Counterparts
You're Not You Anymore

"No direction, I am compass. Constantly spinning. Constantly searching for the end. Never reaching our destination."

This is how Brendan Murphy vented in 2013 among the rivers of words that supported “The Difference Between Hell and Home”, the reference album for the Ontario band. Words that sound prophetic and reflective of Murphy himself. Not only because the lyrics have always been exclusively his, but also because of the direction taken by Counterparts. Four years later, of those young guys in their twenties who formed the group, only he remains. Just like a spinning top moving with impulse and perpetual motion. The companions following him on this adventure are new, four out of five members, a line-up change capable of destroying a band, especially when after “Tragedy Will Find Us”, Jesse Doreen, the deus ex machina behind Counterparts' songwriting, exits the scene. These are the necessary premises accompanying the arrival of “You’re Not You Anymore”, a title that perhaps wants to send a mocking smile to all the skepticism surrounding the months leading to its release.

"Collecting scars like souvenirs of pasts we can't forget."

I don’t know about you, but the return of autumn for me also means plunging back into musical routines. What I mean is, surely you too have that record that stands out, aggressively highlighting itself above others, accompanying you when the window glass is dotted with raindrops and grayness submerges entire days. My ritual, in this case, is always to pull out the old dusty “Love Let Me Go” by More Than Life and dive into the drowsy atmosphere of September. There is a spark that ignites every time. Whether it’s the piercing melodies like the lovely wind in full face. Whether this isn’t a review about More Than Life, but about Counterparts. Whether... I’ve told you this, then what for? Because when I played “You’re Not You Anymore”, the sensation I had was of having found the replacement for my September loops. It’s known, first impressions are what count.

"You haunt me like an empty home. Priceless possession. I bring you with me wherever I go."

The dirt beneath my Dr.Martens is damp, laden with heavy rain that makes the foliage vivid and lustrous as never before. Venturing alone into the decaying woods of late summer, the sky grants a reprieve. A fleeting moment where one can catch their breath by hitting their head against a moist bark. In its own way, it is a moment of reflection, an escape from the cold steel of the city. An attempt to hide from the shadows that undermine, in one jolt after another, the foundations of a balance as sought after as never achieved. This is the mood that invades like vital sap every root that forms the main trunk of “You’re Not You Anymore”. Counterparts do not give up on seeking a lyrical fil rouge with the previous full lengths, they are well aware of being possessed by a fragility that opens, sews, resews, and scars old wounds. But this is the beginning of a new era. An awareness that squeezes, obsesses like a voracious climber, but at the same time releases a fully regenerated creature. Change is necessary, just accept it.

"Inducing dreams in which we never met to rid myself of regret. We were a pair of fragile limbs."

The poetic urgency of Brendan Murphy is no longer solitary, “You’re Not You Anymore” is the sum of a band that, for the first time, found itself in the studio drawing from everyone’s inspiration, even old friends like Alex Re. Always cerebral and capable of creating hermetic schizophrenia, the hardcore punk structures here reach a fluidity of execution never before seen in the Canadians. Don't worry. Insane and broken rhythms? Yup. You still find them. You can thank the solid work done by Kyle Brownlee (new entry on drums). Earth-shattering breakdowns? Yup. They still set synapses on fire. Sweetly desperate melodies? Yup. There's enjoyment to be had in the 28 minutes of this full length. This might indeed be the winning key of “You’re Not You Anymore”. Over the suffocating screams of Brendan intertwines the pulsating and incessant interplay of the guitars by Blake Hardman (ex Hundredth) and Adrian Lee. There isn’t a misplaced note, everything fits perfectly, always sewing the right soul onto each track of the album. Emotional strings struggling to survive on a flimsy trellis, until it eventually decides to unravel completely in the gooey climax of the final title track. The purest distillation of what Counterparts are: an apparent warmth and calm, launching an arrow that pierces at full speed.

"Mark an end to aimless roaming with a double-sided knife. Taking steps towards each other, We could end both our lives, and that'd be fine."

Here you go. Knowing this is enough for you to enjoy their return to the scenes. In the face of the skeptics.