The Joy Formidable – Cholla
Pronounced choi-ya.
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[6.86]
Jonathan Bogart: The cholla is the nastiest cactus in the Sonoran desert. Even the non-“jumping” varieties break off easily, clinging to clothing or (worse) skin, and burrowing in deep, with tiny spikes on each needle that tear your flesh from inside if you try to pull them back out. The Joy Formidable, like other European bands, fetishize the American Southwest without actually being very interested in it, mythologizing an uninhabited alien wasteland in order to use it as a metaphor for, I don’t know, emotional unavailability?
[6]
Iain Mew: They’ve figured out the power of just going WHACK with their big punch of fuzz and come up with a song structured more around it. There are pauses for whispering and contemplation so that they can have the impact of entrance three times over. Otherwise it’s delightfully business as usual – still no idea what Ritzy is singing about, but she sounds cool and adds finesse to the brute force.
[8]
Brad Shoup: “Cholla” works the tight-assed alt-riffage of prime Corgan; I bet it slays live. Ritzy Bryan tosses her cadence on the riff like a ring on a carnival cone; the song is mostly about waiting for that to happen.
[6]
Anthony Easton: Grindy, and ominous, but in that high camp sort of way; all the drama of a teenage goth’s Halloween soiree–sort of mood setting music before Rocky Horror. Extra point for the whispered bits.
[7]
Alfred Soto: Minor variations on the “Whirring” riff are okeedokee with me: it’s a good riff in a good song. They’re aware of the dilemma too: “You rush to the future and paint yourself” summarizes the Second Album Blues. Acknowledging the dilemma isn’t the same as transcending it though.
[6]
Ramzi Awn: Lush and fuzzy, “Cholla” sounds like something out of the past with the complete authenticity of an anomaly. The hint of flatness pinning up the vocals achieves a singular brand of dissonance that is at once hopeful and sad, victorious and defeated. All in all, perfectly muddled.
[7]
Will Adams: Compare this to the Green Day song for a clear demonstration of the virtue of letting your guitars run free in the sonic field. “Cholla” isn’t afraid to get loud and in your face about a dead-end relationship, and its delivery is key. “Your hands turned to daggers again” is the crushing blow, but the barely-there “my love” tacked on after its second iteration devastates more. It’s the last glint of hope in Ritzy Bryan’s eye, finally flickering away as the chaos rushes into the last ten seconds.
[8]