Historic levels of frustration swept the U.S. last October, as the federal government shutdown put the nation on pause. It was then, in Hoboken, New Jersey, that Cloud Nothings were holed up in the no-frills Water Music studio, honing their own brand of pummeling catharsis. The studio is scattered with art and books that look plucked from a thrift store; the band jokes that it feels haunted. They are not far off. A year prior, Water Music came face-to-face with potential defeat when it flooded during Hurricane Sandy, giving its name an eerie edge. And after the recent shuttering of legendary indie club Maxwell's, Hoboken itself seems like a musical ghost town, its tree-lined streets filled with strollers and businessmen and Starbucks. The trying conditions all befit this Cleveland band, which has spent the last few years staring down nostalgia, expectation, and the noise of daily life, and then unleashing a palpable inner-turmoil through guitars and drums and throats. Cloud Nothings always sound like they are fighting, even if it is not exactly clear what they are fighting against.
Frontman Dylan Baldi, 22, bassist TJ Duke, 31, and drummer Jayson Gerycz, 27, are working a final eight-hour day to finish their fourth album, Here and Nowhere Else. Cloud Nothings are all endearing smart-asses; they've spent a portion of their studio time dialing prank calls to Ken Tamplin, a vocal coach who advertises "the world's best singing lessons." Studio talk ranges from Metallica's recent film Through the Never—"What did Kirk's hair plugs look like in 3D?"—to the possibility of heading to rebel rapper Danny Brown's show that night. (Baldi and Brown once toyed with the idea of making a record together.)
For the moment, though, Baldi sits quietly, as usual, hidden under a black Pierced Arrows hoodie while alternately scribbling last-minute lyrics or glancing down at The New Yorker. "I've ignored almost everyone for a whole week," he says, proudly. "It feels good."
The bored-looking singer is recording vocals for what will become the gloomy track "Giving Into Seeing". He scratches his head and ruffles his hair for the duration of his honestly-frightening scream session, repeatedly growling the word "SWALLOW" over an anxiety-laced riff. The song could have come from the band's 2012 Steve Albini-helmed Attack on Memory, the record that found Baldi rejecting his past as a lo-fi bedroom-pop prodigy for a visceral rebirth, morphing Cloud Nothings into an abrasive full-band effort that evokes early emo along with the introspective doom of the Wipers. He reads his lyrics from a sheet of graph paper; the words are written straight and neat.
"Can you sing it wilder?" producer John Congleton asks from the control room. "Make your voice not sound like a voice."