It may have been 13 years since the last record, but Crime In Stereo are back with the announcement of its forthcoming album House & Trance, set for release on 27th October 2023 on Pure Noise Records.
Rogue Wave is the third single released from the album.
Lead single "Hypernormalisation" analyses the apathy of people in the face of their imminent demise.
The band shared:
he wildfires gathered themselves together, advancing enough petition signatures to force a vote on rerouting subterranean magma ducts directly into any east/west commuter corridors. Cities of water rushed in from the sea only to circle the neighbourhood for hours, stymied by alternate side parking.
The additional streaming song, "Books Cannot Be Killed By Fire" turns its acerbic eye to recent and ongoing Republican efforts to whitewash American history and restrict access to its truth.
House & Trance feels like the natural next step for Crime In Stereo. It was entirely self-produced by the band (outside of it, both Romnes and Cioni are acclaimed and accomplished producers), and flows on so well from their past that it's almost like the intervening decade and a bit hasn't happened.
This collection of songs not only sound sonically incredible but are riddled with the anguish of life and existence in 2023, both musically and lyrically. They're not just reflective of these times—the effects of late-stage capitalism and neoliberalism, the encroaching dominance of fascism within the US political system, the increasing alienation and isolation that comes from the purposeful eradication of community by corporate politics—but of the immense human collateral damage that comes with all of that.
As much as it's symbolic of the universal environmental and systemic crises the world faces right now, it also operates—as Crime In Stereo songs always have—on a more personal level. Towards the end of making the album, Dunne (Guitar) had to be rushed in from a session for emergency surgery after developing a septic infection from that almost killed him.
Understandably, that brush with mortality seeps into these songs. There are references to being consumed or destroyed by the sun, for instance, in "House / Trance"—a wonderful blast of ominous, hyperactive melancholy—as well as the dour dreaminess of final track (and 'tribute' to the band's home of Long Island) Skells. Indeed, this record often feels like it's on the verge of a world-ending implosion. Within that apocalyptic setting are contained other catastrophes and human ills—the stuttering post-hardcore of "Superyacht Ecopark" offers an incisive takedown of the billionaire mindset where wealth is accumulated at the expense of humanity.
It's so exhausting being a reasonable human being in 2023 in the United States of America. It's exhausting looking around and being like, 'What's the fucking matter with you people?' says Hallbert (vocals). "I'm not taking ludicrous positions on extreme political outlooks. It's just like, 'Hey, can you stop tearing those babies away from their parents and putting them in cages?' Is that an outlandish position to take? Can people have healthcare? Can people not get shot in school or in church or at the goddamn mall or in a movie theater? But you say things like that and then other people are like, 'Oh, you're taking a political position.' It's so fucking insulting on a human level.
Yet for all the righteous anger about the big issues that inspired these songs, there's something very vulnerable and human at their core—namely the struggle to exist in an increasingly dystopian world when the odds are already stacked against you. Interestingly, that's what inspired the album's title. Not only does it serve as a double entendre about music (and the band's refusal to be pigeonholed into the hardcore/post-hardcore scene), but it captures the perseverance that it takes to merely survive in the wretched world humans have made for themselves.
It's something artists in America have been talking about for 70 years," says Dunne. "But it's only getting worse. We're not moving towards the solution. We're moving towards worse outcomes. Is that feeling of resignation what I want people to take away from this record? No, I wouldn't advocate for that. But capturing it, and trying to express that condition, is what this record feels like. It's my feeling of having bought a house and having a child and being in that classic, post-modern, middle-aged, suburban ennui, where all your energy and focus basically has to go to maintaining your bank loan so you can still possess and live in this house so your fucking family isn't out on the street. But that feels like you have these blinders on and are in a trance, just focused on the constant anxiety and stress of your living situation.