There is a song title on Instant Comfort, the sophomore album from Hong Kong shoegaze quintet Lucid Express, that turns out to be very telling. The song is called “Faux Sweetness”. Sweetness was, in fact, the defining trait that helped Lucid Express’ self-titled debut (2021) stand out in the vast nu-shoegaze sky. It wasn’t just Kim Ho’s singsong cooing that gave tracks like the signature “Hotel 65” a certain charm. Among the synth washes and guitar effects, the band radiated a certain optimism and guilelessness. In a shoegaze scene full of beautified anxiety and unease, there was something refreshingly comforting and, yes, sweet about Lucid Express.
Since they began making music under the name Thud about a decade ago, the members of Lucid Express have seen the shoegaze revival go from an insular reclamation project to the verge of the mainstream. Shoegaze is no longer a bad word; it is the word in indie music. In today’s vastly fragmented, streaming and TikTok-dominated musical milieu, oversaturation may be impossible. However, shoegaze may be getting close. How does any given band establish or maintain a distinct identity?
This is where “Faux Sweetness” provides a clue. The song is sweet enough—the closest to a straight pop song on Instant Comfort, a summery uptempo number that combines the most accessible aspects of both Lush and My Bloody Valentine. However, “faux” hangs ominously over the rest of the album. Not because it sounds insincere or fake. Thankfully, Lucid Express have retained their earnestness and charisma. Much of Instant Comfort, though, sounds as if they are uncomfortable with the sweetness. At times, you can practically hear them trying to shake it off.
Mixed by Kurt Feldman (The Pains of Being Pure at Heart), Instant Comfort is louder, heavier, denser, and more complex than its predecessor. When these traits mesh with the band’s instincts for melody and exquisite sensuality, the results sound like steps forward or at least in a new direction. Like “Faux Sweetness”, “Take Heart” bounces along on a propulsive rhythm and ponderous Cure/New Order guitar leads.
Beneath the wind-tunnel sheets of sound, there is even a jangle. With Ho’s multi-tracked vocals floating just below the surface, the song recalls the Sundays if they added another guitarist and a bunch more guitar pedals. Elsewhere, the broad guitar strokes, sparkling arpeggios, and general “free-falling into a bed of roses” feel of “Stars in the Car” come close to the effortless euphoria of “Hotel 65” while adding rhythmic flexibility.
Too much of Instant Comfort, however, is shot through with misshapen, atonal ugliness. It’s as if the guitar effects have been left to their own devices and run amok, regardless of the context of individual songs or arrangements. The cacophony reaches peak proportions on “Aster”, which opens with what sounds like a laser gun firing in an echo chamber before the rhythm kicks in. From there, it’s a slow-motion car crash, subsiding only for Ho’s vocals on the brief verses. Yes, a discernible melody and shoegaze chords are discernible underneath, but they are quite literally beaten into audio submission.
In “Promise Me”, the whirlwind actually sweeps Ho’s lullaby-like chorus forward and upward. Even so, the song is rudely interrupted by a couple of grungy turnarounds that simply don’t fit. In what seems like a deliberately ironic move, the closing title track is so shrouded in fuzz that it sounds as if it were recorded inside a tin can lined with deadening material.
There is nothing wrong with the band stretching out and pushing back a bit against the inherent prettiness of their prior music. In the case of Instant Comfort, though, the juxtapositions come across as heavy-handed. Lucid Express might well be restless and eager to defy pigeonholing and complacency. That’s all good, but in the process, they’ve made an album that often feels overstuffed and undercuts their innate strengths. Faux sweetness is fine, but Instant Comfort could use more of the real kind.