The multitude of bands emerging in the dream pop genre mirrors an unfortunate truth about dreams: some are memorable, and some are not. Fortunately for Virginia Tech graduate Jack Tatum, his project, Wild Nothing, achieves the former on its second full-length release, Nocturne.
Nocturne, like the classical compositions of the same name, turns to Earth’s only celestial satellite for inspiration. For the release of the first single, “Paradise,” on Aug. 7, Wild Nothing created a website featuring a working lunar calendar to hype its release. Tatum explained the significance of the lunar calendar, which also graces the album cover. “There was a great deal of restlessness that went into the creation of this album,” reads a press release about the album. “The moon cycle has come to represent this for me; a slowly changing symbol of where these songs feel at home, a sleepless state of mind.” While the album isn’t quite as grandiose as Chopin, Tatum achieves a certain level of mastery and beauty in his sophomore work.
Typical of the genre, Nocturne is a sonic symphony waxing and waning in and out of sensory overload and subdued minimalism with vocals that provide lo-fi instrumentation as often as synths and strings. But Tatum applies his lyrical sensibilities to dream pop’s cyclical meandering in a way that elevates Nocturne above its peers.
Tatum’s ethereal vocals on “Shadow” and “Nocturne” are both soothing and pensive. On the title track, Tatum sulks “You want to know me / Well, what’s to know?” The story may be playing out in his mind, but the instrumentation and words give a level of concreteness to the feelings involved. What makes Nocturne great is the way that sound and meaning work together in perfect harmony to evoke a unified message that runs through the album: yearning.
Like a dream, Nocturne transports one effortlessly through time and space, from late ‘80s new wave synth pop on “Paradise” to the hipster indie pop echoes of 2012 on “Rheya.” Nocturne reflects on where Tatum wishes to be, paying little attention to practicality or traditional sensibility. It makes sense in the dream, as the wistful nostalgia of “Counting Days” and the hopeless romanticism of “Only Heather” grasp at ideas floating in the space of Tatum’s inner desires.
Like waking up from a dream, the end of the album offers little conclusion or definitive message–you don’t really know where you’ve been, but you know you liked it.
Voice’s Choices: “Only Heather,” “Paradise”
