The Pilgrims, “Kidding, But Seriously” | Album Review | Seven Days

(Own edition, digital)

It’s impossible not to respect What Doth Life. The people behind the Windsor-based collective do it all: run a record label, book shows and festivals, and direct their own videos. They’re a group of friends from the Upper Valley who create some of Vermont’s most distinctive music via a massive roster of incestuous bands. And it’s been a hell of a long time since we’ve heard from one of What Doth Life’s mainstays: Pilgrims.

I had to search the internet twice to make sure I hadn’t missed any LPs. Indeed, it had been seven years since this fat, brain-dead rock band released Lack of focushis third studio album. And his latest, jokingly titled I’m joking, but seriouslyis…whatever the sonic equivalent of a sight to behold is. It evokes intense, sometimes disturbing thoughts, feelings and memories. But the band grounds its darkness in musical lightness and lyrical silliness.

A lot can happen in seven years. Bassist Brendan Dangelo wrote in an email that the Pilgrims were close to breaking up—but didn’t—because “we really don’t take ourselves seriously enough to break up.” The show billed as the band’s final hurrah happened to be on April Fool’s Day this year. Wink, wink.

After Lack of focusthe band tried to “exploit the way music is consumed … and capture the short attention spans we all seem to have these days” by eschewing traditional albums, guitarist and self-proclaimed cyborg Kiel Alarcon explained in an email. (No kidding, very serious: A few years after suffering a spinal cord injury and frustrated by the assistive devices available, Alarcon designed his own robotic leg brace.)

A series of singles (and some awesome accompanying videos) helped the band keep the momentum going, but “it wasn’t very fulfilling for us as a band,” Alarcon continued. The guys really wanted that “sense of a big project.” And as pandemic restrictions eased, Pilgrims began rehearsing and combing through the material they’d archived during their hiatus.

Writing I’m joking, but seriously had its ups and downs. At times, Alarcon wrote, “too much time and freedom” led to frustration during the record’s production. He wanted the album to sound “like a real live band,” because adding overdubs and studio magic can take the sound even further away. But the end result achieves the loose, humanistic feel he was going for.

Pilgrims work collectively and independently, working together on the structure of a song, leaving the details up to each instrumentalist. Alarcon said the band’s singer/lyricist, Chris “Rosie” Rosenquist, had a particular hard time articulating his thoughts, so his bandmates brought him some rough melodies that he eventually reworked.

Disarming, giggle-inducing and sometimes nauseating melodies I’m joking, but seriously balance precision with the expected feeling that almost anything could happen. Dangelo’s bass is agile and rubbery. Davis McGraw’s keyboards bounce with verve and panache. Drummer Chris Egner ranges from meticulous and restrained to monstrously powerful. When he’s not playing, Alarcon shakes up the sound with an electrifying saxophone. And it all comes together under Rosie’s raspy, defiant howl.

The singer has a loose, improvisational quality, as if he were speaking his thoughts as fast as they came to him. He spouts out bon mots in bursts, then hammers the phrases into his head in wild wails.

“Take me to the hospital / I might die soon / well / I’m sliding / I’m sliding / across the floor / pressure pressure / I needed a hospital!” he screams at the climax of opener “Hot Spittle,” the group’s tight, syncopated instrumentation bursting into a raging fire around the singer’s urgent declaration.

“Bustanova” is a rousing, lightly jazzy track. The title, a play on words, suggests a mutation of the genre, and the organ-assisted groove works well here, stumbling into a frenzy of cymbal and saxophone.

Insecurity and isolation seem to be the themes running through the song. Amidst the non sequiturs and Lomographic flashbacks, Rosie’s insecurities emerge: “I feel like everyone’s out to get me” (“Garfield”); “You didn’t even invite me to the party” (“Jacket”); “I was so lonely and sweaty” (“Test Pressing”).

“Teeth” is one of the album’s most intense tracks. Guitars growl and snarl, drums and cymbals crackle and hiss, and the bass buzzes beneath sharp, unstable proclamations: “Call the cops/I just found a whole head in the plant.”

The penultimate song, “Floater,” is dazzling, a muscular foundation of bass and drums carrying a midtempo jam that expands with cosmic resonance. “This is the age of everything,” Rosie sings, sounding vaguely hopeful.

But nothing quite compares to the unfiltered ramblings of “Best Friend.” Slowly building musical intensity with fuzzy guitars and subdued rhythms, the track features some of the album’s most stunning lyrics. As if unburdening herself, Rosie plows through, looking back at the tipping point of adolescence, innocence colliding with disappointment. Here are some highlights:

You looked at me and said, “My dad has a ton of porn and he hides it in the kitchen.” And I remember how weird your kitchen was. There used to be all these weird things on the counters in little jars. And your dad always looked like he just finished fucking something…

You were a good friend to me. We lifted our arms to see the maturation…

And you cried when we pranked that woman 6,000 times by calling her and asking her to clean her yard, and then we rode our bikes there…

The song ends the album on a bittersweet, laugh-out-loud-it-cries-but-maybe-we-cry-because-we-are-sad feeling that runs through all 10 tracks.

This may be the final Pilgrims album, but not in a declarative way. As Dangelo says, “We’re more of a band that fades away than we are a band that burns out.” If that’s a stage performance, it’s a hell of a way to end a decade-plus career.

I’m joking, but seriously is available on pilgrimsvt.bandcamp.com and major streaming services. See the band Saturday, August 10th at the Monkey House in Winooski.