Music about climate disaster usually feels somewhat dogmatic and thematically grandiose. But on Tomorrow's Fire, Ella Williams of Squirrel Flower takes the wide scale of the apocalypse and taps into its most intimate and personal corners. Don't be mistaken — this album is not a "climate change" record, nor does it set out to serve as an all-encompassing thesis statement about the state of the earth. Rather, Williams bottles global anxieties and ties them into everyday, internal and interpersonal ones — loneliness, grief, boredom, getting older and not knowing what to do about it — communicating the surreal but normalized nature of going about life while the end of the world idly looms in the background.
Much like previous Squirrel Flower albums I Was Born Swimming and Planet (i), Tomorrow's Fire feels like a tangible, lived-in location of its own. Produced alongside engineer Alex Farrar, the album draws inspiration from Williams's visits to the Indiana Dunes near Lake Michigan, a juxtaposition of natural beauty and the industrial factories and nuclear power plants that surround it. The single "When a Plant Is Dying" marries these two facets; a delicate, lively plant as a metaphor for life, slowly withered to nothing by human responsibilities. The song is a tired resignation, like being at the end of your rope after dealing with things you never asked to be a part of: "There must be more to life / Than being on time," Williams sings, leading into a chaotic noise-rock peak.
Opener "I Don't Use a Trash Can" layers and loops vocals to reflect being overwhelmed to the point of not having enough energy to take care of yourself, followed by "Full Time Job," a grungy turn on the crushing weight of capitalism and societal expectations. There's a quiet, weary fear of life and love on this album; not a frantic, jump-scare type of fear, but one that sits with you for years and grows permanently into your outlook on the world.
Williams has cited Bruce Springsteen, Tom Waits and Jason Molina as inspirations for Tomorrow's Fire. The motif of Americana turned on its head runs through songs like the vintage country rock of "Alley Light," where a down-on-their-luck narrator tries to take their date on a romantic drive, but instead mourns the ever-changing city landscapes. On "Intheskatepark," summer depression and unrequited love set in skate parks and parking lots are drowned in fuzzy static. The searing shoegaze guitars and caution-to-the-wind attitude on "Canyon" is the album's most elated bright spot, even if Williams still worries about how her favourite places in the world are drastically shifting and disappearing with time: "When a thousand years go by / Shifting rocks / Different sky / Will it be there / Still on track?/ GPS tryin' to get back?"
Giving in to isolation and disillusionment can sometimes feel more logical than attempting to untangle and straighten it out. "Almost Pulled Away" shows Williams in love, but terrified of it. On "Stick," her voice soars across a crunchy indie rock foundation as she stubbornly refuses to change. The song is an angry battle cry for anyone who feels like they're never working hard enough, but is too exhausted to care in any meaningful way: "You hate when I do that / But I hate when I change / So I won't be changing / I will never change." Still, in the end, the human desire to search for an answer is all we can hold on to. The dark, spiritual lull of "What Kind of Dream Is This?" seeks one from an unknowable higher power.
Tomorrow's Fire could only end on an ambiguous note, and "Finally Rain" speaks to what it means to be young and alive in a time of so much environmental catastrophe. Is growing up worth it? Is it even possible? In the album's finale, rain washes a home garden and a driveway clean, but a toxic spill seeps through Lake Michigan at the same time. "If this is what it means to be alive, I won't grow up," Williams says, a resistance to accept what's been done, and a plea to remain in a state of innocence.
(Polyvinyl)Much like previous Squirrel Flower albums I Was Born Swimming and Planet (i), Tomorrow's Fire feels like a tangible, lived-in location of its own. Produced alongside engineer Alex Farrar, the album draws inspiration from Williams's visits to the Indiana Dunes near Lake Michigan, a juxtaposition of natural beauty and the industrial factories and nuclear power plants that surround it. The single "When a Plant Is Dying" marries these two facets; a delicate, lively plant as a metaphor for life, slowly withered to nothing by human responsibilities. The song is a tired resignation, like being at the end of your rope after dealing with things you never asked to be a part of: "There must be more to life / Than being on time," Williams sings, leading into a chaotic noise-rock peak.
Opener "I Don't Use a Trash Can" layers and loops vocals to reflect being overwhelmed to the point of not having enough energy to take care of yourself, followed by "Full Time Job," a grungy turn on the crushing weight of capitalism and societal expectations. There's a quiet, weary fear of life and love on this album; not a frantic, jump-scare type of fear, but one that sits with you for years and grows permanently into your outlook on the world.
Williams has cited Bruce Springsteen, Tom Waits and Jason Molina as inspirations for Tomorrow's Fire. The motif of Americana turned on its head runs through songs like the vintage country rock of "Alley Light," where a down-on-their-luck narrator tries to take their date on a romantic drive, but instead mourns the ever-changing city landscapes. On "Intheskatepark," summer depression and unrequited love set in skate parks and parking lots are drowned in fuzzy static. The searing shoegaze guitars and caution-to-the-wind attitude on "Canyon" is the album's most elated bright spot, even if Williams still worries about how her favourite places in the world are drastically shifting and disappearing with time: "When a thousand years go by / Shifting rocks / Different sky / Will it be there / Still on track?/ GPS tryin' to get back?"
Giving in to isolation and disillusionment can sometimes feel more logical than attempting to untangle and straighten it out. "Almost Pulled Away" shows Williams in love, but terrified of it. On "Stick," her voice soars across a crunchy indie rock foundation as she stubbornly refuses to change. The song is an angry battle cry for anyone who feels like they're never working hard enough, but is too exhausted to care in any meaningful way: "You hate when I do that / But I hate when I change / So I won't be changing / I will never change." Still, in the end, the human desire to search for an answer is all we can hold on to. The dark, spiritual lull of "What Kind of Dream Is This?" seeks one from an unknowable higher power.
Tomorrow's Fire could only end on an ambiguous note, and "Finally Rain" speaks to what it means to be young and alive in a time of so much environmental catastrophe. Is growing up worth it? Is it even possible? In the album's finale, rain washes a home garden and a driveway clean, but a toxic spill seeps through Lake Michigan at the same time. "If this is what it means to be alive, I won't grow up," Williams says, a resistance to accept what's been done, and a plea to remain in a state of innocence.
