Written by Lex Celera
For the most part, We Are Imaginary has played along the ballpark of noise pop, shoegaze, and jangly lo-fi when it comes to their sound. Each of their last four albums plays with the formula in different ways – a reflection of the band’s changing members. Early on, sometime before the release of 2010’s ‘One Dreamy Indeterminate Hum,’ the band even had to change its name. With its latest release, We Are Imaginary settles on something new and interesting, enough for it to be a self-titled album, with the record to be sold on vinyl via Eikon Records.
Not only is ‘We Are Imaginary,’ their fifth album, a feat in “remaining true” to their sound, so to speak, but it is also a symbolic act to release their fifth album as a self-titled full-length album 17 years since their debut. As if to say that the band has planted an anchor against the currents of time that bears their name – a sign of confidence. It’s worth mentioning that this is supposedly the last by their longtime bassist Vhall Bugtong, who migrated to North America. The new setup includes Ahmad and Khalid Tanji as the band’s twin backbone, joined by Jerros Dolino of Megumi Acorda and Spacedog Spacecat.
We Are Imaginary’s self-titled album is worth listening to not because of their proximity to bands we already enjoy–they do wear their influences on their sleeves in interviews–but to see how they’ve planted their feet in their musical journey. The band knows how to be both emotionally evocative and earnestly relatable, and it shows. The album’s sonic palette is primed by the singles that were released prior: “Pinkish Hue,” kept in their pockets since 2015, puts the band’s romantic lyrics at bay with fierce mood-driven fuzziness. “Stockholm” and its happysad structure don’t resolve themselves despite soaring up in energy. The same with “Object Of My Affliction” and its nuanced breakdown two-thirds of the way. “Greatest Kill” emerges as a track that I keep going back to; it’s built for detached navel gazing.
Throughout the album, I feel a poignant dissonance. As a whole, the album comes across as concrete and certain, and well curated, thanks to its one year in preproduction. But why do I feel a permeating sense of melancholy while listening? How can the album talk about surrender and yearning while remaining measured, almost clinical, in its arrangement?
Both can exist, in music and in life, which is a testament to the band’s own songwriting. Frontman Ahmad’s lyricism cut through the production in a way that they have always done it: abstract, unfettered, and accepting of its own feelings. This time, the result feels more cohesive when looked at as a full project. This band setup, this new approach to their sound, just feels right.
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