Album art by Michelle Carter
Style: progressive rock, post-hardcore, power pop (clean vocals)
Recommended for fans of: Thank You Scientist, Coheed and Cambria, Closure in Moscow, Rush
Country: United States (Rhode Island/Massachusetts)
Release date: 01 March 2024
The year, 2011. The place, Montclair, New Jersey. Thank You Scientist have just released The Perils of Time Travel, a fascinating debut EP that blended equal parts jazzy, sax-forward virtuosity and emotive, infectious power-pop melodies. We know that, in our timeline, the band would lean towards their jazz fusion influences more and more over the course of their career, with increasingly intricate instrumentals and songwriting that, while still melodic, grew more complex and less poppy with each album. But what if the timeline split? What if an alternate version of TYS instead kept their keyboardist, fired their horns, moved up the coast, and focused in on their natural knack for seamlessly folding tight, virtuosic musicianship into catchy, vaguely emo-tinged choruses? Well, “what if” no longer, because this alternate reality has crashed back into our own, in the form of the new self-titled from New England-based prog/pop/math/emo ensemble Professor Caffeine & the Insecurities.
At some point, I recall reading in a certain other blog about the “Rush quotient”, which is the degree to which a band balances memorable hooks and songcraft with interesting, progressive musical ideas, and Professor Caffeine scores so damn high on that metric they nearly break the curve. From the very start, opener “Brockton Panda” makes its intentions clear. A wall of feedback and power chords crashes into frontman Dan Smith’s keening tenor in an incredibly memorable cold open, with the band pulling out a few trickier, more syncopated riffs midway through to keep things interesting. But the real meat of the album is yet to come; while Smith’s voice continues to soar its way through one impossibly catchy, borderline saccharine chorus after another, to the point where I still hum bits of “Wolf Fang Fist!” or “Astronaut” to myself at random moments, there’s an ever-present undercurrent of wonderfully intricate musicianship that adds a delightful layer of spice. Nearly every song is chock-full of tricky little arpeggiated sonic delights shoved into every gap in its structure, like chocolate chips into a cookie. Sometimes it’s subtle, like Derek Tanch’s crazed piano runs embedded somewhat low in the mix on “The Spinz” or the surprisingly complex jazz harmonies that form the backbone of the sunny-sounding “Dope Shades”. Other times, it’s significantly more obvious, such as the explosive bursts of crunchy riffs and flurries of synth in “That’s a Chunky” or the absurdly noodly, yet somehow fitting, guitar leads from Anthony Puliafico that suffuse the choruses of “Make Like a Tree (And Leave)”.1 Every time listeners may, for even a second, be led astray by the band’s considerable power-pop prowess into forgetting that this is indeed a prog act, they’re struck with another intricate unison run, abrupt tempo shift, or even a full-on five minute instrumental workout in the form of the complex yet tight “Oat Roper”.
Still, that isn’t the only balancing act that Professor Caffeine pulls off with aplomb here; in addition to hooks versus complexity, this album also walks a tonal razor’s edge between light and darkness. Skeptical readers may have read some of the admittedly rather silly song titles above, alongside the somewhat quirky band name, and written them off as just a goofy comedy band. Rest assured, that is decidedly not the case here. Lyrically, many of the songs deal with rather depressing subject matter, such as life-threatening health issues (“The Spinz”) and a loved one’s opioid addiction (“Make Like a Tree (and Leave)”). A fair few definitely feel like they’re touching upon either a very rough breakup or the otherwise sudden absence of someone who was once close (“Brockton Panda”, “Dope Shades”, “Astronaut”, “That’s a Chunky”), and the resulting emotional devastation that leads to an inability to move on or open up. Thus, the frivolous, jokey titles and poppy, sing-along melodies feel more like a way to keep some distance, a bit of levity in an attempt to laugh off the ghosts that haunt the deepest corners of one’s psyche. The only exception is “Wolf Fang Fist!”, a light-hearted (if overdramatic) ode to a game of fetch with a dog, but here, too, there is contrast, with towering, gnarly odd-time riffs, abrupt blasts of dissonance, and out-of-nowhere Latin rhythms making that game of fetch sound like a battle for the fate of the universe. This constant game of tonal push and pull means that, when the music and lyrics fully align in purpose, it feels special. Take the soaringly melancholy ode to isolation “Astronaut”, whose immense final chorus fades into a lighters-in-the-air a cappella singalong with a pair of intertwining melodies. Or the way “Make Like A Tree” crashes out from its frenetic instrumental crescendo into a gorgeously soft piano-led bridge, growing to a set of increasingly anguished choruses as the speaker’s drug-addicted loved one is cut loose to meet their final fate.
Still, given the album’s unapologetic lean into both the bitter and the sweet, there are inevitably a couple sour notes as well. For example, ending “Brockton Panda” with a bunch of children screaming “WAKE UP EVERYBODY! IT’S TIME TO START THE RECORD!”, while an effective way to let us know that it is, indeed, time to start the record, comes off a bit obnoxious nonetheless. And though I, as an enjoyer of classic Rush and Coheed, am fine with frontmen who sound like they walked into the studio huffing a can or two of helium, some of Smith’s absolute highest notes do end up feeling a bit abrasive tonally. My biggest issue, though, comes with “Unreal Big Fish”, a relatively simple acoustic ditty at the album’s midpoint. While its “la-di-di-da” chorus is certainly catchy enough, and one could argue the album needed a “pure pop” song to balance out the outright prog of “Oat Roper”, it all feels a tad dull and hollow without the wild instrumental twists and proggy noodling that added so much flavor to the rest of the album. Lyrically, too, it feels out of place; it’s a takedown of a superficial, narcissistic individual whose namechecking of their “Instagram-perfect” image kinda feels like Steven Wilson singing about being “tired of Facebook”. Amidst all the other songs that expertly balance lighthearted fun with deep-seated melancholy, this manages neither, merely coming off as petty and a bit smug.
Take that one song out, though, and this is a near-perfect gem of a debut, one that blindsided me when I first stumbled across it in my Spotify recs midway through the year and hasn’t left rotation since. It’s fitting for an album this overstuffed with goodness that I still feel like there are bits I haven’t managed to praise yet- like Smith’s killer bass parts, many of which are intricate enough it’s a wonder he can sing and play them live, or the darkly beautiful closing ballad “Mr. Sleep”, or the production, or, or… But suffice it to say, Professor Caffeine have thoroughly impressed me here, and any fan of music that is unashamedly poppy yet still complex and powerfully emotional owes it to themselves to check it out as well. Whatever the Professor’s next creation may be, I anticipate it bringing many sleepless nights.
Recommended tracks: Wolf Fang Fist!, Astronaut, That’s a Chunky, Make Like a Tree (and Leave)
You may also like: Moron Police, Kyros, Elephant Planet, We broke the weather
Final verdict: 8/10
Related links: Bandcamp | Spotify | Facebook | Instagram
Professor Caffeine & the Insecurities is:
– Dan Smith (vocals, bass)
– Anthony Puliafico (guitars)
– Jay Driscoll (guitars)
– Derek Tanch (keyboards)
– Ken Dellot (drums)
