by David Wilikofsky
On their 2018 debut album, Endless Scroll, Bodega cast themselves as both wry observers and victims of the modern condition; set against a wiry post punk backdrop, that set of songs waxed philosophical on everything from the tyranny of screens to ten dollar smoothies. Four years later, the band haven’t radically changed their formula. Though their follow up Broken Equipment is less obsessed with technology than its predecessor, it maintains the band’s keen senses of observation and humor while honing in on other targets.
Broken Equipment was purportedly inspired by a book club where the band members read and discussed philosophers. Late night debates transformed into a desire to interrogate their very existence and explore what makes them who they are; the subjects they explore to answer these questions (through a mix of satire and sincerity) are appropriately wide ranging. Some are societal: they discuss the commercial origins of their hometown and skewer the go-getter attitude. Others are existential crises, like the looming threat of apocalypse from climate change, and still others are interpersonal, relationships that left a deep impression or changed the course of their lives. As the band stretch themselves lyrically, you can also hear them experimenting with new musical ideas to match. The guitars on “Pillar On The Bridge of You” sound like they came from Low-era Bowie. “Doers” features stuttered sound effects more common in rap than rock. Parts of “C.I.R.P.” could easily be mistaken for a Fall track. While the bones of the musical accompaniment largely remain the same (driving, twitchy post punk), these one-off experiments keep things interesting and suggest future directions for the band.
The most affecting and interesting moment of the album come in its closing moments. “After Jane” explores lead singer Ben Hozie’s relationship with his mother, who struggled with addiction and passed away weeks before the band recorded Endless Scroll. He recounts memories of a Christmas Eve where his mother forgot his name and the walls he built up over the years to shield himself from hurt. He also talks about how, despite their rocky relationship, his mother informs everything he does and who he is as a person. He shares her “skeptical soul”; they both hate “bureaucrats, rules, and shame.” The song casts everything that came before it in a new light. Songs that might otherwise feel purely satirical (“Doers”) or on the nose (“NYC (Disambiguation)”) suddenly become personal; Hozie’s music provides him a connection to his mother, and exploring their shared tenets allows him to “channel her heart.” It’s this added emotional layer that transforms the album from merely enjoyable to essential; few albums manage to mix the topical and personal as successfully.