat, I'd still be compelled to start a blog just like this one just to air my (very positive) opinion.

In a seemingly endless search for human connection, the persona of Darn Felski gets in fistfights (one-sided fistfights, and not in his favor, but still), moves back in with mom and dad, and more or less exclaims his own significance toward a dark and uncaring night sky. But whether imploring the listener to "speak to [him] like a human being" on "Let's Stay Quiet" or "call [him] up sometime" on "Introduction," there is a hard edge to this person, an unapologetic tendency to be unapologetic about who he is or his own shortcomings (of which he is the first to admit there are many). If you did end up speaking to him like a human being, he promises to listen, but he can't promise he'll care. The best reason he can give you for calling him up is that he'll ruin your life. He offers a bleak, fuck-the-world-we're-all-dying-anyway kind of excitement, punched up with grungy guitars and squelchy solos.

But after the initial indie rock earthquake (shades of Sparklehorse and Modest Mouse abound!) that are the first three tracks, the album (EP? LP? It feels too complete to be anything less than a fully formed record) shifts into Neil Young territory with the ballad "Sucker Boy," laying out all of the fears and insecurities, desires and fetishes that most folk not holding a guitar might keep to themselves. This moment of soul-baring gives way to the screechy verses of "Damage Done" and the sarcastic aggression of "Volveré ." "Volveré" serves as the thesis of the piece as a whole, with barely masked resentment toward hometowns and higher education ("Home / Sorry home / Care to look at my degree? / Paper proof that I ain't no dummy") echoing, amplifying the malaise of all 8 tracks before metaphorically killing everything and everyone, burning it all down in a wash of pure anger at the sheer stupidity of it all. And after tearing the system down (and a brief, ringing silence), there's a turn. Because while wallowing in despair can be an effective way to kill time, there's no good that comes of it; there can be no despair without the hope of something better.

"No Way Jose" takes that first hesitant step toward the lighter side, channeling the catchy repetition of Titus Andronicus and essentially refusing to take no for an answer. We can't be friends? No way Jose. This relationship isn't going to work? No way Jose. The hidden (or perhaps more accurately: postmodern) duality of the title is exactly the joke. And it's this deceptive positivity that carries us to the close: "Desperation Row." Being truly heartfelt while still being funny--and after so much sarcasm and defense mechanisms--is the real magic trick of "Desperation Row" and of Arid Airs as a whole. The final track is a picked-and-strummed number with hints of salvation through a higher power, which suggests Darn Felski may very well find peace by the end of it all as a choir of angels joins their voices to his on the very last note.

The hope underneath all of this self-loathing is that there's someone else out there who might be equally self-loathing--someone to support all the sagging parts of Darn's psyche, because he'll die doing the same for you. After all, aren't we all looking for someone to commiserate with?

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Available via Bandcamp or out of the back of truck somewhere between Los Angeles and Blythe, CA. For more from Felski and Friends, check out Ghost Island on Soundcloud.