With their second album , Wishy have concocted an antidote of sorts – or just a way to get through it.
The Indiana natives entertain the hysteria of a breakup from the get-go on “All the Rage” (“Fuck doing the dishes / Fuck these clothes on my floor / I don’t care anymore that you’re gone!”). Being uprooted from your routine after sudden, ended love is on the more turbulent side of universal dilemmas, but that’s unpredictability in action.
Wishy's debut album proved they know their way around incredibly irresistible, candied, earwormy riffs, while its companion B-sides EP, , levelled the sweetness closer to saccharine introspection. Capturing what it means to be a human in love is the band's collective forte, wrapped in feelgood jangle-pop and indie-rock uplift, and provides a hefty dose of both.
Honing their already ecstatic songcraft with newfound intent, the band hunkered down in a tiny studio and tracked at least half of the songs live. You can hear that looseness as if you were watching them cast their magic on stage. You can feel the thrill from their unremitting reckless chords. Most importantly, you can let the stress of relationship woes and all the baggage that comes with it vanish as they expel it with heart-stirring music.
Wishy may have initially positioned themselves as another instigator of the modern nu-gaze movement, but ’s places them more as studious reinventors of bygone, joyful indie rock. “All the Rage” shares the jangle-pop jubilance of R.E.M. in their infancy, while “Covergirl” offers swirly dream-pop, mixing the best bits of My Bloody Valentine’s huge sonic choruses with Hatchie’s bittersweet brilliance.
Somewhere deep in “Sensational” is a nod to Madchester – likely the faint New Fast Automatic Daffodils-esque cowbell groove – while the bright, chiming guitars across “Lovesick” would feel at home on The Cure’s . The band’s ability to conjure these touchpoints is a cause for celebration.
Besides its transportive nature, this medicine is Wishy’s own because of the ponderous hooks from vocalists Kevin Krauter and Nina Pitchkites, who somehow find their place among the abundant sonic tchotchkes. “Freak 99” is consumed by a quirky wall of sound, but the sultry choruses paired with nimble acoustic chords make it mesmeric. Not head-bopping to “Headscratcher” is impossible, matching its narration of impulsively pursuing a love interest.
Album closer “Party World” takes gilded jangle-pop we’ve heard a million times before but flips it on its head, soundtracking as it does the abject observation of love being a circus. And perhaps that’s always been true. People swept into heightened emotions can find themselves feeling and doing stupid things. With their sparkly escapism, Wishy say that love is still beautiful, making it all feel worthwhile.