Main Street Magazine Spring '23

r e l i c
of the
future
an unwound album review by Sean Lafond
// Im inventing you. //
Leaves Turn Inside You is Unwound’s last album, released in 2001. Focused more on textures and sprawling song structures, this record is marked by a subversive turn
in style from the band’s aggressive post-hardcore sound. At this point, Unwound’s sound seems to have evolved into an abstract art form. Ideas of turn-of-the-century impending
doom and the restless race of capitalism underpin the record, which results in a wholly unique and transportative atmosphere. The music seeps into my brain and
bloodstream. Where am I?
\\ December \\
I am walking through my small hometown; they put up an apartment complex where that field used to be. The time of day is inconsequential. Empty coffee cups line the
curb by which (state-of-the-art!) cars zip-zip pass. Again, again, and again. My legs move rigidly as if I were an automaton. For those who slow down, a world in constant
motion and of constant change is a dilapidated world of decay and neglect. The omnipotence of vibration, the endless course of change, conquers all.
\\ Terminus \\
Blank faces stare at me behind each windshield. There are (brand-new!) ravine-deep cracks in the sidewalk filled with cigarette ash beside the emerging willow-like weeds.
What is it that we should preserve, and what is that we should dispose of? I take this question and turn it over and over inside my head as I remove a (fat-free!) chip bag
lodged between two chunks of cement. Its expiry date is 2001.
\\ October All Over \\
I shove the hybrid plastic-metal carcass in my jeans pocket and continue down the thoroughfare of hanging livewire and haggard liveliness – an artificial liveliness which
appears to be injected into my surroundings by way of a sterilized needle. The nauseous gray sky seeps into a sickening cerulean while skeletal tree branches are forced into
their complete and final bloom. I notice a mysterious black sludge appear upon the cement near my tattered shoes. It seems to lead toward a cavernous storm drain. Drawn
to it, I slink along over to it and look inside.
\\ Below the Salt \\
And then the facade of reality collapses inward; I gain consciousness and I am nauseous. All that I can move are my eyes as I find myself a prisoner to bed sheets of sheet
metal. Shadows dance around and obscure my surroundings. Ominous buzzing and feedback echo within the hollow chamber of my skull. I can just make out the time to be
6:18 pm when I feel the sheets begin to slacken: sleep paralysis again. Sorry, where was I? I think my album has restarted.
// Beyond this world, I live. //