The influence that Alex G has had in shaping indie music today is undeniable, which, for any artist who is leaving/has ever left such a significant mark, is both a blessing and a curse — a curse of the inevitable, where the deterioration of the imagination prevails, letting way to countless clones and uninspired imitators emerge. Yet, there are those rare cases where bands, who, despite being so obviously inspired, still manage to find their own voice. Enter Australia’s Armlock, one of the few unmistakably-influenced acts that stand apart and transcend mimicry with something distinctly their own.
In fact, Armlock’s music operates on its own wavelength by the way it holds subtle dualities. The band suspend gracefully between the organic and the unnatural, the human and the alien — and while they don’t quite wear their humanity on their sleeve like an Alex G, their work scales the space between superficiality and humanness, rarely without distinction. As a result, the outfit’s sophomore effort, Seashell Angel Lucky Charm, conjures a chilling sense of artificiality that, paradoxically, pulses with life. Envision a robot dreaming — suppose a robot can dream in the first place — of what it means to feel, love, hurt, and cry and those emotions in between. This in-between is the uncanny space where both the real and the imagined converge, and they’ve invited us to entertain its intricacies.
There’s an undeniable plasticity to Armlock’s latest, as hues of trance and electronic aspirations hover in the backdrop like ghosts with a desire to fully materialize. And yet, even with the duo’s background in electronic music, particularly Lam’s work with electro-pop group Kllo and his solo project Nearly Oratorio, clearly present, rarely is there the use of synths and drum machines. The record’s mechanized spirit emits from the duo’s hankering for hypnotic precision and trance-like repetition of guitar, bass riffs, and vocal hooks, all of which serve as a sturdy thread to keep listeners tethered as they drift away into the contemplative whirr.
Lam’s vocals, often delivered in long, monotone stretches on tracks like “El Oh Vee Ee” and “Faith”, function as the album’s metronome. His languid voice provides a detached yet compelling force, anchoring listeners within the unrelenting melancholy that courses through Seashell Angel Lucky Charm; it’s quite the beautiful conundrum — comforting, I suppose — even as the duo’s front sounds to be wavering on the very feelings he’s singing about, grasping for sentience, attempting to remain present, only to quickly slip away as soon as the next song begins. Tension ensues.
Despite its light and airy presentation, subtle drama quietly emerges throughout Seashell Angel Lucky Charm. Blips of static, high-pitched backing voices that sound like those of robotic fairies (as heard on the title track), and electronic glitches cut in and out of consciousness — an intoxicated longing fills the air. These songs arrive like transmissions from a distant place, lending the album an unspoken tinge of tragedy, as if they exist lost and lonely, playing on repeat in a world that is not their own. This disconnect breeds a peaceful surrender, and a tragic acceptance of the end begins to take over: “Think I’ll need a miracle / Nervous and non-verbal / I burn for eternal,” Lam sings on “Fear”, before quietly retreating with the line, “I won’t be around / For the rest of the week,” on “Ice Cold”. A whisper of existential dread seeps through.
Seashell Angel Lucky Charm evokes feelings of detachment and unease with remarkable subtlety, leaving listeners to question what it means to feel — whether it’s an emotion we’re losing touch with or something elusive we’re gradually discovering. The album’s restrained textures — its static malfunctions and distant echoes — enhance this sense of alienation, giving the songs a lonely, lost quality — a quiet resignation in both sound and lyricism, mourning something that can never quite be reached or regained. Yet beneath this frigid exterior, the emotional depth of the record is undeniable.
Seashell Angel Lucky Charm is a precise and calculated release that taps into the anxieties of modernity where genuine human connection feels ever the more elusive. Armlock’s sound may be minimalist, but their emotional resonance is anything but. It leaves listeners in a haunted, reflective state that lingers far beyond the album’s brief 19-minute runtime. While the record passes quickly in real-time, the pained attempts toward sentience stretch out in languid, haunting strokes that leave a lasting impression.
