Pagu, the moniker of Nashville-via Florida Gulf Coast-via Ohio’s Jonah Tatum, has earned himself quite a reputation due to his bombastic live shows, intricate set and lighting design, and dynamic stage personality. While he sometimes plays with a band of rotating members, he’s also heavily-invested in the DJ scene – something I stumbled into firsthand after being invited to another one of his “shows.” It’s interesting to see how Pagu traverses these two worlds, from playing with experimental punk bands one night to the bass-boosted chaos of a seven-person DJ show the next. Much of Pagu’s material to date, and, dare I say, overall branding, has been personable, light-headed, maybe even cliché in a sense. That doesn’t mean the back of his discography is weak by any stretch, but it’s definitely feel-good.
Color me surprised when Quiet + Slow, Pagu’s debut album, displayed a more conceptually-serious tone. Its songs are still fun, and the synths, vocal processing, and use of samples all still give the collection a modern pop edge. But it’s the change in lyrical approach that stood out most immediately. There’s much more to unpack thematically, but none of the language is ever too abstract. Take “You Just Love Me Sometimes” and the line, “Hot girls will just be hot girls.” Okay, maybe it’s not going to win a Pulitzer award for poetry. Even as far as honest albums go, it’s not necessarily near the top of my list (it doesn’t get more confessional than Benjamin Daniel talking about how he wishes he would have had more say in how his mother’s body was handled after her death). But this album doesn’t NEED to be a lyrical masterpiece nor an exercise in describing pain in excessive detail. The album’s honesty is refreshing because, regardless of how the ideas are construed, Pagu actually has something to lose here. Pair this with the album’s surprise drop – which was not only NOT on Friday as is traditional but was also on a HOLIDAY – and there’s something markedly different about the ethos of the record.
Quiet + Slow is a reflective album: it starts by looking back, with Pagu asking some unknown person to hit him over the head with something hard and heavy if he starts going back to the way he used to be. That’s quite a way to kick things off. The songs which follow oscillate between the digital chaos of Anamanaguchi and the rhythmically-tight indie-pop of The 1975, adorned with sprinklings of anime soundtracks, 00s Killers-flavored rock, and the intensity of dubstep and hardstyle. Almost every track feels like it showcases unique influences. Take “Loving Creatures,” a song that’s full of vocal processing and pitch-shifting and pit that against the more conventional pop rock of “Star to Wish.”
As far as lyrical specifics go, you’ve got the “My life isn’t as great as it looks” motifs of “Slice of Life,” the “let the haters know they’re right” elements of Jonah Tatum Diss Track, the cry of “God, help me change,” on “Star to Wish,” and reminders to be kind to yourself on “Butterfly.” It’s a lot of processing and admission of failure, and it’s not really dressed up. “I’ve had it up to here with your shit,” Pagu says in reference to himself. If he’s accomplished his goal, there are moments you’re supposed to hate him. You’d certainly be vindicated in doing so. The thing is, when someone admits their failures and owns up, it’s hard to wield it against them. “You think I’m bad? Here, let me add a few things to your list of accusations you’re missing.”
As far as production goes, it’s a polished effort with really only a few hands in the pot. The album was finalized with help from long-term collaborator Slyboy, and it’s further proof that independent artists have an abundance of tools just within reach. One huge surprise to me was that there are actually NO female vocals on the album, but the pair have been able to alter the vocal tracks so precisely to sound convincingly feminine. There are moments where, even within the confines of Pagu’s natural vocal register, he displays a range in his delivery: there’s frenetic screaming, pop-punk type singing, unhinged high notes, parts that almost verge on rap, and more. Somehow, the album still manages to be cohesive – all while feeling like a showcase of everything Pagu has to offer.
And even in the album’s simpler moments, Pagu manages to create density. “Loving Creatures” is certainly far from my favorite track here, but its refrain of “Loving creatures can’t go on without their fix. They’re designed for real love but sleep around just for the kicks,” is rife with theological implications but made entirely accessible to the common person. It’s actually genius in a sense: make a track about how meaningless sex is empty, make it a club banger, and get people to examine their own lives in the process. And when it’s coming from someone you admire artistically, suddenly the sentiments matter more.
Quiet + Slow is a crossroads record: pop and rock, serious and fun, meaningful and accessible. It’s an album that doesn’t overthink things (some lyrics are a bit awkward, for instance) and both feels like classic Pagu AND a better version of Pagu. I didn’t expect this record to hit so hard thematically, and it’s definitely filled with lessons cultivated by age. It hard not to take a look at myself as I listen through. And there is no magical end to the story, just a reminder that life moves ahead – quiet and slow – and to take things one step at a time.
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