Prism Shores

A jolt of jangle shot through the soft-focus lens of the ‘90s trifecta of Creation, Flying Nun, and Sarah arrives from Montreal’s Prism Shores. The band’s third outing, and first for Meritorio, finds them hung heavy with wistful woes. The record is glazed with a youthful ennui, a premature bout of nostalgia that finds the young band already sighing for the embrace of better days. Sure you can smirk with the advantage of age, but in younger times all the stakes seem this high, and anguish tastes much better aloft on saturated strums. The band, like contemporaries across an ocean in Mt. Misery or just over the border in Humdrum, rifles through their influences with a deft hand, making the entire record feel so familiar while dancing with the shadows of the past.
Much like those two RSTB faves, the band isn’t merely retreading their influences though, constantly shuffling and sifting through melody and melancholy until they lodge ten hooks deep into the listeners’ hearts. Smudged and stained with the soul of the ‘90s, the record blurs the boundaries of time, letting us all get blissfully lost in the haze and hum for a while. The band’s grasp of fizzing tensions doused in rain and regret is enviable. Many have tried, few have made it feel this easy.
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