Nearly three decades after their formation, Cursive are still standing tall. After helping to put Omaha on the indie-rock map along with colleagues Bright Eyes, The Faint, and the rest of the original Saddle Creek Records family, they’ve since moved on and created their own label, 15 Passenger, with 2018’s Vitriola and the following year’s Get Fixed. Now, they’re continuing this second-stage career trajectory by rediscovering their appetite for musical rediscovery with their delicious debut for Run for Cover Records, Devourer, which frontman Tim Kasher refers to as demonstrative of his hunger for “consuming the arts.”
Meanwhile, his bandmate, co-founder/bassist/backing vocalist Matt Maginn couldn’t have come across as more grounded when I caught up with him earlier this summer. Bouncing beside him during a video conversation were his two toddlers, teaching themselves how to play the drums by tapping the walls and floor to the delight of their proud dad. A slight look of disdain crossed his face when the kids tried using his computer keyboard for musical purposes—but only for a fleeting moment, with Maginn breaking into a grin irrefutably reflecting the dominance of the vulnerable, soft side of his personality. “They sometimes try to collaborate,” he said, returning to a conversation about the pleasantries of simple living in Omaha. “It’s cool. It’s awesome.”
What makes Devourer such a satisfying listen is that a band in its middle years embodies the same sentiment seemingly without pretension and effort, with the latter defined by the five years it took Cursive to deliver their tenth record. Along with founding drummer Clint Schnase and three additional members (with the assistance of a second drummer, Pat Oakes), the six-person band is sprawling in its lust for keyboard-happy indie rock, with Devourer running the gamut from adventurous to gritty to thoughtful. Exuberant throughout, this album is the one every band hopes to reach, either by keeping its self-destructive tendencies at bay or eliminating them altogether.
Transparency and truth are the qualities that made Cursive and their colleagues stand out as altruistically attractive during the tidal wave of tired hipsterdom that closed out the last century and started this new one. On that note, we had the pleasure of touching base with Kasher to get his take on the album’s 13 tracks. He may not have behaved in as unbridled a manner as Maginn’s adorable little ones, but his insights into Devourer fed our craving for another listen right away.
1. “Botch Job”
This is one of the early songs written for this project. I fell in love with Meat Wave a handful of years ago, and I let them know how their influence rubbed off on me. A banger, as they say. I had an upset stomach issue for five years or so, and I think this song is in response to that. My gut felt like real-world karma for a lifetime of beating the shit out of myself, primarily with whiskey—which, sadly, I became quite accustomed to. I’ve learned to temper this inclination considerably. So that’s what I botched, but the song also extends to a life meandering in a music career and, um, what retirement plan?
2. “Up and Away”
Every now and then I write a song that just feels right, and this fit the bill. It leans far more pop than, um, prog or angsty, so I wanted the lyrics to pull a fast one on the listener, kinda how “Born in the USA” seems like a pro-America song? Until you read the lyrics? It didn’t take long for me to recognize how something optimistic sounding such as “Up, up, and away” could be attached to a chronic daydreamer who lives an unfulfilled life, sensing all his dreams have gone poof into thin air. “When I was young I was infinite”—god, I hate how true that is for me/us.
3. “The Avalanche of Our Demise”
A disaster song. This song sets up atrocities around the world—famine, tragedy—and offsets it with a glib first-world attitude of relative indifference. Sadly, I probably do it as much as the next person. But I’d like to think my empathy is real, at the very least. Some of these characters are quite shallow, and seem to inhabit various songs throughout the record. There’s a sitar section in this song, courtesy of Ted Stevens and Patrick Newbery. Sounds great.
4. “Imposturing”
A cynical take on songwriting and the arts in general, a theme that’s reared its head from time to time over the past 30 years. And no, I don’t really feel this way at all; I actually labor over edit after edit of lyrics over a period of months, but catch me in a saucy mood (often) and I’m liable to take a big dump on anything and everything I happen to be working on. The jagged, jerking nature of this composition really excited me early on—I felt insistent that these musical ideas make it onto the record. Glad it made the cut. Newbery wrote a killer synth hook for this song.
5. “Rookie”
An album favorite. Since we worked with two drummers on this record, it was a daydream to have at least one track with double drums, and this is it. I get such a kick out of it. This is a disparaging song on radical culture, young people in search of identity, at times becoming brainwashed and ultimately pawns for a power system that deems them disposable.
6. “Dead End Days”
A song in the grand tradition of “Nine to Five” or “How to Beat the High Cost of Living.” People getting stuck in an economic rut existence. But humanity still dreams of something greater, or perhaps it’s just us Americans and the delusion of capitalism. Newbery comes through with a killer synth hook yet again, this time coupled with Megan Siebe’s cello.
7. “What the Fuck”
This is also a favorite of mine, one I fear may not resonate with others so much. This song brings just the right kind of chaos and flippant attitude that I can really get behind. The right kind of song can be a little brutal and unmelodic and nail it. And it has one of my favorite features of songwriting: an interlude! One that fucks with time signature and expresses bombastic horns. The lyrics have a dirtbag quality of an anxiety riddled, bitter older fella who acts as though life has somehow cheated him. I want to say the petty jerk in this song isn’t me, but…
8. “Bloodbather”
One of the most energetic songs on the record and a unique outlier. Very much about a lifetime of wrestling with vices, alcohol in particular. The lyrics walk through the flawed logic a drunk might have as the buzz starts to settle in. The interlude (!) attempts to refute those drunken notions only to be beaten down by more fuzzy, drunken logic. This song is an odd one for me, as it seems to relish in its own defeat. Drink responsibly, people! Excellent production value from Marc Hudson.
9. “Dark Star”
I’m so pleased with how this song turned out. We worked on it during one session and it felt flat, but I brought it back for the next writing session as I felt it deserved another chance. The second time around worked a lot better, as we based the song around that simple, killer drumbeat. Similar to “Bloodbather,” this song is also about vices, and our internal struggle with good and evil. It’s steamy and feels a little filthy. It turns to angst as the lyrics grapple with arcane religious concepts, ultimately suggesting that evil is man.
10. “Consumers”
This song feels like the greatest gift on the record for us. It was an “add-on” during one of the writing sessions, just something we sketched out and quickly laid down a demo for. It was the only B-side we were bringing to the studio, just wanting to get it recorded so we could use it at some later date. Since there were no expectations, we thought we’d mess with the opening a little, so we just had some fun and jammed it out for a bit before pressing “record.” The ideas that came out of that little jam sesh fully resuscitated the song and now here it is, on the record. Hell yes, “Consumers!” Lyrically, well, it sort of speaks for itself. Consumerism, the hypnotism of the people in an ad-fueled society. “Consumers” was in consideration to be a title track for the album.
11. “What Do We Do Now”
This song is a playful fable about the absolutely extreme, excessive waste of the first world. The glib attitude of some of these characters is beyond reproach! But they feel like our neighbors in this country. “If comedy is tragedy, it’s funny to think of the billions of people in need / While we put up our feet” might be the cruelest lyric I’ve ever written. It is absurdism. The song structure is based around that most simple pedal of that guitar part that strings the whole song together. And that interlude! My heart!
12. “The Age of Impotence”
First off, I should apologize for such an immature title. Sorry! But at least it isn’t remotely about actual impotence, but rather the fear that I’ve become irrelevant after so many years of songwriting. I don’t feel creatively impotent at all; if anything I feel the very opposite. But the anxiety in this chaotic mess of music is over the fears of no one listening. This music is gnarly and I love it.
13. “The Loss”
A sweet, sad closer for the album. A lot of resignation, a reluctant acceptance of loss in our lives. I wrote the first verse lyrics rather quickly one night, driving home from practice. Megan had just told me the saddest story of her neighbors across the street, a dirty little toddler was bawling to herself in the front yard, seemingly abandoned by all family. Megan picked her up and took her to the door where a young mother angrily snatched her from Megan’s arms. I mean, maybe it wasn’t such a big deal, but it seems so representative of how cruel life can be. The song is about sorrow from loss and how we also take part in the process of loss by abandoning one another. Patrick Newbery wrote the amazing instrumental section, reminiscent of a New Orleans–style funeral dirge.
