The New Zealand siblings exorcise grief by taking a chilled-out vacay to a sci-fi inspired destination on their most personal, low-key album yet.
Grief is a funny beast. It’s a certainty that each one of us will face it at some point in life, and yet there’s no knowing when it’ll hit, how hard, or predicting in what ways we’ll react.
Some confront it head-on, others might do everything to avoid it. For Georgia and Caleb Nott - the siblings behind Kiwi pop sensations BROODS - they conjured a sci-fi destination with its very own understated, spaced-out soundtrack …As you do.
Space Island, the duo’s fourth album, comes after the pair reclaimed their musical independence on 2019’s Don’t Feed The Pop Monster. Breaking free from the mould of synthpop-alikes, it was a colourfully vibrant, fun, dynamic statement that showed BROODS were capable of so much more than what had previously defined them.
But the celebratory high from that career empowerment was soon dashed by a period of personal crisis and upheaval. Wed at age 21, Georgia’s marriage broke down and ended in divorce in 2019. By March the following year, the pandemic had forced the world indoors, amplifying those feelings of disconnection and isolation. By the time the album was finished, Caleb had also gone through a break-up.
Space Island reckons with deteriorating romance and tough emotions by tossing them through BROODS’ softest music to date. The album has the boundary-pushing spirit of its predecessor, carrying over the fusion of live and synthetic instrumentation, but in service of music that leans more towards futuristic RnB and soul than explicitly pop.
These are songs characterised by blissed-out atmospheres, decorated with warm synths, hazy guitar plucks and lean-but-impactful beats. It’s music designed to soothe and reflect rather than get the pulse racing or sing anthemically along to, which reflects the album’s entire spaced-out vibe and ‘songwriting-as-therapy’ method.
“That’s how I deal with most things: Escapism,” Georgia tells triple j. “This [album] was an opportunity to challenge that coping mechanism and write about it… It’s been really fun, really cathartic, and really hard.”
“Making music in general is an act of escapism for me,” adds Caleb. “If I’m feeling shitty I’ll go and make something that doesn’t make me feel shitty. Often I’ll make something happier than what Georgia’s writing about because that’s how I deal with things.”
That contrast elevates cuts like the slinky ‘Heartbreak’ and the bubbling ‘Piece Of My Mind’, whose dancey pulse and bright synths belie the sense of disorientation in the lyrics, which captures both the futility of escapism (‘Maybe I went out too far/Or maybe I’m not far enough) as well as the time-sink nature of grief and life-during-COVID (‘I’ve been here for seven months/Or maybe it’s just been a week’).
Georgia describes her experience of grief as alienating, throwing her “out of orbit”, which gave birth to the Space Island concept - the imaginary destination brought to life in the album visuals.
The singer is shut off from the world in a transparent coffin-like capsule in the cover artwork and accompanying music videos, broken up into three ‘Chapters’.
Taking inspiration from ‘60s & ‘70s science fiction (including Zardoz, a "bananas" '70s Sean Connery flick, Caleb notes) and working with director/childhood friend Sam Kristofski, BROODS used the natural scenery in the South Island of New Zealand to substitute for craggy, otherworldly environments.
The world-building also extends to the live show; the duo play rescheduled dates around the country in April, and promise a vivid, psychedelic spectacle that will “suck people through that portal to Space Island,” Georgia says.
“Let’s just say, you’re not going to need to take anything,” Caleb chuckles suggestively.
The surreal visual treatment also mirrors Georgia’s mental state as she confronted different stages of grief, and the album goes on a journey from denial and confusion to a palace of acceptance and resolution.
Space Island is the closest thing to a concept album BROODS have made, but it’s less of a narrative-with-characters and more of a unifying framework - think Planet Her by Doja Cat or Plastic Beach by Gorillaz.
Turns out Damon Albarn’s collab-loving cartoon band are one of Caleb’s “all-time favourites” and an enduring influence on his production.
“Gorillaz sounds are always banging. It’s something I always want to make sure is happening in music I make: groove, rhythm,” he explains. “Especially the track ‘Heartbreak’, that drum beat is my best to do [‘Welcome To The World of The Plastic Beach’ ft. Snoop Dogg]; my favourite drum production ever.”
‘Distance And Drugs’ uses breezy guitar and RnB cadence to put a sassy spin on its sense of tragedy - that Georgia no longer recognises the man she fell in love with. ‘Boy, I don’t know this man’ she purrs before the track flips into thick slabs of synth and a shuffling beat in the chorus.
Juxtaposing emotional turmoil with fizzy sonic fireworks is a trick as old as pop music itself. (‘It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to’, anyone?). But in the album’s weakest moments, it feels like its using that juxtaposition and loungey, vibed-out sonics to disguise its real feelings instead of actually engaging and exploring them.
There’s a gauzy, chilled-out ambiance to everything, meaning these songs aren’t weighed down by heavy emotions, and while that’s probably the point - conveying a sense of detachment from an all-too-painful reality - it means the effect is more like a sedative, numbing sensations of true emotion and blurring the specifics.
We never learn many details about Georgia’s marriage other than it was far less than perfect. It’s obviously her prerogative how much to reveal, and we don’t need salacious tabloid-feeding specifics, but her lyrics can be vague, a feeling only enhanced by the record’s spacier sounds.
On ‘I Keep’ - a dreamy duet with Tove Lo - Georgia sings about ‘burning for no one’; she keeps kissing electricity and ‘finding herself on the floor’ but ‘keeps on coming back for more’.
Turns out they’re singing from the perspective of an insect that keeps flying into a bug zapper, using the old saying ‘like a moth to the flame’ as a metaphor for a relationship where you keep getting drawn to something that will only burn you. Even with that helpful context, ‘I Keep’ doesn’t do more than the sum of its parts.
The way Georgia’s voice contrasts with Tusky’s huskier tone is pleasant, their voices dovetailing over a flickering groove. It’s all very evocative but the track lacks a memorable hook and has very little of substance to say.
Similarly, the spare voice-and-guitar driven ‘‘Alien’ suggests a neat metaphor for alienation but doesn’t amount to much more than a few almost-too-literal lines (‘I feel just like you/Am I an alien too?).
‘Gaslight’ also hints at something far more interesting that the song delivers. Anybody using that title in 2022 should be ready to examine the problematic nature of gaslighting, but this wafting track never rises to the challenge. Instead, it leans into platitudes like ‘don’t walk away’, ‘remember the promises’ and muted references to depression and drugs devoid of much context.
That said, Georgia’s melody and vocal performance is gorgeous. In fact, Space Island contains some of her career-best performances, conveying the emotional weight and nuance that the words sometimes lack.
‘Like A Woman’ is a clear highlight, a shapeshifting centrepiece that gently bubbles from heavenly harmonies and organ to a blossoming, soul-baring climax as Georgia expresses the devastating realisation she was infantalised by her partner; her femininity taking second place to her security.
‘I felt so safe in the bubble you made me/But I never felt like a woman to you’ she sings in the album’s most tender, touching moment.
Running at just over 30 minutes, Space Island is more of a punchy whirlwind tour than a fleshed-out odyssey. Everything is well-rendered and executed, but you can’t help but yearn for a moment that goes big (like BROODS’ early records) or gets truly oddball (like Don’t Feed The Pop Monster).
Especially since the record front-loads its strongest material, meaning it loses some steam before ending on a relatively positive not - both musically and lyrically - with ‘If You Fall In Love’; Georgia sounding content as calming piano, harp, and slide guitar orbit around smooth upper-register harmonies and tropical-adjacent beats.
Nothing here is bad or dull, and moment-to-moment, it’s refreshing to hear BROODS pare back their pop instincts for something simpler, more relaxed and understated, even as they document the heaviest subject matter of their career.
Ultimately, Space Island achieves what it set out to do: help BROODS tame the strange beast that is grief. “It’s really beautiful to look back on, especially now that I feel really far from it and in a good place,” remarks Georgia.
Now that she’s healed, she’s excited to “give it to other people who might be going through that [process],” using the album as their own getaway to help escape and process whatever hard issues they’re dealing with.
"An album is much cheaper than a therapy session,” Caleb chuckles. “Not to make, but to buy.”
Space Island is out now. BROODS embark on an rescheduled Australian tour from April. Dates and details here.