“Automatic”

Katie Ross

The year is 2075. In your combination hearing aid/airpod pro max 5000 you hear a vaguely southern drawl croon “ho!” followed by a “hey!” The faint, sepia-toned memory crackles into relief like the celluloid image of the first talking picture. Suddenly, it all comes back to you: the suspenders, wide-brim preacher hats, edison light bulbs, and burlap—it’s Appalachia by way of Pinterest. A banjo chimes in; you wince from the earnestness.Yet, in its cloying rendition of withering Americana you find a strange sort of comfort. No, it's not quite the Dust Bowl, but it represents a time of equally momentous yearning in the American psyche. I’m talking of course of the great Millennial folk revival of the early 2010s.  

It’s difficult to look back at the 2010s folk aesthetic, for which The Lumineers have become the poster child, and not see it as a harbinger of tradwifery to come. Indeed, The Lumineers seem to recognize this and have planted their feet firmly in the 21st century for their latest album “Automatic.” Wherein their debut album, America was a snooty girlfriend who left your ne’er-do-well ass in the dust, the ills of her society are stated plainly in “Automatic.” “Plasticine” decries the superficial image-making of the music industry. “Better Day” pleads with politicians to stop the insider trades: “scroll back, delete.” The maudlin Millennial hope of  early Lumineers has given way to chronically online Gen-Z cynicism. And I’m left yearning for the type of yearning lost to the Obama years. 

“Automatic” is a fine album. Solid. I will forget its songs in a week. However, in a recession like this, I yearn to “take a bus to Chinatown;” to stomp-and-clap like the first Millennial to gentrify Brooklyn. I miss the rage.