An impactful debut album from San Diego-based band Simians, Crises of Willpower infuses folk and chamber-pop charms within meaningful introspections on life and willpower. Themes of struggle are artfully conveyed within; the album’s first half encompasses more internal struggles, while the second half explores external struggles — culminating in a repeating cycle. Recorded in Nashville and produced by Ken Coomer (Wilco, Uncle Tupelo), the album enthralls across its 13 tracks — spanning from personal struggles to political critiques and ruminations on the cycles of life.
A spirited call-to-action emanates on the opening “Rabbit Holes,” a bright folk effort with a myriad of instrumentation, including trumpet, strummed violin, and clap-laden percussion. “Now I am going to try to make something that won’t fall apart,” Lauren Kirby’s vocals exude, showing strength within forces that threaten to swallow “my progress whole.” The melodic, twinkling “Islands” ensues — lamenting how “everyone’s on their own island,” reinforcing how one’s betterment is often reliant on their willpower in a society that seems to largely emphasize disconnect, rather than togetherness, in its policy-making and leadership. Crises of Willpower presents a poignant, affirming message throughout in its balancing of gritty circumstances with the power of oneself.
A gripping display in wintry atmosphere and relatable emotion, “The Logger And The Snow Angel” stirs in its depictions of feeling stuck — and wary of a seemingly bleak future. Lyrical descriptions of falling snow are complemented by trickling acoustics and debonair brass adornments. “Trapped underneath this red oak tree,” the impassioned vocals let out. “If this snow keeps falling down, I’ll be buried alive.” The track’s ruminations on death and lack of self-growth invigorate across four sections — opening with a desire to break free from personal struggle, and moving into acceptance of death and the ensuing tranquility that comes in letting go. Kirby’s wordless vocals hypnotize there, then traversing into a final act where a brass-led jubilance represents the dance with death.
Another standout, “Trench Prayer” melds twangy guitar plucks and twinkling instrumentation for an immersive soundscape. Solemn organs enter at mid-point alongside wavering brass, as lyrics regale in striving for solace amidst tumult. “Trench Sermon” carries further, cautioning “don’t send your sons and daughters into the slaughter,” while referencing war and “state-sanctioned murder.” This strong one-two punch is exemplary of the second half’s foray into external struggles, whether it be warfare or political strife — and how those can drag down innocents alongside.
“Serpents of the Throne” continues those themes of governmental evil and the folly of humanity — showing a tendency to place greed and self above the good of others. “What do you know about peace?” Kirby sings. “How dare you speak that word to us / To serve your purpose / You warmonger.” Pulsing acoustics and sporadic brass complement these criticisms, timely in their perspectives of those using political office to advance their personal quest for power and hunger for chaos. It’s a fitting end to a resonating album, which consistently captivates with its melodic instrumentation and analysis of struggle, willpower, and humanity’s place in a world rife with corruption and manipulation.
