The end of one thing almost certainly marks the beginning of something new, or at least something else. Maybe something empty or something fragile. Or maybe something bold and adventurous. Loss can bring about many fears and desires as we take inventory of what was left behind. This is no mystery to The Cordial Sins, who explore varying themes of longing, yearning, and demise across their debut full-length.

Before the release of Daze, The Cordial Sins occupied a markedly disparate sonic sound scape. The little documentation from the band’s earlier moments points to major changes in membership and composition prior to the recording and release of their debut album. The band’s current incarnation is strong and formidable—the lineup change is one made out of calculation and confidence.

The Cordial Sins, in their present state, are an alternative rock band. They have an active pulse that is varied without being erratic. Their movements are fluid and well-practiced. They’re dream-pop leaning, though I’d be hesitant to classify them solely as a dream-pop band, if only because the lines between dream-pop and shoegaze are no longer blurred in the ways they were in the early 90s. Their particular dream-pop and shoegaze tendencies are distilled and applied with careful vigilance. There are no gimmicks here, just pure pop sensibility.

Daze—above all else—is a triumph of balance, reliance, and composure. Between emotive swells and swirling washes are carefully placed displays of expertise without any hint of peacocking or swagger. The arrangements consistently serve the songwriting. Every note of every passage played with each and every instrument feels necessary. The Cordial Sins have a solid and concise rhythm section that most bands would envy, particularly with the prominent bass guitar that provides the heartbeat and forward momentum for nearly every song. The dual guitar lines that lace every song are carefully orchestrated and come packaged in ambiance and modulation that never feels out of place. The keys, synthesizers, and strings provide a depth and shimmer that opens the album up to listening after listening.

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Much of the album’s accessibility comes from the allure of frontwoman Liz Fisher. Her voice is often lighter than air—it’s rarely magnificent, but always pleasant. Her singing is neither tender or callous. Her presence occupies a space where the voice of a woman might become the voice of any woman.

The album’s lyrics are polished and they appear to come from a place of deep consideration. Fisher can most often be heard lamenting over the passage of time, too afraid or tired to do anything other than trace her own footsteps. It takes a truly melancholic heart to romanticize leaving and staying all at once like this collection of songs does. The stories are believable too, but they don’t always feel like they belong solely to the speaker. The lyrics are specific enough to elicit emotion, but general enough to bend to the memories and needs of the listener. They are neither clever or clichéd. They steer clear of the well- worn forms of confessional and fable. These songs pause and take note from artists whose catalogs have aged with dignity and grace, and this is the key to Daze’s success. These stories are meant to be shared because they come from a conjoined or collective heart.

I think an album will age best if it asks more questions than it answers, and Daze does just that. It’s fitting that Fisher, in one of the grandest moments of the album asks, “So, who will you be when I’m not around?” She sings without even a hint of malice. Moments like this seize the true spirit of an album marked by loss and disillusionment. Daze captures a sense of both candor and immediacy, which is a difficult feat, especially when considering the subject matter. Where did this inspiration come from and how long will it last? What did they leave behind in the well and what’s next? There’s no way to know, but I think Fisher says it best when she sings, “Your smile is always sweeter when the / days are numbered.”

Score: 4/5

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