Will Schube up in the Hilton, heard Nia Long was in the building
The last time I listened to The Antlers was around the release of their first record, Hospice. That thing was so debilitatingly sad that I intentionally avoided their followup, Burst Apart. Burst was very well-received, with many critics sighting it as a real sign of maturation by the trio. With summer time approaching, the scars of Hospice—it’s depressing subject matter, singer Pete Silberman’s morose, affected voice—linger in the back of my brain.
Upon the announcement of their newest single, “Hotel,” I was hesitant to approach the music—The Antlers don’t make songs for 85 degrees and sunshine. It’s intramural softball season, not sit in your room and cry season. While “Hotel” is typically morose, it’s strengths outweigh the sort of roadblock Hospice was constantly presenting (don’t get me wrong, Hospice is great…But it’s great in the way Antichrist or The 120 Days of Sodom is great. You’re glad for the experience but it’s hard work and you’re glad when it’s over). “Hotel” has National-esque horns and a sort of LA smog underscoring the track’s atmosphere—the sort of feeling Local Natives reach for but don’t always achieve (when they do, though…holy shit). The drums slink and slide—bringing a level of groove I’d never associate with The Antlers. Silberman’s lyrics are typically somber, examining life on the road with a thoroughness that’s truly appreciated when focused on. He sings, “In the hotel/I can’t remember how the past felt.” The numbing world of life on the road—the world of hotels with parking spaces outside of the rooms—is brought to life on “Hotel”; and while it’s certainly not summer music, it’s also not a hospice.
