by David Wilikofsky
When Glass Beach were putting together their first album (the aptly named the first glass beach album), they were focused on only one thing: the music. In an interview from 2019, the band discuss how the whole album was a passion project; they never thought about what sounds might appeal to the widest audience, just what worked for them. That approach turned them into an underground sensation, building a dedicated following largely through word of mouth. Soon after, the pandemic hit and the band’s plans for their next album ground to a halt. Collaborating over Zoom and eventually moving into a house together, the group have spent the past four years tirelessly iterating on the songs that make up their sophomore album, plastic death. It’s a clear step forward for the band, their tightest and most nuanced set of songs to date.
plastic death marks a sonic evolution for Glass Beach. Though the band maintain the same approach to genre-hopping experimentation, mixing and matching sounds with abandon, this is the most refined their collage approach has ever sounded. “slip under the door” transitions seamlessly from thrashing riffs to delicate electronic rock; the nearly ten minute “comatose” is as ambitious as you might expect, covering everything from upbeat emo melodies to buzzing soundscapes. Close listening reveals additional layers: a hushed conversation here, electronic detritus or chirping birds there. As a whole, it feels seamless; I often felt the whiplash of stylistic shifts on the first glass beach album, but these songs feel like puzzle pieces falling naturally into place.
The band’s lyrics have also become less narrative and more abstract. The band have stated that they tried to “subtract everything but the emotion” from their songs, and what you get here is more evocative than anything else. My experience has been that different words and phrases jump out on each listen. One time I was stuck by the claustrophobic, apocalyptic visions of “slip under the door”; another it was the nightmare-esque hallucinations of closer “abyss angel” (which include “burning meat” and “blood in the trees”). They’re lyrics that elude easy explanation yet hit harder because of it. plastic death is a technicolor dystopia, one filled with hexadecimal hues, CAPTCHA tests, munitions stockpiles and much more.
It’s often hard for bands to follow up a beloved debut album. The second time around expectations are sky-high and fans may have preconceived notions about what the record should be. What Glass Beach offer here doesn’t fall into any of the common traps; it’s not simply a retread of their debut, nor is it such a radical departure that they become unrecognizable. Those who enjoyed the first glass beach album will find a lot to like here (it shares it predecessor’s ambition and adventurousness), but it’s a clear step up from what proceeded it. This is the band’s OK Computer or Kid A moment (and, uncoincidentally, I hear echoes of the latter all over the album); it’s the first great rock album of 2024, one that will continue to reveal itself for years to come.