Failure are a gem, born of the grunge era — one whose facets have continued to reveal themselves since their formation 30-plus years ago. Their sound is impressively roomy, simultaneously heavy and somber, with lush, spacy guitars, stamping them as shoegaze pioneers beloved by metalheads while frequently cited by a host of artists ranging from Hayley Williams to Wes Borland and Chino Moreno. Arriving at their seventh LP, Location Lost, was, at times, an arduous journey. After a seven-year run from 1990-’97, Failure disbanded, until reuniting once again in 2014, to an audience who had been eagerly awaiting them, somewhat to their surprise.
They’ve never been a band to deliver what’s expected or repeat themselves. That’s a constant that has remained steadfast, no matter the time or distance that’s passed. And between ’97 and 2014, the trio grew — personally, creatively, and life moved on, as it does. There was no intention of flipping through old yearbooks at the reunion. While the last 12 years of Failure 2.0 have satiated fans’ dark, Killing Joke-inspired grunge fantasies in many ways, they’ve sidestepped a nostalgia play with grace — showcasing a stretchy, sonic scope reflective of the stimulation time and experience exploring can provide.
Read more: Hayley Williams reimagines this ’90s Failure classic in new cover—watch
But time back together has also been a gift, as proven by Location Lost. True to its name, the LP sees the band operating as astute musical cartographers, having mapped out their most expansive, atmospheric sonic landscape yet. Appropriately loaded with unsettling melancholia, built on basslines that are felt deep in the listener’s bones, this album wavers from gutting and personal to otherworldly and puzzling, from stripped back to experimental, intricately layered and orchestral. Location Lost, almost like an alarm telling us to wake up, lets us know throughout not to get too comfortable. Find yourself settling into a track that feels familiar, the Cure-like, perhaps — and an unlikely pedal, electronic beat, or sharp, angular riff will hit like a B-12 shot. Think you know exactly what the magnetic vocalist Ken Andrews is saying? Suddenly, the statement becomes cryptic.
While incredibly heady, this record never alienates. With each nuance, each turn, it will just draw you closer. Failure bassist and guitarist Greg Edwards gave us some more insight into the new album, what went into it, and what he thinks the throughline has been for the band, all these years.
Miriam Marlene
“There are sounds and parts that really don’t have any precedence within the Failure world.” What was the driving force for this new direction? What was the mentality when you entered the studio?
In terms of an agreed-upon direction or controlling idea or concept, we went into the initial writing of Location Lost with less vision than any prior album, certainly since Magnified. I think we did continue to follow a general trend that has existed since The Heart Is a Monster, which is to avoid power chords and monolithic resolutions at most costs. We had a Korg MonoPoly synthesizer as well as a Fender Bass VI, which is essentially a guitar voiced in the bass range, allowing full chords and arpeggios in a lower register, as well as having its own distinct character when used in a more conventional bass role. We also had a baritone guitar, which tonally offers similar options as the Bass VI.
There were also spontaneous moments outside our normal sonic boundaries, like “Someday Soon,” which was based on a bass and drum groove Kellii and I were messing around with, and I played an Ebow overdub that sweeps across a full chord and sonically gives that song a stamp pretty far outside anything Failure has done before.
When I came up with the music for “Rising Skyline,” my acoustic just happened to be in a very odd tuning with two unison top strings, which I had come up with when I was working on a song for the artist Jean Ryden. I had never retuned the guitar, and that tuning basically made the guitar a completely foreign instrument to me, and I had to struggle to find shapes that were musical, and that struggle led to the chordal movement of “Rising Skyline.”
Because we were so fractured interpersonally going into the making of this record, and communication was at a minimum, I think it actually freed us up in the initial jamming stages. Each of us was really just in our own bubbles, making the sounds we wanted without any thought about the bands’ sonic identity. If ever it felt like an album might be an utter creative disappointment, for me, it was certainly in the early stages of this record, because looking around at the three of us, I just wondered if the will and drive were still there or if there was anything really left to say. Fortunately, music transcends personalities. If it didn’t, this band wouldn’t have made more than one, maybe two records.
Miriam Marlene
What is it, as artists, that you are reacting to or reflecting on Location Lost?
On the last four or five records, I have been the main lyricist, but on Location Lost, it is more evenly split. Ken had just been through harrowing physical trauma that he really had a need to work through in some of the songs. I think his lyrics on this album are a very personal account of his struggle with pain, physical and emotional, and his experience going through back surgery.
There’s something unavoidably profound and destabilizing about having your insides opened up by surgery, and I think it forces a reckoning with emotional material that may have been dormant before the procedure. Songs like “The Air’s on Fire” deal directly with the back surgery, whereas songs like “A Way Down” deal with looking back at failed relationships through the lens of infirmity and recovery.
I had a less urgent need to write about anything specific in my life, and I went broad and sub-atomic. Songs like “Halo and Grain” and “Solid State” are inspired by what Einstein called “spooky action at a distance.” Essentially, quantum entanglement. We’re always both lost and found, alone and together, familiar and alien. We can’t escape the absurdly bizarre predicament we find ourselves in, so we tell stories to create an illusion of continuity. But these narratives are constantly swallowed by the moment we are in. The same moment we will all die in, the same moment we have all only ever been in. And yet through this stochastic mess, there are meaningful coincidences and moments of wholeness that even the most skeptical person can’t deny.
For me, the actual scientific truth of quantum mechanics is less important than the poetic implications of the theory in the imagination. “Location Lost,” the song, is about how fleeting sanity and identity are. The more you try to locate or find yourself, the more deluded you can become. Or you can lose yourself in others, whether it’s parasocial relationships, a relationship with AI, or thinking you’ve really found yourself in someone else. These are all shells. Necessary shells, but we shouldn’t deny what’s really at base — just utter fucking strangeness.
Miriam Marlene
What’s been the through line of Failure since the start, even with the sonic shifts project to project? What makes a song, album, or show inherently Failure?
I think we are always trying to evoke unsettling emotions, not necessarily unpleasant or dark emotions, but the moods that leave a mark and are usually ambivalent, like giddy and inconsolable.
What was the most difficult song to make on the new album?
Finding where to take “Solid State” for the chorus probably had the most discussion and uncertainty.
For new listeners, how would you describe your sound and band?
I’m probably the last person who can answer this with any objectivity. I think you just have to listen. What I can say is that if you like Failure at first, there’s a lot to grow into. There’s a lot behind what you’re hearing, and a lot of work and life went into it.
Just before this album arrived, you released the documentary Every Time You Lose Your Mind — it’s a pretty unflinching and honest look at the band’s history, for better or worse. What was the process of making something like that? What was the most difficult and most rewarding aspect?
Truthfully, I would be fine if it didn’t exist at all. It’s not my favorite thing in the world. Perhaps I don’t like the exposure. But if it’s of interest to fans and or could possibly help someone who is struggling, I am all for it, despite my personal reservations.
The most rewarding thing was realizing through the process of the interviews what was really important to me about being in this band, regardless of material success. That’s the connection that a song you wrote alone in a room can make to a total stranger. In some cases, it can even change someone’s life. That’s certainly a form of quantum entanglement, right there.
The hardest thing about making it, as with almost any film or documentary, is editing down to an acceptable length. It’s impossible not to feel like you are losing some of the most interesting moments. It’s a battle between what’s cohesive and what’s compelling.
Miriam Marlene
How did that documentary affect your quality or style of collaboration as a band? Is that something that altered the course of the album?
Ken is the one who spearheaded, directed and edited with Priscilla Scott. It took all his time for more than a year. I think the process divided us, and we drifted collectively away from the music. We had to find our way back in through the process of jamming and writing the songs for this album. I also think Ken put so much into the documentary that it took a mental and physical toll that ultimately ended up becoming inspiration for a few of the songs on Location Lost.
You worked with longtime fan Hayley Williams on “Rising Skyline,” in a softer style that you won’t necessarily find on the typical Failure project. What was that process like? How did that go from fandom to friendship and collaboration? And with that song, did you create a space for her to sing on the album, or did it organically open up?
We have always had a softer acoustic side, on the segues “Blank,” “Another Post Human Dream,” “Snow Angel,” “Half Moon,” etc. Ken gave Hayley the whole album, and that is the song she liked the best, and Ken somewhat spontaneously said, “You want to sing on it?” She was finishing up her solo record, and she was able to take some time and record vocals.
We gave her free rein to do whatever she wanted, which was to sing an octave above Ken. But what I think is really remarkable about her performance is how subtle and fragile her reading of the lyrics is. It’s emotionally very raw and understated. It’s not a performance; those emotions are really in her voice, and each time I listen, I hear more feeling.
