Album Review: Fains – Fains
If you're into the kind of music that feels like it’s from another dimension, then Fains by Fains is your jam. Released in 2012 on Scissor Tail (a label that knows how to pick ‘em), this US-born album dives deep into experimental electronic sounds with a mix of ambient vibes and broken beat chaos. It's not exactly background music, but it’s also not the kind of thing you blast at a party unless your friends are super into weird soundscapes. And honestly? That’s what makes it so cool.
Scotty Griffith, the mastermind behind this project, wrote all the tracks, and you can tell he wasn’t just phoning it in. Every song has its own personality, like they’re little creatures wandering around in an alien forest. Let me break down two tracks that really stuck with me.
First up, “Floating World.” Man, this one hits different. It starts off slow, almost like you’re floating through space or maybe a dream where gravity doesn’t exist. Then bam—these glitchy beats kick in, and suddenly you’re not sure if you’re relaxing or freaking out. The way it builds tension without ever fully exploding is wild. You keep waiting for something big to happen, but instead, it leaves you hanging, which somehow works perfectly. It’s the kind of track that makes you stare out the window for 10 minutes thinking about life.
Then there’s “This Cat Move.” Don’t let the goofy title fool you; this thing slaps. It’s got this hypnotic rhythm that feels like your brain is being massaged by a robot DJ. There are moments where it almost falls apart, like the beat stumbles over itself, but that’s part of the charm. It’s unpredictable, kinda messy, and totally addictive. I found myself replaying it just to figure out how Griffith pulled it off. Spoiler alert: I still don’t know.
The rest of the album keeps the vibe going strong. Tracks like “Fontanelle” and “Manasarovar” feel like secret codes waiting to be cracked, while “Bent Julep” throws curveballs that shouldn’t work but somehow do. It’s clear Griffith wasn’t trying to make anything conventional here, and thank goodness for that.
So yeah, Fains isn’t for everyone. If you need lyrics or big choruses or predictable structures, this might not be your cup of tea. But if you’re someone who digs music that challenges you, that makes you sit up and go “huh,” then give it a shot. Personally, I think it’s one of those albums that grows on you over time, like mold on bread—but in a good way, you know?
Final thought: Listening to Fains feels like being handed a puzzle with half the pieces missing. At first, you’re confused, maybe even annoyed. But then you realize the missing pieces are kinda the point. Weird flex, but I’m here for it.
