Merchandise After The End

The musical route most post-punk acts take usually begins with artful spontaneity, possessing little refinement and technique in favor of jagged melodic fragments. Merchandise weren’t any different when they got their start, and it wasn’t until they released Children of Desire that they began to find their true identity, which quickly received high praise for its lawless treatment of coal-black synth pop. It was another nonconformist step forward for the Tampa foursome - not to mention a major treachery for those who had been following their beginnings as part of the local DIY hardcore scene - who willingly obscured any sense of tuneful clarity by drenching their sound with a thick and murky atmosphere. Any trace of lilt was sucked up in a formless void of lifeless dread, but within all that darkness laid a shimmering array of swelling melancholic guitars and anthemic climaxes. 

It’s understandable to assume that Merchandise would continue to approach any pop sensibilities with a backhanded endorsement. Being in a position where it could easily skew in any direction, the band teased both camps even further once they released their divisive EP Totale Night. Totale suffers from a lack of unity, and it becomes increasingly stifling with each listen - it features seven minute dirges that fail to harness any excitement, hanging onto limp hooks that quickly fizzle when they should absorb considering the heavy emphasis on repetition.  Regardless of the nebulous pop leanings, the one element that stood out in both Totale and Children was unquestionably the most evident - Carson Cox’s affected baritone croon. Cox carries their recordings with a romantic resonance reminiscent of eighties mope-rockers like Morrissey and Jim Kerr, sung with a genuine yearning that can be problematic when matched against their more belligerent moments. 

Cox’s voice is the vehicle for which Merchandise calibrate their sensibilities as songwriters, and in After The End, they take the opportunity to develop their ear for eighties balladry as far as it can go. It’d be a missed opportunity to not let it flourish, and it could be interpreted as cheap mockery and trite whimsy. This is a revisionist pop record through and through, and while there’s a very palpable eighties fetish at present, it’s one of the first that replicates its production quirks with an unabashed commitment to style, sophistication, and romance. There’s not one track that bursts at the seams with romantic hues, like in Green Lady, which sustains that unmistakable compressed drum sound coupled with gated reverb as Cox pleas, “I’m through with begging for approval/now I’m asking to be free”. It falls somewhere between the portentous exploits of Mike Rutherford combined with the dour delicacy of Tears for Fears; that towering outro at the end creates a sumptuously dramatic effect that’s surely studied, but evocative nonetheless. 

If Merchandise intend to sideline those who are more keen to their heavier past, then it’s a mighty clever and masterful ploy to provoke. The passionate bombast found throughout After The End can be looked upon as self-serving and almost inadmissible, but it’s in no means a tectonic shift from their usual output. One of the album’s strongest tracks, Enemy, starts with a thick, wobbling synth bass reminiscent of Missing Persons Destination Unknown until it kicks in with a series of adroit guitar accompaniments provided by David Vassalotti. Cox remains ambivalent about his romantic relationship, “What if I don’t want to pray to your God every day?/I just want to sing for myself this way”, and instead holds a seductive resistance over an amiable acoustic shuffle. Nothing about this track suggests subtlety, and it only turns even more cathartic in the track that follows it, the aptly-titled True Monument, which sports a finely crafted melody akin to Crowded House until it dials down the drama in the track’s closing seconds. It may seem as if they’re only aiming for these grand statements, reaching for emblematic, sublime instances of exalted purpose.

Perhaps the dissonant note that breaks the nostalgic undercurrent found within After The End is first single Little Killer, which fits more into the context of contemporary indie rock with its swooning guitar lead and driving rhythm section. Killer has a sheer power pop hook that goes back even a few years further from the era they so proudly appropriate, and possesses the kind of sharpened chorus that will bring them the attention of a whole new audience. Things quickly go back to a more alluring temperature, though, following a Smiths-ian constitution - especially in their Strangeways period - with the rather glib and clumsily written Looking Glass Waltz. Cox’s serenading delivery can occasionally transmit a mannered artifice, noticeable in the swaying, more contemplative tracks like the title track, further proof that Merchandise are a far more interesting band when they keep the songs busy regardless of their rhythmic pace.

It’s only appropriate that Merchandise look to Joshua Tree-levels of anthemic prowess for inspiration in the album's closer Exile and Ego, a quietly hypnotic number with a chiming synth drone that creates a mood of blissful stillness. After The End is a self-proclaimed pop record with lofty ambitions, after all, and their commitment to a broader aesthetic feels earned and vital. There is a pronounced transformation in both sound and vision, and the gawky eighties motif they specifically tackle hasn’t reached its saturation point yet. If anything, what makes After The End fascinating is how it embraces a period of music that has, in many ways, aged terribly without any preconceived notions. The idiosyncrasies inherent in their body of work are still there, and the oddball nature of their videos only reinforces that image. Merchandise can ape their influences rather shamelessly on occasion, though they’re so habituated to this pattern by now that it comes through them from the inside out. They progressively acclimate to new conditions, which makes their future even more uncertain - and very exciting to witness.