There are worlds beyond the world we see. So much music exists as doors to these other places, attempts to create passageways between what we know and what we feel could be.
The Weather Station's latest opus is uninterested in openings to other worlds; instead, Tamara Lindeman explores the punishing climate realities and expansive possibility of this place, the one we can feel and smell and taste.
After the towering glass houses of Ignorance, Humanhood sees Lindeman and her band fall back into the earth, a record moved by sonar throbs and small rivulets of subterranean water; mycelium hum and tectonic groan.
It's Lindeman's most fluid and confronting music yet, sparkling jazz-inflected art-rock painted with deep shadows and sudden spirals of light. Richly layered in sound and thought, Humanhood finds Lindeman tapping at enormous truths and tiny, pulsating points of meaning — in the face of panic and death, her music has never sounded so alive.