Author: Nik Havert

Failure‘s second album, Magnified, had the band refining their Californian shoegaze sound, with Ken Andrews and Greg Edwards doing all of the playing, recording, and mixing themselves. The sound was bigger, bolder, and starting their frog leap toward outer space, but Andrews and Taylor knew they were taking on a big more than even they could chew – especially with the percussion. They put out an ad seeking a drummer, and it was eventually answered by Kellii Scott, who heard Magnified‘s first three tracks and knew he had to get on board the Failure train. As Scott has told in interviews, he missed the original audition time and was nearly fired before Andrews and Edwards heard him play one beat, but thankfully they gave him another chance and were sold within moments thanks to the raw power he creates behind a drum kit. He later joined the band full-time during their tour with Tool and has been with them ever since.

“Let It Drip” is the first of the tracks Scott heard that made him think, “Damn, I need to be in this band,” and it’s not surprising. Andrews’ guitar riffs on it are downright urgent, Edwards’ bass sounds like a grumpy grizzly, and the drums both of them put on it take off like a rocket – a theme that would continue through Failure’s work ever since. “Moth” was the second track Scott heard, and it’s one of Failure’s biggest hits. The power of it is unstoppable, and Scott probably pushed in all of his poker chips as soon as he heard the first verse.

As powerful as “Moth” is, “Frogs,” somehow, hits even harder. Edwards’ bass swings like a battle axe, and Scott was floored by this point of hearing them. The drum tracks on it hit so hard they seem to be shattering everything in sight. Andrews sings a tale of someone spinning into, and then embracing, madness (“Frogs are bouncing off my brain stem. So excited to be sane. Didn’t it seem kind of silly, the way the doctors carried on? So, now that I’ve become a monster to them, I’ll have to keep their fear turned on all night long.”).”

“Bernie” is a song about a woman they knew back in the 1990s who had “the way to feel good times” and lived “on the way to the park.” It’s no secret that Failure were battling various addictions around this time, so this song about a woman they knew who could help them out at any time of day (“We don’t have to wait until dark.”) is both poignant and epic. I also can’t help if it’s sort of a companion piece to “Leo” – a song on Fantastic Planet about someone in drug-induced paranoia.

As if the album didn’t rock enough, they stomp the gas pedal on the title track – a song about how we’re all just ants burning under the sun as we run through the race of life. It makes a sudden stop and then wallops you with acoustic guitar chords and weird, yet soothing reversed synths. It’s sort of an unnamed, hidden “Segue” – a short instrumental track that Failure would feature on future albums, starting with Fantastic Planet.

The beats on “Wonderful Life” (a song about struggling against the tempting spiral down into depression and exhaustion) sound simple at first, but you soon realize are deceptively deft. They stop and start with suddenness that can be jolting to the uninitiated. Those deft beats continue on “Undone” – the album’s first single – and uses looping to cool effects that continue their evolution into space rock. These beats are even more impressive when you consider Edwards recorded them one piece at a time and later edited them together.

“Wet Gravity,” a tale about a woman on the edge of madness (“Brain squeals, the same time as last time.”) who puts river stones in her pockets to give herself a physical sense of being grounded (the “wet gravity” of the title). The band unleashes a damn lightning storm on it. The guitar solo blazes, the drum hits boom, and the bass licks roar. It’s hard to determine who’s playing lead on it at any time…and then, like “Magnified,” it transforms into an instrumental mind-melt.

“Empty Friend” has Andrews singing about a “friend” who subtly kept him from achieving some of his goals (“Some empty friend who talked me into sleep…and threw my wings into the blazing sun.”), and “Small Crimes” is a sizzling, brooding track about a man who’s considering burning his world down to destroy his fears and the cacophony of everyone’s complaints. Edwards’ bass on it is the low growl in the protagonist’s brain.

As you might’ve guessed by now, depression, madness, existential crises, the hidden meanings of dreams, the complexity of relationships, and the wonder of what lies beyond us and within us are common themes in Failure’s work, and Magnified is a magnifying glass on those themes in them and the rest of us.

Keep your mind open.

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