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Protomartyr’s The Agent Intellect is 2015’s ultimate hard-luck album.

Not only did the making of the record see lyricist Joe Casey’s father shuffle off his mortal coil, and his mother begin a decline into Alzheimer’s, but the band hails from Detroit. The motor-city garage feel has a sourness now; bankruptcy has ruined the working class economy, and a flood of artists have replaced these workers in the fold for cheap rents. The hometowners are skeptical of the newcomer’s intentions, and the tension builds.

As such, Casey is concerned with death, decay, and disease, facing these concepts with bald-faced aggression. It’s like they’ve ran with the hangover-centric lyricism and speak-singing style of The Hold Steady’s Craig Finn, but made it darker and more earnest still. We don’t just see the pavement in the unflattering morning fog, but the mold coming out of the drain pipe, too.

The Devil in His Youth

Satan, as it turns out, wasn’t always a pinnacle of evil. Nay, he was just an awkward kid, full of “promise” and “privilege,” yet “unloved by women” and struggling to make honest connections with those around him. Lucifer’s origins are not examined enough, and, as far as I know, have never taken this slant before. For good measure, the riffs have punk energy but a definite sadness about them:

The Devil in His Youth

Cowards Starve

Starker and more acquiescent than even the bleakest Interpol track, Casey bemoans the “social pressures” that make him feel like his “head’s been kicked in,” despite the fact that he’s ready to “go out in style.” He may be coming to grips with death, but he’d still like to encounter the reaper on his own terms, if possible:

Cowards Starve

I Forgive You

Casey’s melodic speaking reminds somewhat of The Hold Steady’s Craig Finn fronting a garage-punk band. He laments someone’s repeated “mistake[s],” but the chords pair with his low-effort vocals to imply that he’s resigned to the fact that this person will indefinitely disappoint him:

I Forgive You

Boyce or Boice

Google’s omniscient eye is likened nearly to Harry Potter’s Dementors here. It knows “our failures,” our weaknesses, our flaws, and our “secret lovers [who] exist as numbers” on the dirtyier parts of the internet. The track, like the lead single, releases plenty of built up tension with a late song groove change, as the snare moves from ‘three’ to its rightful home on ‘four’ of the 6/8 beat:

Boyce or Boice

Pontiac 87

Somewhere between the Midwestern trees of emo, the guitar walls of shoegaze, and galactic feel of post-rock sits this track. That said, it’s pretty sonically straight and to the point while lyricist Joe Casey watches fans of the visiting pope “fall from grace” as Casey entertains bouts of bittersweet nostalgia:

Pontiac 87

Uncle Mother’s

A seedy dive gets a different portrayal than the usual rough-around-the-edges (yet welcoming) home for colorful and unpolished characters. Instead, it’s more of a pit of “evil” desperation, both explicitly sung by Casey and implied by the band’s sonic vibe. For good measure, Casey’s decided your “children” were left in the car for the duration of your visit. Don’t you feel like a shit, now?

Uncle Mother's

Dope Cloud

Casey again has an axe to grind, and the old-school emo guitar lines match his frustration. As the “Dope Cloud blows gold dust/Into the pockets of the undeserving,” he sounds exhausted from pointing out the glaringly obvious injustices he sees. But, to quote his own words, fighting this good fight is “not gonna save him” from misery:

Dope Cloud

The Hermit

Whatever that numbered list is in the intro — featuring “mingling spittle,” possible demons, etc. — it’s just as ominous as the rest of the track. The crew seem to be taking a more aurally agreeable (yet depressing) slant to unsettling, droning post-punk a la Doomsday Student, and aiming it at liars here, amongst other real-life creepy crawlies that prey on vulnerable types:

The Hermit

Clandestine Time

There are probably some references and ulterior implications here to dig up, but even on the surface, this track has a simple, beautiful melancholy. Whatever Casey and his lover (friend? Confidante?) are hiding from, the threatening force doesn’t see our main characters, thus wrapping them in temporary safety from the storm. It all then sits in a foggy “Fascination Street” sort of atmosphere:

Clandestine Time

Why Does it Shake?

The mid-track tempo change, building walls of not-quite-full-blown noise, never quite cresting, and Casey’s artificial vocal “delay” help spell out his lethal angst. He can’t fall victim to the “false happiness…on the rise” due to his worries. Anyone with family histories of disease, or even a WebMD history and a side of hypochondria can relate: [LISTEN]

Why Does it Shake

Ellen

It’s a love song written from the perspective of Casey’s father, dedicated to his Casey’s mother. It’s simultaneously quite sweet and terribly depressing, in no small part because Casey’s father died in the making of this record, while his mother began her Alzheimer’s journey. The father “wait[s]” for her to complete this journey and meet in the afterlife:

Ellen

Feast of Stephen

Casey navigates a hangover that has him feeling his life slip through his fingers, but he takes some solace knowing “they can’t stone [him] ‘til [he] fall[s] asleep.” Reflecting the fuzzy din in his head on a rough morning, the chords rarely resolve, spending most of their time in the tensing up. There are a lot of subtle intricacies across this album helping his spoken-word style make an impact:

Feast of Stephen