There exist some albums that resemble the season in which they’re released—Wild Nothing’s third studio album Life of Pause is one such album. Life of Pause tings and vibrates with the impending change in the weather, exhibiting harmonic crescendos that reflect winter’s transformation to spring. With recent thermometers hitting over 50 degrees Fahrenheit, I simply can’t wait to return to my night cycling while listening to oldies and fresh releases. It’s something I can only comfortably do once the temperature rises, and I was looking forward to doing so with Life of Pause prior to its release. I’m a big fan of musical experimentation. And though Life of Pause works on an individual song basis, it’s also a mixture of experimentation that doesn’t stray enough from its more noteworthy predecessors—for that I’m disappointed with Wild Nothing’s third showing.
Life of Pause is an album that sounds much like Jack Tatum’s past work: quick tempos, sonic textures, synth-heavy filters, and typical dream pop characteristics. This album also relies on Tatum’s soft melodic voice as much as ever, which is beautiful in its own right. Two major differences between this and previous releases stand out, however: the longer instrumental introductions, and Tatum’s vocal pauses. Lyrics such as, “The less you see is the less that you care on,” flows like summer warmth. Unlike Nocturne, Wild Nothing’s second studio album, it seems as if Tatum devotes more attention to the times when he isn’t singing. Tracks like “Whenever I” ask you to listen not simply to Tatum’s voice but also to the instruments that carry his voice. As much as I like this concept, it’s done only within individual songs and even then can be a tad rough—making for a series of songs that don’t seem instrumentally tied together. In the album’s opening track “Reichpop”, a hypnotic synth can cast you away into another world of calming solitude. I just wish that I could say that for the album as a whole. And as much as I love “Lady Blue,” one song can’t help the album’s lack of a collective unity.
Life of Pause begs the listener to fall into a dream, but it’s a bumpy one. Songs don’t fully flow with each other. The first time I heard Nocturne I was biking near midnight down Chicago’s beautiful Lake Shore Path. I fell in love with its hypnotism. But as much as I would love to recreate such experiences with Life on Pause, I don’t think I can. I’ll continue to have my midnight bike rides, listening to Wild Nothing—but I’ll stick to Nocturne, not Life of Pause.