I had a bad week, and it definitely wouldn't be the first time I attempted to use my doldrums as a catalyst for an album review. I suppose this has to do with my insistence that an album review should be an imprint of you as a person in that moment while you listen to that music. It's not professional, but I'm not trying to be professional. I'm just trying to write something that can document my feelings in real time. I could like something more or less because of how I'm feeling that day. To pretend otherwise is disingenuous. An objective review is boring as shit. The best music critics put themselves into the review. Some of the best reviews I've ever read have had this underlying theme of "I do not feel like listening to and writing about music right now," because that colors the understanding of that music. It adds depth. I'm not just writing about my shitty week because I don't have anything else to say. The hope is that your understanding of me will improve your understanding of my opinion of this art that you are also engaging with.
I have a stomach bug that feels like a mild version of the vomit-inducing shitshow that I endured in Florida last April. Milder, but still somewhat debilitating, in that I'm very fatigued for no reason and every food I see makes my stomach turn sideways. It's possible that this physical ailment is a manifestation of the emotional turmoil that I've fallen into due to some poor leadership decisions and hell-deep morale at a never-worse job. It's funny how you can call out sick without actually being sick but then those days when you really can't call out sick out of a fear of it seeming like workplace politics posturing are the days when you're actually sick and you gotta tough it out. Sitting here at my desk, typing these words, listening to a good album, avoiding my lunch, avoiding people, struggling to stay awake. True, the sleepiness is probably from Pam's and my late-night sojourn in Willow's room, where she—the only one of us who didn't get that stomach bug in April and thus didn't really have a chance to get used to it before it hit again this week—decided to stand up and projectile vomit all over the floor and wooden dresser and walls and the entire length of hallway to the bathroom. I'm not upset about it. The gruesome scene will be forever burned into my brain, and it gets funnier in retrospect. I just think that it was a good representation of how things are going at the moment. Also, the basement has mysterious leaks—anyone know a good contractor?
But so about that good album. If it's a good album—which it is—in this particular context, then it's doing one of two things. It's either cutting through the noise to provide a counterpunch to the horrors endured, or it's providing a certain level of gentle comfort that is sorely needed while in the midst of one's troubles. I would classify Viv & Riley's Imaginary Friends as squarely of the latter variety. This is the comfort I needed this week.
The context is important in this case because, if the comfort was not needed, then maybe this album would be written more in the style of "this is good but derivative, and here is a list of bands that it sounds like," which is a style I've indulged in before, certainly, but I'm realizing now I've probably only indulged in it when life is good. When life is kicking my ass? Give me what I know. It's fine. It's a good thing. Give me comfort food. I appreciate it now more than ever.
It's actually kind of impressive how many different styles Viv & Riley are able to touch within the limited framework of "folk-ish, country-ish." Some songs sound like Big Thief or Ratboys, mostly in the way that a lot of indie rock has a sort of twang-like edge to it now. I'll listen to a song that sounds like Kacey Musgraves, but another song will sound like boygenius, and another song will have a sort of Real Estate-esque overlay to it, and another will go toward Bright Eyes or Field Medic or SUSTO. None of these artists are miles apart from each other, but all of them are distinct, and if Viv & Riley are emulating even some of them, then that means they are mixing up some cool sounds on their album. And they are all sounds like that I like, and so here we are, in a positive album review during a negative week.
The song that feels like the biggest outlier to me, even though maybe it shouldn't, is "Chance Creek," which is an instrumental emulating an Appalachian/bluegrass sound. It's the one song on here that snaps me to attention when it comes on, just because it's so lively and it's so different from anything else on this album. I honestly love this fucking song. I can't imagine that Viv & Riley are necessarily bringing anything new to this old-timey sound, but I don't think that's the point. It's leaning into a familiar sound, and in the way it becomes familiar and the way it comforts, it almost turns into something celebratory. Not that I'm in the mood to celebrate, but the sound of celebration was nice to hear.
I think about how bad my week was, and then I think about how Viv & Riley probably have bad weeks too, and how those feelings probably inspired some of their art. I get that on "Is It All Over," when Riley contemplates the idea of it getting so bad on Earth that we are forced to work manual labor on Mars (and hopefully grab a drink at the local Mars watering hole afterward). A song that delights in its specificity, but hits hard in its general theme of hopelessness, which feels right during this week. Like maybe it makes me feel less alone, I guess is what I'm trying to say. Or at the very least makes me push away those main-character-oh-woe-is-me emotions that stifle empathy and love. Everyone is hurting, and everyone is finding comfort here.
I'm less impressed musically with "The Blackest Crow," but even I can't deny that it's important in the grand scheme of things here. How we're talking about how we're all hurting in our own way, and this traditional Ozark song proves that this is how it's always been. Pain isn't new. Pain is the oldest thing that humans know. Like our ancestors before us, we must endure. And we will. Maybe the dull drone of "The Blackest Crow" is Viv & Riley finally overplaying their hand, but it's no matter. We get the point here.
The point is that there are albums that know how you're feeling and give you what you need in that moment. I needed comfort by way of empathy, and I think that Imaginary People did about as good a job as most could. It was a bad week. I'll have better weeks in the future. I'll have worse weeks too. As long as we have artists like Viv & Riley around, then I'll be fine, and I'll endure.
GRADE: 3.5 pukes out of 5
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