In his book of teachings Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind, the monk Shunryū Suzuki stresses the importance of open-mindedness, curiosity, and wonder, qualities that can over time become obscured by judgment, preferences, and limiting standards or criteria. In art, the so-called ‘return to basics’ is similarly designed to connect or reconnect one with inspiration or an essential creative process. By embracing a straightforward MO, one cuts through blocks, biases, and stylistic defaults, readopting a beginner’s sense of playfulness and awe.
The above seems relevant re: Iceage’s new album, For Love of Grace & the Hereafter. And yet, the Danish band’s return to basics isn’t necessarily a return to their basics. For Love’s instrumentation and mixes certainly depart from the complex arrangements and higher production values of recent work – 2018’s Beyondless and their last album, 2021’s Seek Shelter.
Iceage’s early releases, however – 2011’s New Brigade and 2013’s You’re Nothing – tilted toward sober hardcore, whereas For Love leans into a mischievous garage-y sound. Also, the band are older, and they’ve evolved considerably; i.e., the basics are one thing when you’re in your teens or early-20s elbowing for attention and quite another when you’re 30-something and six albums into your career.
In other words, there’s plenty of swagger here: choppy guitar strums, slappy drums, vocals that exude a take-it-or-fuck-off vibe. The band, however, can’t quite drop (nor should they) their honed affinity for dynamics and varying tones. Lyrically, Elias Rønnenfelt has long transitioned from nihilistic memes and overt ego posturing (the self-obsession integral to the punk stance) to oblique aphorisms and bird’s-eye observations. After all, he and other members of the band probably have homes, relationships, and/or kids. Life changes, and “attitude” is run through alternate filters, when you have money in the bank and people depend on you for encouragement, food, and a roof.
All this said, For Love is likely the band’s most relaxed and cathartic release. If in the past Iceage occasionally bordered on pretentiousness, here that’s largely gone. Opener “Ember” is more debut-era Strokes than a punk-hauteur blend of Black Flag and Joy Division. In fact, when you hear those Ramones-like riffs, effervescent drums, and Rønnenfelt bantering, “I love you in an ominous way”, you can’t help but flash back to the summer of Is This It. For a little while, rock was fun again. If there were problems or preoccupations, a fizzy rhythm and a catchy tune could banish them for a while.
On “Match Head Girl”, staccato chords complement Rønnenfelt’s drawly declarations. Still, the band manage to navigate a few soft-loud pivots and throw in a downright uplifting and mellifluous bridge. “Holy Water” is mostly janky, shoved forward by crisp drums and guitars that slightly lead the beat, while “True Blue” is built around a warbly, psychedelic roil, Rønnenfelt fusing shock-value antics and mock confessionalism when he slurs, “I am deranged, I am mentally ill”.
The jangly, somewhat frenetic “The Weak” reemploys the twang and rockabilly sounds of 2014’s Plowing into the Field of Love. When Rønnenfelt sings that “none of [his] troubles have gone away”, perhaps he means that the troubles have changed, even if the underlying causes of them (his persistent cravings and expectations) haven’t.
“No Fear” opens with an engaging juxtaposition between a Young Marble Giants-esque bass line and clean guitar runs that trendily cross roadhouse rock and studio country. Rønnenfelt is at once the intellectual slacker and the I-try-not-to-take-this-shit-too-seriously poet. “Tender Blades” is weightier a la recent work, but without abandoning For Love’s organic, live feel. On “Star”, Rønnenfelt offers his version of a love song (“Every inch of my earth and sky you can occupy”) while still exuding tension. Love isn’t the absence of conflict, he seems to suggest, but the willingness to not avoid it. A punchy bass and busy drums give the track a broader, expansive feel.
Following the elaborate approaches used on recent albums, Iceage tap into a rawer vitality that – over generations and in myriad ways – has prompted most of rock’s significant movements. For Love can be considered a “reset” album (rather than a “bridge” project). A soul cleanser. An aesthetic detox. In that surrender, that reopening to “beginner’s mind”, the band rediscover themselves, expanding their synergy, their revisionist leanings, and their distinct take on pop theater.
