Home movies, whether they feature our own lives or the lives of others, rouse a blend of nostalgia and longing. There’s an acute sense of time passing, how we’re granted this handful of years before we too pass into the unknown. The infinite continuum is vividly conjured, as is the finite nature of a single life. We encounter the paradox of our existence: we’re brightly and importantly alive and yet, we’re destined for obscurity, inconsequence.
On his 2023 release, Heaven is a Junkyard, Trevor Powers, aka Youth Lagoon, included dashes of sampled audio (as in opening track, “Rabbit”), short excerpts that provided texture and context. But with his new album, Rarely Do I Dream, these samples appear more frequently and serve a more critical function. Mostly upbeat, they’re taken from videos made between 1989, when Powers was born, and 1993. They include scenes of children, including Powers, playing enthusiastically and confidently, and comments by parents who seem to be happily engaged with their parental routines.
This isn’t claire rousay’s randomization effect, a slacker-ish/tongue-in-cheek way to highlight how trivialities pervade and define our existence. Nor is Powers’ approach remotely reminiscent of Jonathan Caouette’s lo-fi and extraordinary documentary Tarnation, which explored the horror that can lurk behind smiley faces and euphonic voices. With Powers, it’s more a case of what you hear is what you get. These samples point to an ideal time (youth) that is in turn juxtaposed (via the songs) against the struggles of adult life, the realities of illness, death, worldly obligations, etc. – how a life “under the apple boughs” (to quote Dylan Thomas) inevitably gives way to a more complicated experience.
In terms of songcraft, Dream doesn’t include the mega-earworms of Junkyard, tracks such as “Idaho Alien” or the riveting “Prizefighter”; however, the album is unwaveringly alluring and possibly Powers’ most cohesive work to date. If Junkyard showed Powers making a consummate pop entrée (following his previous, more ambiently leaning work), Dream is more subdued, understated; and yet, there’s an irresistible charm here, a cogent melancholy that grips one throughout the sequence. “Neighborhood Scene”, for example, sets the stage, snappy drums and droney synths framing a suburban tableau, parents interacting with their kids. Powers’ song, however, is hushed, wistful, his vocal weathered, a bit pained. The contrast between yesteryears and the current-day is palpable. Much has happened since that video was made. People have died, illnesses have occurred, the paradoxes and contradictions of life have made themselves known.
“Speed Freak” is the album’s hit-aspirant track, a buzzy, riffy, beat-driven take. Lyrically, the piece moves between oblique death imagery (“Stray dog why did you come for me?”) and narrative fragments (“Do I tell Tom that I saw his dad / at the No Romance Bunny Ranch?”). “Football” touches on some of the atmospheric and melodic elements used on Junkyard, pointing to mainstream American life while taking a jab at religion (“Mary … would fuck the preacher if he only paid enough”). Woozy, country-inflected synth sounds are added intermittently (here and elsewhere), a subtle yet significant expansion of Powers’ tonal range.
“Seersucker” again unfurls with a Rockwellian sample, a father interacting with his children. The piece segues into luminous piano notes, country-tinged accents, and Powers’ resolute yet delicate vocal delivery. “We’re doing all right”, Powers sings, suggesting that on one hand, yes, life is happening, we’re managing, though on the other, we’re prey with no exit strategy, vulnerable to attacks from within and without: cells with sinister agendas, unpredictable circumstances, potential disasters that occasionally and ineluctably affect us and our loved ones. The piece speaks to the initiations that transpire throughout life, how we inevitably move from the relative Eden of an insulated backyard to a world in which “a wolf is in the shepherd’s pie”.
“Lucy Takes a Picture” contrasts staccato rhythms and diaphanous vocals. Powers reemploys some of the ambient leanings of his earlier work, particularly 2020’s Capricorn (released under his given name). There’s a distinct buoyancy to the track; and yet, there’s “morphine on the spoon”. With “My Beautiful Girl”, Powers speaks to the inevitability of conditioning (“You understand what to say”) and the way people endure despite the wounds they carry (“People live with scars I know”). “Canary” is a bewitching track replete with spacey atmospherics and Seussian accents. Powers again balances playfulness and a weightier realism.
While Rarely Do I Dream doubles down on the pop playbook used on Junkyard, and perhaps falls short of its predecessor in terms of “hit” tracks, the album represents a more mature development of Powers’ vision. The contrast between the idyllic states captured in the video samples and the more tragic imagery employed throughout the songs essentially frames the album as a meta-bildungsroman. Also, the absence of stadium-friendly hooks ironically better serves Powers’ contemplative approach. Junkyard reflected newfound pop enthusiasm; Rarely Do I Dream points more to the intersection of pop and mysticism. There’s less immediate hook appeal but more depth. These tracks brim with heartfelt sophistication and aesthetic refinement. The album is a resonant and crucial next step in Powers’ pop odyssey.
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