On their audacious fifth full-length LP, "Wonderlick Goes to War," Wonderlick (Jay Blumenfield and Tim Quirk) adapts music as a weapon and shield, posing the question of whether songs still resist authoritarian tides in 2025. Throughout its 11 tracks, the pair spins tales that temper humor with hopelessness and, by extension, perseverance. If chaos reigns supreme, they suggest, then melody and meaning can still hold significance.
With "Origin Story," Wonderlick wasted no time laying it out in brutally honest terms, "I was born this morning, I haven't always been me." It's a hangover anthem for an unstable world perched on the brink of collapse, but one that opts for survival and resistance over surrender. The song serves as a mission statement for the band, as righteous as it is vulnerable, and it is a call to arms with a reminder that the resistance begins with simply refusing to give in.
"Hollow Bodies" recasts America from a critical, almost satirical perspective, first as a ballad about a guitar and then a snide address to national identity. With "Rhinoceros," Wonderlick tip their hat to Ionesco, and it's the vein of chilling absurdism that's again stoked in the mythology of fascism sneaking up slowly and the normalization of irrational behavior. The story tightens even more with the "Museum of the Inquisition," which directly addresses collective violence once conformity has set in.
"My Love's a Weapon" is a shot of ironic swagger to the record, its breakdown accelerating with urgency. As Blumenfield writes, "When the government is reveling in cruelty, love becomes dangerous." It's a song that embodies the central tension of the album. And then there's "Wag Your Tail," which fairly explodes with sheer, dumb energy, a pop anthem for our age that reminds us that sometimes, dancing isn't about denial, but defiance.
The record's most striking quality, perhaps, is how personal displeasure bleeds into cosmic realities. In "Popping Pills," Quirk turns the routine of daily medication into meditations on mortality, friendship, and irresponsible youth. Even "I Am a Children's Book" traces a cosmos of tragedy in neglect, sounding the silent speech of unused pages whose messages change or vanish with age.
"Wonderlick Goes to War" is a record that stares despair in the face without flinching. It is tethered to the history, satire, and storytelling that consolidated into a collection as confrontational as it is cathartic. Wonderlick songs are proof that music can still march, shout, and fight.
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