False Priest

False Priest are a giddy image of the muddied world of rock music itself. When you grow up in the '90s – a time when rock still seemed to have some progressive avenues – you learn guitar, you learn affective authenticity, and you learn that rock, to many, is the most legitimate musical outlet.

How then, does a band reared on rock change its tact in a time of social and aesthetic revolt? Rock music is dead. That's no new thing – some of the biggest rockstars on Earth proclaimed it decades ago. Sure, rock may have once been useful. In the '80s it was an affront to Reagan's regime, but today it's a fogyish, obstinate brick in the face of progress. While spitting "fuck Trump" over and over in a two-chord punk song may be fun for some, it effectively does nothing to untie the structural biases which put him in power in the first place. In a world that's not quite sure how it came to be, all we can do is disassemble ourselves from the past and the things that got us here. That means no more nostalgia, no more regression, and no more rock.

Hailing from the Bay Area, one of the more progressive and technologically innovative parts of the world, False Priest have no intention of mummifying music. Though we've seen some of the biggest rock bands in the world trying and failing to convert rock to pop; analog to digital; romantic nostalgia to futurism – False Priest have the deftness to commandeer progress and change. In today's musical arena, the idea of authenticity has been spun on its head. It was once associated with minimalism – one person to write the song, one person for each instrument, no effects; all beards. Nowadays, we're sort of aware that the world has run amuck and there's not much authenticity to be found anywhere. Not in our celebrities, nor in our Coldplays, and especially not in our President.

Though what makes False Priest authentic is their simple gesture of - 'look, this is what there is, and we can't make much sense of it'. When we get into the very superficial habit of imbuing things with meaning, we get a bloated and unhelpfully abstract view of the world. We get an overflow of praxes and dialectics that do nothing but cancel out real meaning and invite in irony. In other words, we get Arcade Fire's new album, Infinite Content. As False Priests, the band are faithfully unreliable narrators of the Trump/What The Fuck Is Going On Age. "I don't trust myself with this", Evan admits on 'I Would Love To Talk In Tongues', the first single from their upcoming album, Driving In Circles

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