The new Kurt Maraton yarn is precise in its ache, romantic in its restraint, cinematic in its scope.
Some records are for listening; others are for inhabiting. ‘Drench,’ the new ten-track confessional from The Midnight Greetings – essentially Kurt Maraton and his heart’s restless murmurs, ones that hum and won’t stay mum – belongs to the latter.
You can play it, you can stream it, but what you’ll essentially be doing is unwrap it, or rather, silently witness its glorious unfurling – one reverb swirl and achy-breaky utterance at a time – and find yourself in a cold pool of longing, regret, and strange comfort.
It opens with “Out of My Head,” a filmic bit of epistolary spokenword, of personalia nestled on delay and reverb. I can’t stress how much a good opener can make or break one’s decision to, in the first place, pay a record any mind. This one pulls you right in: an invitation, a whisper, a dare.
Then comes “Cry” with its wall-of-chorus-and-fuzz, lending you the realization that you don’t have to be a habitué in the halls of shoegaze to not be drawn to its enveloping stranglehold (or embrace, if that better floats your boat). In any case, guitar rock nerd or not, there’s hypnotic melodies and turns of phrase to get nestled by.
“Fishnets” follows, at which point the pace picks up, the heart races, the sweetness lingers, and the previously-shut-tight heart bursts. “Stars” is like a wool blanket and hot chocolate on a chilly summer night, with vocals that may teeter on pitchiness but instead presents itself like a shy approach – or the uncertain, tentative steps toward a beautiful unknown.
“Eyrs” carries the record’s gentlest surrender, with minor thirds and ringing single-note lines framing a sweet plea – “Run away with me tonight” – of surrender masquerading as courage.
Then “Mydeepestsink” hits, which is a kind of the record’s emotional thesis. At a certain age, you unlearn the speech of sleepless desperation, of desire so all-consuming you speak no other language but romantic hyperbole. But guess what: this track makes you want to relearn and recapture those very things.
Maraton says it was also his favorite to record: “It just felt right, no revisions or what,” he shares in a pre-release statement. “It’s also interesting to mix and match different effects pedals to produce a specific guitar tone.”
That instinct-for-tone mindset pervades in the entire record, which he arranged, produced, mixed, and mastered himself at PeopleArePeopleStudios. “No pushing, no drawbacks,” he says. “The lyrics are written last in the process, and when recording the songs from the album it would usually take me one to two takes only.”
The back half of ‘Drench’ offers a slow, graceful descent into quiet catharsis.
“Dive” is the lovely kick-off to a protracted denouement, its crystalline guitars shimmering over a steady pulse. “I’m Fallin’” feels like a moment of courage, a sober reportage on the aftermath of a magnificent fall.
“Waves” is the sound of a love winding down but not letting up: resigned yet defiant, its textures like grainy specks in an otherwise starless nightsky, a rough edge that counters the outward sheen.
Finally, “It’s Late and I Can’t Fucking Sleep Because I Miss You” closes the album as an immersive bit of soundscapery, a fitting (albeit abrupt) end to a terrific wallowfest.
Maraton says ‘Drench’ is about “swirling emotions that melt within the ethereal layers of guitars and synths with a hint of cinematics,” and that clearly checks out. It’s part-shoegaze, part-dream pop, and – by Maraton’s own admission – informed by a strong film scoring bent. He calls it “a new creative era,” one where he “keeps on evolving sonically.”
Listeners, he promises, will feel “a bit of longingness, emptiness, and everything they thought never [existed] within themselves.” That might sound like self-mythologizing, but ‘Drench’ has clearly earned it. It’s precise in its ache, romantic in its restraint, cinematic in its scope.
Long after the final track dissipates, you’re left in its humid afterglow: half-dreaming, half-remembering, fully drenched.