In July, when The War on Drugs released “Living Proof,” the first single from their upcoming album, it was clear that something had changed.
Adam Granduciel, the creative force behind the band, an aficionado of guitar solos and psychedelic distortion, begins the song strumming lightly on an acoustic guitar. A piano comes in, playing simple chords. Finally, Adam’s voice enters, more confident and on-key than he has ever sounded. The song is subdued and restrained, a beautiful yet unexpected diversion from the shimmering synths that typically layer Granduciel’s best efforts.
The following single, the title track “I Don’t Live Here Anymore” couldn’t have been more different—a modern pop song dressed in 80s clothing and featuring Lucius, it is the band’s most exuberant sound ever.
The album, Granduciel says, is about “growing up, getting older, but also growing out of yourself and into something new.” What has made The War on Drugs so good for so long really comes down to the labor that Graduciel puts into every track. Spending hundreds of hours in the studio, fine-tuning and unapologetically reserving final say in every creative decision, he’s known as an obsessive that runs the band like a “totalitarian regime” (according to bandmate Dave Hartley). His songs are crafted with so much precision and endless layering that the music itself often seems like an extension of his voice. So, when Granduciel goes through a change, it follows that the music would, too. And this album is his most mature sound to date.
I Don’t Live Here Anymore is the band’s second on Atlantic Records and follows two highly acclaimed efforts: 2014’s Lost in the Dream and 2017’s A Deeper Understanding. To say expectations were high for this new album would be an understatement. And yet, in another sign of creative maturity, Granduciel doesn’t appear tempted to simply reproduce the sounds that have already won him so much acclaim.
The album is full of surprises beyond the first two unexpected singles. In back-to-back tracks “I Don’t Wanna Wait” and “Victim,” Granduciel uses a drum machine and guitar slide, and evokes mystery and darkness in a way that sounds unlike anything he has ever made before. Both are reminiscent of the 1980s, which is nothing new to the band. However, instead of recalling Springsteen and Dylan (as Granduciel so often does), these tracks oddly recall Phil Collins and Depeche Mode. Then, near the record’s end, the band returns to a subdued approach on “Rings Around My Father’s Eyes,” which puts acoustic guitar near the front of the mix and builds to a soft yet satisfying crescendo.
Granduciel also shows modest evolution in his lyrical approach. At moments in the past, his lyrics have reached a level of abstraction that verges on meaninglessness. These moments are less frequent on I Don’t Live Here Anymore. But they’re still there. Of course, the lyrics are never meant to be the most important part of any The War on Drugs song, and they’re often impossible to make out anyway. But a more concrete approach to lyricism on this album serves the music well. On the album closer, “Occasional Rain,” Granduciel sings “Now I’m finally feeling free / I’m living down by that old par three.” Later he sings convincingly, “It’s killin’ me, but your words / They brought me out onto steady ground / When I was wounded and ashamed.” Staying in the world of concrete objects and relatable metaphor, “Occasional Rain” is his best lyrical effort in years.
For all the change, this record is still true to the band’s sonic identity—layered arpeggiated guitar, driving 4/4 drum beats, and verse-to-chorus transitions that seem to take flight and shimmer. In the final chorus of “Occasional Rain,” Granduciel shows that, for all his change, he is still confident in his musical strengths and not afraid to return to what works. A high-pitched electric guitar plays simple arpeggios with such a beautiful and full-bodied tone that it practically sounds like it’s trying to speak.
Of course, this is not a perfect album. There are a couple of songs, like the track “Wasted,” that come off as a little unimaginative and rote. Also, the lyrics do often reach a point of abstraction and cheesiness can leave the listener feeling unsatisfied. “I just wanna learn to fly / Under these romantic skies,” Granduciel sings at one point. Moments like this are too frequent, and for all the talk of “change” and “growth,” one wishes Granduciel would have made bigger strides in this department.
Still, the album coheres incredibly well and is a deeply pleasurable listen from top to bottom.
Considering the pandemic, the busyness of fatherhood, and the unbelievable quality of the last two albums, a middling effort on I Don’t Live Here Anymore would have been understandable. But it seems that’s just not who The War on Drugs are. Granduciel and the rest of the band clearly put in a grueling amount of time and effort to make this album, taking great care to give us their best work. It paid off and more.
Favorite tracks: “Change,” “Rings Around My Father’s Eyes,” “Occasional Rain.”
Photo credit: Atlantic Records
Klaas Walhout graduated from Calvin in 2016 with majors in philosophy and religion. After five years on the East Coast, he now lives in Grand Rapids, where he spends his days (and sometimes nights) working as a hospital chaplain.
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Hrishikesh Hirway, of the podcast Song Exploder, had Granduciel on to break down the titular song on this record, and I have to say I wouldn’t have downloaded it if not for this post.