Failure
Location Lost
FAILURE/ARDUOUS/VIRGIN
Of all the many underappreciated alt-rock bands from the 1990s, Failure may have been the most underappreciated. Spurned by snobs when Slash (the Warner affiliate, not the top-hat-wearing guitarist) signed them right out of the gate, the group drifted in the netherworld between the mainstream and underground rock scenes, preventing them from drawing much of a fanbase within either. As a decidedly not-grunge trio with a sound that was too pop for metal and too heady for punk, Failure’s self-deprecating moniker may have been harsh, but ultimately seemed to prove somewhat prescient. Even Tool’s championing of the band couldn’t save them from outliving three records, each of which still deserves more love than it’s attracted since Failure reassembled in 2013.
In the period between Failure’s breakup and that reassembly, frontman Ken Andrews increased his knowledge and adeptness at music production and engineering exponentially through his work with legions of bands (The Icarus Line, A Perfect Circle, and the Mastodon side project Gone Is Gone standing as the cooler among them; blink-182, Paramore, and Tenacious D as the more commercially successful). Even more badass: Failure had the balls to call out the work of the late Steve Albini on their 1992 debut, Comfort, as part of the reason they didn’t take off. Armed with the wits of studio wizardry themselves, Failure re-formed in 2015 not to relive their past glory—if you wanna call it that—but rather to realize the potential that Andrews, bassist/guitarist Greg Edwards, and drummer Kelli Scott had seen in themselves at a time when few others did.
Location Lost is the fourth Failure record to come out of their post-reformation era, solidifying the trio’s second act as a more creatively fertile period than their first stint that ended 30 years ago with 1996’s Fantastic Planet. Five years in the making, the record’s allergy to the mere trace of trend and its gravitational pull toward songs that penetrate the heart demonstrate that Failure have finally found the magic they’ve had in themselves from the start. With the pressure of competing for the listener’s attention never in the forefront, the band is freed up to relax over the course of these nine songs. The band never comes across like a frazzled family parked on the side of the road, rifling through a Thomas Guide; their collective blood pressure always remains at a healthy level, whether it be on the acoustic “The Rising Skyline” or the grandiose “Solid State.”
And, true to Failure form, Andrews’ languid drawl remains a constant almost entirely throughout (the exception is on “The Rising Skyline,” which features the suddenly ubiquitous Hayley Williams). Failure have always made wise, even surgically precise decisions throughout their career—whether it be which songs to put on their albums, the company they’ve decided to keep, or when to disappear and make their triumphant return. Crafting lovely, softly penetrating, and slightly eerie music was, is, and will continue to be their trademark—and perhaps no Failure album makes that case better than this one.
