by David Wilikofsky
Last Tuesday, Regal Cinemas announced that they would close down all their locations in the United States. While this is clearly the correct decision from a public health perspective (I mean seriously, when there is a global pandemic caused by an airborne pathogen the last place you want to be is a room with no windows, surrounded by strangers munching on popcorn) I can’t help but be a little bit sad. Regal was the only rodeo in town while I was growing up, so I have many fond memories of their sticky, popcorn strewn floors. At the beginning of every movie, they would show a short video of a roller coaster ride, mainly to convince you to head to the lobby and stock up on overpriced snacks before the film began. The whole thing was a bit ridiculous; you zoomed past overflowing bags of popcorn and boxes of candy, all of them inexplicably hovering over the void. At the same time, there was something a bit thrilling about the whole thing. There’s an undeniable build up as the coaster inches upwards before speed forward past all the concessions. It may have never actually got me out of my seat to pick up those snacks, but it certainly made an impression.
Eyeliner is the moniker of Luke Rowell, a New Zealand based artist most associated with vaporwave. The opening track of his latest effort, Drop Shadow, made me think about this video. Part of that is the nostalgic air of both his music and vaporwave as a whole; it brings to mind the clunky graphics and internet culture of a bygone era that happened to produce that video. But there’s also a sense of drama shared by the track and video. The first moments of album opener “Los Angeles” are all buildup, stabs of MIDI increasing in tempo and frequency. At some point you find yourself flying forward, buoyed by both effervescent melody and a driving bassline. It’s the soundtrack Regal Cinemas never knew they needed.
Drop Shadow bears many hallmarks of vaporwave; you have the smooth jazz and easy listening references and the evocation of that synthetic internet alternate reality. But working in this mode Rowell manages to make that music feel rooted physically and emotionally in the real world. It’s most explicit on a track like “Keep Calm”, which opens with bird chirps. The electronics initially echo the spirit of those calls, lightly and melodiously asserting themselves. As the track progresses the synthesizers get bigger and bigger, cascading over one another in a cacophony of sound. The synths part to leave only the sound of the tide moving in and out. The choice to bookend the tracks with these two samples recontextualizes the artificial, making it sound more natural. Another less explicit way in which Rowell explores this dichotomy is through nods to dance music; “Drop Shadow” features a prominent funky baseline while its sibling “Drop Shadow II” is a twisted house jam. Both are deeply physical tracks that will make you want to get out of your chair. Even on sound experiments like “American Beach”, the titles give what otherwise might feel abstract a grounding in our world.
There’s a lot to love here. It’s an album full of contradictions: nostalgic and forward looking, poppy and experimental, artificial and emotional. Rowell has stated that some of the tracks explore loss and caring for a sick loved one, but it’s never music that feels particularly heavy. While there is a somberness to some tracks, there’s always some sparkle of joy there; even a melancholic track like “Promise” is centered on an ebulliently epic MIDI solo that can’t help but bring a smile to your face. It’s the perfect music to soundtrack anything: our past, present and future.