In The FADER’s recent article, “A Recent History of Microgenres” the magazine grouped Nathan Williams’ project Wavves with the label “shitwave”, with an accompanying description proclaiming it “Heavily distorted no-fi guitar rock.” The latter two descriptors still remain true to Wavves’ aptly titled fifth album V, but the fifth time has proven to be the charm for Williams creating a project with less distortion and a more transparent look into the formulaic post-surf-punk aura he’s created during his career. It’s only when, on moments like the unexpectedly spacious “Redhead” where he laments, “I can’t feel my arms or my legs / I’m leakin’ out”, that you’re reminded of who exactly you’re listening to.
Lyrically, progression is nonexistent in Wavves’ catalog, but this hasn’t been an obstacle to creating some of the year’s catchiest pop records, additional genre prefix unnecessary. He still treats snippet sentences repeated ad nauseam as perfectly acceptable hooks, and five albums deep, they still stick with as much force as the brightest moments on his finest record, King of the Beach. Though the songs are short, he still showcases irreverence for the listener on “Flamezesz”’s pre-hook “Wasting all your time”, acting in a meta-nod to the seemingly pointless exercise of listening to music. Mass entertainment consumption, with every possible form of consumption jockeying to become the biggest Event in a landscape saturated with them, is exhausting; and that’s exactly why a record like V is so refreshing: the record’s half-hour runtime replicates a beach breeze that gently whisks away the glut of consumerism with untethered jubilance. This isn’t to say that Williams doesn’t understand this or how to speak to the millennials forming his core consumer base: on “Tarantula”, for instance, the opening lines “Stopping to think, I got you in mind / Stopping to think / Starting to drink, I got you in mind / Not just the good times, but everything” wouldn’t be out of place as the abstract for a textbook Drake song (a compliment, from a pop crossover perspective, at the very least, of the highest order). Its deliverance in his characteristic slacker drawl only heightens the emotion hiding behind the lethargic vocals.
Still, V comes off as having fewer joyous moments than on previous Wavves releases. Whereas two of his biggest singles, “Post Acid” and “King of the Beach”, were punctuated by upbeat guitars and lyrics full of bright-eyed proclamations, there’s less exuberance to be found this time around. Even album closer “Cry Baby” begins with creeping guitars reminiscent of those found in western movie soundtracks (before, of course, it’s interrupted by a scream and an avalanche of instruments). It’s the song that best describes his efforts on V and their relation to the rest of his catalog: it features pristine sections that are broken up by distorted vocals that layer themselves into the indistinguishable guitars and drums; to prove he’s not forgotten the strategy that made him a late-2000s and early-2010s indie star, the final vocals on the album are nearly indiscernible.
When you’ve found success with one sound, it’s tempting to never change it. Change challenges not just the artist, but the fans, too. Some artists never forge an identity that can immediately be known simply by mentioning their name; others, like Wavves, can have their sound implanted after just one listen. Five solo studio albums and a collaboration with Cloud Nothings under his belt, the temptation to change hasn’t been enough to find a marked difference between V and the rest of Wavves’ catalog. Instead, like so many of the artists who find and stick to a personal aesthetic, few new fans will be gained, but even fewer will be lost. “Here I am, I’m just stumbling and I’m looking for a purpose”, he muses on the complicated “Way Too Much”. If he isn’t aware of it yet, putting out reliably good surf-rock is at least one good answer to the search.