Neither bangers nor bops, the only one word you could use to describe these chunes is ‘good’. Otherwise, you’d have to resort to their genre titles, which, in this case, is something along the lines of ‘progressive screamo’ or ‘bluegrass emoviolence’. So, you’ll have to trust me when I just say ‘good’. 

To be clear, I’m not a Brokencyde apologist or anything. Putting a screamo band front and center in our first newsletter is out of character to say the least. But Fawn, the new project by a ‘bunch of fucked up kids from CT’, deserves the spot, delivering on the operatic promise of its myriad of genres. The production is as full and crisp and bombastic as MBV’s, but the featured instrument is a fucking fiddle. The vocals sound like they’ll break into sobs at any moment. And the lyrics convey its gothic, apocalyptic mood perfectly. (When audible.)

On the opening track, a child’s tantrum both lyrically and vocally, they ask: Is this what it’s like to grow up? To realize everything’s fucked up? And honestly? It kind of is. The whole LP has the essence of a herd of impalas hoove steps ahead of a veldt fire, which pretty well sums up the state of our own race’s existence right now, too. It might not be the sound of a generation we asked for, but it’s the one we deserve.