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Sixteen years after the last proper Braid LP and No Coast begins with “Bang” and ends with a song called “This Is Not a Revolution.” Insert your poor puns here; they don’t matter. No Coast is what happens when a band leaves, arguably at the height of their abilities, and returns with more than a handful of hindsight and expertise.
Unlike some other bands that are coasting on reissues of their albums this year (e.g., Mineral, American Football), Braid put money down on new material with the hope that people still give a damn about emotionally resonant songs. It would all amount to another wave in the tsunami of emo reunions had Braid simply followed suit, but, as a band, they’ve never rested on their laurels–the album title suggests as much. But if critical reaction to The Dismemberment Plan’s Uncanney Valley and The Pixies EP1 and EP2 is any indicator, we are unkind to risky gambles that band’s undertake when they have new material to put out. No matter what we clamor for or what we think we want, at day’s end, we just want the old classic stuff we grew up on; our Emergency & I and Doolittle copies clutched tightly in our warm hands.
Braid has not lost any steam in the ensuing years since 1998’s Frame and Canvas. No surprise there given that, even under different band monikers, the band members have continued making music in a similar vein. (Hey Mercedes, for what’s its worth, are the most criminally underrated band of the aughts.) What makes No Coast such a triumphant return, are all of the essential tracks that can now comfortably fit alongside any Braid setlist. “Bang,” the stunning album opener on No Coast, wastes no time charging ahead, picking up where Hey Mercedes’ “Go On Drone” left off. It’s not quite a ballad, despite its slower tempo, but somehow everything Bob Nanna comes across like a man with no time to lose, singing one of the most urgent melodies he’s written. “I cannot help it/ I can’t change / I’m a runaway train,” he sings on “Bang.” We’re all on the tracks, now, finally, and we’ll all go down together singing along.
Musically, Braid is in the same spot we left them. Dual songwriting duties come from Nana and foil Chris Broach, both delivering knockdown tracks in alternating fashion, Todd Bell plugging away as the unheralded bass player pinning down Broach and Nana’s fretboard flashing, and Damon Atkinson is still drilling every snare beat into the floor. Atkinson has always been Braid’s secret weapon; one of the finest drummers of modern music with an ear for downbeat and pulsing drum fills. (Interestingly enough, his equal in rock drumming might be Joe Easley from Dismemberment Plan, another band in the same lot as Braid, returning to the fold after years of inactivity.)
Lyrically, however, Braid is not necessarily going for broke like they were on their earlier LPs. The songs, despite a few go-out-and-get-some mantras (“Lux,” “Put Some Wings On That Kid”), trudge up some wry nostalgia and social commentary. “East End Hollows” main chorus watches while we “take these dream and throw them out the window,” while lamenting “DJ sets,” “punk rock shows,” and “another drink, another lifetime of regrets.” “Many Enemies” ticks off lost friends and new enemies and summing it up relationships succinctly: “we all lie…the truth can be anything.” And “Light Crisis” and “Damages!” reference external dependencies (“I don’t want to have to depend on medicine”) and underwhelming work that becomes ingrained in our routines (“What am I selling today? How do I track the kickbacks?”).
All of this to say nothing of “No Coast,” the title track where Nana notes his and the band’s stature (“in the middle, a little invisible”) but finding solace in “the only thing that’s beautiful.” For Braid, here’s hoping that making music that still matters is one of those beautiful things they reference, because No Coast is a welcome return from one of the best bands to have survived the 90’s.
