Review by Matt Miller
Mechanical grime, sour spittle, and a shot or two of something brooding coat the surprisingly fair skin that embraces Companion’s soul. A soul attempting to cauterize the massive hemorrhage left by many empty companions (wealth, power, beauty, ideals etc.) by tumbling through uncontrolled panic, emotional discontent, cold contemplation and lighthearted humor (among others) requires a good listener and a good friend. However, for many of us a companion offers objective support without the intimacy of friendship; a well-defined, one-dimensional, possibly temporary relationship free of dependence and possibly limited by time. You know…coworkers, peers, Tom Bombadil. Companionship often requires travel (between locations, through a task or idea, etc.), and through such travel, transforms into a more intimate relationship. Listeners will find Lye’s debut album aptly titled. Initially identifying with one or a few specific musical features or lyrical ideas, listeners may come to adore Companion for the way its systems connect and relate—how much it inspires, commiserates, criticizes and of course, how much it puts out.
With a delayed, but definitive step, Companion and its listeners move ahead with “Tell Me.” Forward-driven, the intro track’s rhythmic components don’t deviate too much from the movement. The guitar pieces flow with the rhythm, emphasizing some of the more concise lyrics on the album, separating briefly to accent the absence of vocals. “Tell Me” is not a terribly complicated song, but the simple structure may compel listeners to examine and reexamine the lyrics, namely the concepts of speaking and ‘being told’ that resonate throughout Companion.
Combining something familiar from the previous track with what listeners might call a more ‘natural’ component, “Antipathy” respectively begins with an intricate, yet slow electronic beat overlapped by simple acoustic guitar and brooding vocals. The chorus guitar drones, separating in a brief solo before the next verse. Unlike the intro verse, however, the vocals split, shrieking over singing in a dual verse, while the guitars continue to drone, heating the early gloom. “Antipathy” enunciates the opposition in a poignant conclusion as the repeated line “I’ve tried and tried and tried” splits against itself once more (sing v. scream), with the screams eventually transforming into “throw it all away!” The last thing listeners hear is a repackaged intro rhythm, replacing the acoustic guitar melody with a distorted electronic melody. Referring to the heavy-handed symbolism from the introductory paragraph, Companion seems to patch its skin at the price of its soul.
Kind of a depressing interpretation, but fortunately “Sucking the Dick of a Rich Man” offers a bit of relief, so to speak. If not for the simple fact that the first line listeners hear is a snotty delivery of the song title, it’s amusing for the crudely honest summary of social abuses of wealth, power and religion as well as its juxtaposition to the previous track. One instant, listeners “throw it all away,” and the next…? Well…you know.
Beneath the surface tension though exists a necessary cohesion with the rest of Companion. Lyrics are concise, with a repetition of the first two verses post-chorus similar to “Tell Me,” with more sizzle to the delivery of the third verse (first verse repeated), similar to “Antipathy.” The song is decidedly guitar-driven; considerable guitar movement within limited range confines frenzied screams in the final verses, effectively creating a claustrophobic mood, separating in the bridge sections to tease hopelessly imprisoned vocals, “you should have known...”
Just as the addition of guitarist James Toth in the previous track emphasized the guitar, rhythm rests firmly within the fingers of bassist Stephany Seki in her first appearance on Companion in the title track. The bass guitar commands the foreground moving the verses along, while guitars are virtually nonexistent in the verses, simple riffs in the chorus, and only leap into the foreground briefly before spinning out and skipping over the bass to integrate with the background once more.
In “Kiss Me,” Companion blows even more snot over special interests not completely covered by “Sucking the…(etc.),” while the following song uses a lens of simple riffs to focus wide-ranging vocals in possibly the most emotionally poignant song (and my personal favorite) “Teeth.” Its closing “No…No…No” leading into a crowd pleasing…
“OH NO!” As in “Oh no…freaking Brett is coming,” which is what you won’t hear your friend say in enough time to avoid spilling your Kamikaze as you turn from the bar to find yourself face-to-face with some maniac screaming, “OH NO!” By the way, if anyone does not remember the chorus after the first experience of this song, live or on disc, (s)he stinks…most likely with a head gone eighty-six. Companion offers “Oh No” as the perfect opportunity for listeners to let their hair down, and failing to have hair, do their best Cornholio impressions.
Again with the juxtaposition, “Threnody” follows in stark solemnity. In possibly the other most emotionally poignant facet of Companion, acoustic guitars drizzle behind lamenting vocals in the verses, erupting into an electric downpour over them in the chorus.
“Left or Right” is probably the most balanced song on the album, giving each instrument idiosyncrasies within a song that, as a whole, moves on a rail. Bass guitar keeps the rhythm but gains a lilt in the verses, while guitars match the rhythm early in verses and detach and slide over it. Drums keep the beat through a stumbling chorus, with convoluted cymbals dominating the verses.
Once again, bass guitar takes the responsibility of propulsion in a crisp “finale” with a train-like motion, wandering but on a familiar rail in the “finale.” A simple beat and almost ornamental use of guitar melodies create a crisp, clean backdrop for some of the better (i.e. more mom-friendly) singing on the album.
“You say it’s the end,” but Companion says you’re straight-up wrong. Now a friend, Companion rewards good listeners with a gift of…noise. A highly distorted cranky circus elephant, intercepted extraterrestrial communications, or straight up hanky panky. I don’t know, but whatever the 11th track is, it’s followed by more electronic/industrial/whatever-you-call-it mix of “Left or Right.”