Nothing's third album, like their first two, is wrapped around tragedy and hard luck. The shoegaze band led by Domenic Palermo debuted with the powerfully monolithic and dark
Guilty of Everything, which dealt with his stay in prison and the guilt and pain it brought, then followed it with the lighter and less focused
Tired of Tomorrow. That record was made in the aftermath of a brutal beating Palermo underwent after a concert and reflected some of the lightness he must have felt as he recovered. It also scaled back the metal influence of the first album in favor of a glossy alt-rock sound. After a couple back stories like that, it would only seem fair that Palermo catch a break, but it wasn't to be. Sometime before beginning work on the album he was diagnosed with the beginnings of CTE, a degenerative brain disease. It was a tough break and some of the confusion and depression leaks out into the lyrics of the band's third album,
Dance on the Blacktop, though much of it sticks to the sunnier sonic territories of their second record. The band buffers the sadness of the words with a clearly layered wall of distorted guitars, a tightly wound rhythm section, and lots of sweet vocal harmonies that help cushion the blow. Palermo's lead vocals are soft and aching, soaring above the sculpted noise like a lightweight glider as he tries to make sense of the direction his life has taken. Though it's not too different than
Tired of Tomorrow sonically, there's something here that makes the record much more listenable. Chalk it up to the greater depth of emotion in the words or the way the guitars have a little bit more power and therefore more emotional power; definitely give the increased stakes of the words credit, too. It's clear that Palermo is going through something heavy, and the music does a good job backing him, feeling for feeling. Shoegaze is famous for being gauzy and hazy, but his suffering anchors this album, and heavy tracks like "Us/We/Are" and "(HOPE) Is Just Another Word with a Hole in It" hit like hammers, pretty pop songs like "Blue Line Baby" and "Hail on Palace Pier" leave a mark as they float by, and desolate ballads like "Plastic Migraine" feel like the saddest thing one might hear all day. It's too bad more personal tragedy is what it took to right the ship, but
Nothing's third album is a worthy successor to their great debut. ~ Tim Sendra