The Beths have come in hot with an album that takes you for a ride in unexpected ways.
It’s a thrill to hear a band at the top of their game reinventing their sound before our eyes yet able to stay authentic in their sound and their sensitivity. Expert in a Dying Field is an autopsy of dead relationships and an exploration of love lost and found and the inner turmoil that comes with that.
Running it straight with power pop headbangers like ‘Silence is Golden’ and ‘Head in the Clouds’, to more introspective math rocky pieces such as ‘2am’, the album fizzes with energy. It’s jam-packed with little details that showcases the band’s individual talents, from explosive guitar riffs to intricate drums change ups that keep you on your toes.
For a masterful demonstration, you need to hear ‘I Told you I Was Afraid’. It’s a 3-minute-and-22-seconds-long frenzy. With a more classic rock feel, the electric guitar drives the song at a fast pace with hearty drums for another layer of complexity. The interspersions of fingerpicking that wouldn’t be out of place on a 2000s Mid-Western Emo album; sporadic guitar riffs; and finally, a cracker of a guitar solo, set the song apart from just another generic rock pop song.
And Expert is just another example in a long line of The Beths consistently delivering on anthems that you can yell along to on a midnight drive in your car. Once again, Liz’s lyrics are dead-on. The album truly shows off The Beths’ lead singer and vocalist’s ability for wordplay and her talent for wit. On ‘When You Know You Know’, the band is all whimsical and fun with lyrics like “Running down the road to jog the memory / Like tit for tat, that is you for me”. Yet some of the best lyrics on the album don’t need the support of overly smart songwriting. In the next track on the album, ‘A Passing Rain’, the honest seriousness is almost jarring. “I cave like I was built to break / You stay likе it’s a passing rain / How can you hold me when I’m dissolving?” Liz sings, laying bare the anxiety and self-doubt one feels in a relationship.
I have to make a special note on ‘2am’, which I’d consider one of The Beths’ best songs to date. Closing the album with ‘2am’ was a choice that I’m definitely not mad about. The song starts out slow and controlled, with Liz recalling the nostalgia of an old relationship. As Liz recounts the breakdown and break up, the song builds as each band member joins in to the din, before everything starts to fray at the edges. Guitars, bass, and drums are all out of sync, with Liz’s voice soaring above it all. The centrifugal forces of each instrument’s struggle to be heard in the din makes the piece feel like it’s on the verge of collapse at any moment. You’re hearing the lifecycle of a doomed relationship, and that definitely hits you hard. Hard enough to make you go ‘God, I crave human affection’ in one moment, and then ‘fuck being in a relationship’ in the next.
If you’re looking for an album that will make you simp or send it, Expert is here to give you both. It’ll take you out with the emotional ickiness of being in love (and out of it), but its many bangers to get you moving again.
A Q+A with Liz from The Beths
Arela: When you were writing the album, did it cross your mind to convey some sort of life lesson, or did you just want to word vomit into the void?
Liz: Not really. I think there are lots of reasons to think there’s some sort of lesson. You can provoke some sort of reaction or thought—I think it’s really interesting—but I feel like that’s not the primary reason why I make music.
I want to be understood, and I want it to be [known] that sometimes I feel this specific way. And I know that I’m not special and unique enough that I’d be the only person who’s experienced this. And I’m trying to just express it. I’m gonna be honest: I know that I’m quite often pathetic. But I also feel that it’s relatable. It’s feeling emotions and sincerity. It’s super cringy, it’s awful. But it also can feel good.
A: I suppose then, have you struggled with oversharing in your music? Do you ever worry about that, putting too much out there or is it all part of the game now?
L: I don’t think I’m oversharing. I find it easier to be cathartic in music because it feels like you can really put a lot of yourself into [the music].
I feel sometimes it’s also being a public persona and sharing it. It’s amazing to me that people can admit everything that’s going on with them, and I think people really connect with me because of that. But honestly, I’m less comfortable with that side. It’s curated honesty and vulnerability. So you can put it in the way that you want it to be, and you don’t necessarily have to reveal more than you are comfortable with. You’re never the only character in the story as well, so that’s something to think about when you’re writing vulnerable things or things that are based in reality.
A: What was a really memorable time that you’ve had at university that was kind of pivotal?
L: I remember going out for what I think was the end of the first semester of uni, or maybe even the first year at uni, and just going out with basically everybody from my year. The number of students every year was small—it started at 25 and I think we ended up with 15. And we just all went for a drink across the road at night.
And I think that was just something really special and really nice. Later on I kind of realised that that’s not the experience that a lot of people have at university. A lot of times university is really big, and with a lot of people it’s actually kind of hard to meet new people. And I think it was quite special that we were able to feel that. I’ve made a lot of my close friends and musical collaborators during those years rather than just consolidating my high school friends or something, or struggling. So I feel that was really lucky, and that’s something that, again, was the biggest thing I feel I got out of studying. It’s just meeting a bunch of musically talented and creative and lovely people and feeling like part of a community.
