Just as importantly, Hartzman litters her lyrics with vivid scenes from the decaying American South, so that a Wednesday album becomes a parade of profound mundanities spiked with humble small-town thrills and startlingly bleak lows.Įach successive full-length has made me love them more. Wednesday’s admiration for Alternative Nation is as obvious as anyone’s, but crucially, their shoegaze squalls and dense, noise-fucked churn are seasoned with varying degrees of twang via Xandy Chelmis’ resplendent lap steel, Jake Lenderman’s smoking licks, and Karly Hartzman’s unmoored whining drawl. Emerging at a time when the full extent of many artists’ aesthetic is “I Love The ’90s,” the Asheville group spent the first few years of this decade injecting their throwback fuzz-rock with actual innovation and unmistakable personality. At this rate, Wednesday might end up as the greatest indie band of their generation.
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