When I first learned about this release, I was stoked that Madeleine Johnston had enlisted Matt Jencik as a collaborator for the latest Midwife album, as I am a big fan of his 2019 album Dream Character. As it turns out, however, the actual situation was the reverse of that, as Jencik had decided to step outside his ambient drone comfort zone six years ago to record an album of vocal pieces centered around the theme of mortality. Things did not work out quite as planned, however, as Jencik first embarked upon this project with an entirely different collaborator. It feels like destiny that he ultimately wound up working with Johnston instead, however, as the two have a wonderfully complementary yin/yang relationship both stylistically (close mic’d basement 4-track intimacy vs. elegantly sculpted hiss and distortion) and philosophically (Jencik feels a desperate desire to hold onto everyone he loves, while Johnston sees the spectre of death as an “incentive to live more keenly and dearly”).
On its face, Never Die seems to sound a hell of a lot like a Midwife album with some synths added, as Johnston handles the lead vocals much of the time and the music can reasonably be described as either "shoegaze-damaged minimalism" or "minimalism-damaged shoegaze." In fact, it almost seems like it could organically be the next stage of evolution from 2024’s hyper-distilled No Depression In Heaven, as the opening “Delete Key” is built from little more than grayscale synth drones, a single sustained guitar note, and Johnston’s sibilant hymn-like vocals. Once I settled into the album, however, I soon began to see the various ways in which Jencik’s vision diverged from Midwife (the lyrics being the most striking difference, as Johnston’s own songs tend to center around mantric repetition of a single phrase or two). I later learned that Jencik wrote all of the melodies and lyrics himself and that the album’s more “Midwife“ aspects are largely because Johnston’s non-vocal contributions primarily involved layering and production touches.
While “Delete Key” and “Only Death Is Real” are the album’s two singles thus far, I was far more rocked by a different pair of pieces: “The Last Night” and “September Goths.” In “The Last Night,” Jencik delivers a spoken word monologue over a lush backdrop of dream-pop synths before Johnston swoops in to sweetly sing the bittersweet refrain “the last night that I felt alive” over and over again. It is certainly a catchy hook, but the real beauty lies in how the piece sounds, as it feels like a cross between classic Cure/Jesus & Mary Chain and the late-night fever dream delirium of I Saw The TV Glow. It also features an extremely cool and unusual ending, as the final coda of backwards vocals evokes the ineffable beauty of a rewinding life review in the moment before death.
“Only Death Is Real,” on the other hand, is a killer piece for more conventionally rocking reasons, as I loved how the slow-motion driving groove dropped out completely for the hissing, sensuous pulse of the chorus. Notably, it also features its own surprise twists that take it to another plane altogether, as there is both a very cool and unexpected “space rock” synth solo AND a long and hazy bass-driven fadeout. I especially loved how amazing it sounded when the tambourine finally came in, as the duo otherwise pointedly avoids ever enhancing their stark and simple drum machine rhythms with anything resembling cymbals. Unbeknownst to me, that created a rhythmic void that was positively screaming to be filled with a tambourine. Elsewhere, the closing “Rickety Ride” is a highlight of a different sort, as Jencik’s enigmatic recollections of a past romance feel like the (broken) emotional heart of the album.
In yet another unexpected twist, I enjoyed most of the remaining pieces for reasons other than their hooks, lyrics, or songcraft, as damn near every song on this album has a genuinely compelling idea at its core (beyond our looming mortality, of course). For example, Jencik’s lead vocals in the Codeine-esque “Don’t Protest (Too Much)” are beautifully trailed by the ghostly hiss of Johnston’s backing vocals. Elsewhere, the sensuously seething “Bend” gets blindsided by a surprise pitch-shift into blackened rubble before a phoenix-like code of dreamy ambient shimmer slowly blossoms. Dreamy ambient shimmer is an even bigger star in “Organ Delay,” as its frayed, flickering, and gently warping drones feel like being bathed in heavenly white light (presumably from the mouth of infinity). In short, this is an extremely cool album. It is not quite the album that I was expecting, but it compensates by being the album that I did not know that I needed instead.
Listen here.
