Hearing the sort of rock trek that unfurls throughout Crybaby is a telepathic transmission from summer youthfulness in the early 90’s. Sitting in a tincan room, sweating from the lack of air conditioner despite every available fan pointed at my body. The stereo’s turned loud to drown out the competing sounds of the (S)NES. The modest CD collection exhausted, I put in a mixtape and out comes the most comforting sounds of rock and pop at the time. Yes, I’m calling Dommel Mosel’s Crybaby a modern equivalent of a mid 90’s mixtape and if you don’t take it as the highest compliment, I assume you’re some Millennial grasping your iPod Touch while remaining completely out of touch with the wonders of navigating various genres to create a compelling mix of highs and lows and Nick Hornby pseudo-shit. Music has soul, it tells a story. Sometimes a band is able to tell theirs, often times we project ours onto those melodies and lyrics. It’s the same tug and pull with Crybaby. It checks off all those old boxes without nostalgic histrionics or stylized dialogue. It just sounds timeless; a pile of pop-rock ditties that grow with you. And sure, the trajectory of growth is slowed for those of us in advanced age but damn it if I don’t willfully dream of those too-hot days with not a care but scrounging up the money to buy more music. Scour your couch cushions and buy Crybaby. Too bad I can’t compel to jump on your bike and take the shortcut through the cornfield to the record store — because it’s likely you’re going to have to nab this the newfangled way — but you can participate in that ancient teenage ritual spiritually.
More about: Dommel Mosel
