Everyone Dies in Utah is a band name that requires a second of contemplation. As a native Utahn, it caused me the same level of compulsion to play the album as the parental advisory stickers had incited in my teen years.
The self-titled album started as rebellious listening, but developed quickly into repetitious playing of obsession. Now, I am not only a fan, but a beggar for a tour date in the state of their namesake. Alas, their tour is gratifying other ears along the East coast, leaving me yearning with only the album to rectify this new rock addiction.
It is possible to be temporarily sated as all 11 tracks of Everyone Dies in Utah are eardrum candy. From “Syners,” where the singer’s lyrically coherent screams last until even my lungs burst from the power and lengthy extensions, to “Simply Free,” and its sing along chorus that had me standing ridiculously in my living room with my arms outstretched as if I was the one bellowing to a moshing crowd.
When I wasn’t invested in my crowd performing daydreams inspired by the album, I was dancing through my hallways to the speed crashing drums that must ensure the drummer would need his arms surgically reattached after each track.
Heavy slamming bass forced my adrenaline to balance precariously on the edge of a heart attack and was only relieved by tying on my sneakers and attempting a late night run. To my dismay, I remembered part way through track three, “Natural Order,” that I was not in high athletic shape. If I had continued to replicate my jogging to the bassist’s vigorous pace in the song, I would literally die alone in Utah. Albeit, satisfied.
The companionable guitar threading through the lyrics had me wondering if I was hearing two cohesive artists or if I had died and gone to rock heaven, which is most likely hosted at a nearby venue for lost metal souls. After I pinched myself to ensure my continued existence, I concluded that two guitarists must be carrying me through the impactful album.
Each track boasted a new hidden treasure to discern in each listening. One of those gifts had me salivating with each pressed key. The keyboard held an electrifying melody, sometimes standing isolated in the silent pauses, but always leading the aggressive reentry of the band’s empowering lyrics and impressively elaborate musical talents.
Eventually, I started to develop an expectation for their sound, until “Dr. Fishy, No!” reestablished their genius with an unexpected compilation of joyful tempos, passionate screams, and ethereal vocals. This is a song for music browsers who can’t articulate their mood as this one will temper multiple cravings in less than four minutes.
This is the kind of music that brings visions of rhythmic back dropping and head banging. Their instrumentals personify power while their singer haunts with his echoing voice and impactful screams.