It’s oddly fitting that Citizen would give their fourth LP a title that alludes to lived experience being contained by a fragile and artificial microcosm. Life has always bled into the Toledo three-piece’s art, and one would expect a year like 2020 to be no exception.
Long-time fans got their first taste of Life In Your Glass World only a few short months ago, with the punchy lead single, “I Want To Kill You.” Listening to the track’s flirtatious rhythms, however, reveals a curious case of sonic sleight of hand. Vocalist Mat Kerekes’ croons about feelings of exhaustion, racing against one’s mortality, and digging up lost causes over cracking snare hits and Nick Hamm’s jangly guitar lines.
And yet, when the bouncy chorus shows up—propelled by rolling hi-hats, Eric Hamm’s thrumming bass, and an infectious, call-and-response hook reminiscent of mid-00s indie staples like Bloc Party and The Klaxons—all those concerns quickly fade away. In this sense, “I Want To Kill You” functions as a righteous dance party for internal struggle. Likewise, opener “Death Dance Approximately” arrives with splashes of bright percussion and blazing electric riffs, and the sombre “Blue Sunday” ditches overdrive pedals for melancholic haze and an MGMT-style, synth-heavy chorus line.
After years spent aimlessly wandering through the post-alt-grunge boon of the 2010s, it feels like Citizen may have finally resolved their identity crisis. Rather than expressing themselves through state-of-the-world social commentary, the group kick off Life In Your Glass World with joyful bursts of emotion, choosing to celebrate life’s furtive intricacies over re-treading its many public discontents.
On the moody and contemplative “Thin Air,” Kerekes wrestles with the tension of performance and authenticity. In one breath, the frontman laments “Singing my slow songs for whoever/ But I don’t want to no more,” only to flip the script in the next line and dare to ask for something more: “Give me something real/ If only for the thrill.” Follow-up “Call Your Bluff” takes this charge and makes it libidinal, with energetic rhythms and layers of dreamy vocal harmonies aping the type of indie crossover appeal that made The Killers a household over a decade ago.
Where 2017’s dour As You Please suffered from inconsistent sequencing, languid pacing, and an overall lack of intimacy or urgency, Life In Glass World rights these wrongs by boldly turning towards the bright optimism of shimmering indie pop and heady doses of alternative introspection, manifesting across the record in curious and engaging ways.
The vitriolic “Pedestal” is easily the most vibrant track Citizen have crafted in years, with cascading drums and a thick, distorted bassline. Kerekes uses this striking platform to blow off artistic steam, venting his frustrations at fans, consumers, and the music industry at large: “Never doing what I want and only making pocket change/ My insecurities are heavy and hang on a string/ Well, you can tell me what you want, and you won’t get a fucking thing.”
Back-end cuts like “Fight Beat” and “Black and Red” go for eccentric economy over-bloated, pretentious hand-wringing. With both coming in under three minutes, the former moves at a steady, mid-tempo clip, bristling with studio effects, electronic glitches, and mildly aggressive feedback, while the latter finds Citizen delivering another sincere alt-rock anthem for the masses with one of their catchiest choruses.
However, growth isn’t always painless, and Life In Your Glass World doesn’t shy away from moments of regret and powerlessness. The album ends with a plaintive triumvirate that aims to put the hurt into perspective.
Off the back of delicate acoustic strumming, “Glass World” recalls the darker elements of the Dashboard Confessional back catalogue, with Kerekes yearning for companionship in fits of isolation. “Winter Buds” takes solace in the quiet and “comfort,” descending into a full-tilt guitar-rock explosion in the vein of heyday Brand New before ending with devastating thematic resonance: “Tell me what you want/ Tell me if I’m strong enough/ If everyone is alone/ Then shouldn’t this be good enough?”
Closer “Edge of the World” is a bittersweet ode to acceptance in a myriad of forms, whether it be a relationship’s eventual demise or Citizen’s twelve-year career. As Kerekes croons in the track’s wistful and upbeat finale, “At the end of the day, there is beauty in tragedy/ I hope you find what you need/ I hope it’s ever-lasting/ I hope you learn to love yourself.” And if there’s a lesson to be divined from Life In Your Glass World, it’s this: A little self-love goes a long way.
Purchase and stream Life In Your Glass World here.
