What's a better surprise than a "new" California Cousins LP? A fresh 10-speed bike for your birthday? A crisp $100 bill from a relative on your highschool graduation? California Cousins's LP Secret Footage has at least one advantage over either of these- longevity! It's been at least six months since the album dropped (released June 7, 2022), but it's still certifiably fresh! Recall how long it took for that new bike to wind up in the undercarriage of your Dad's car because you negligently left it in the driveway the night before, or how many Monster Energy drink runs to 7-11 it took to deplete that hundo to pocket change, and you'll see what I mean. Unlike these other, lamer, less dependable, more easily destroyed gifts, you can enjoy Secret Footage for as long as it's hosted on California Cousin's Bandcamp page (provided you purchased it [and honestly, only so long as their catalog isn't bought out by an investment firm, who pulls their records as leverage in rate negotiations with another streaming platform... so about a decade]). Until that fateful day, though, you will be able to jam along to and shout along with the gallantly progressive grooves and personal prose that tumble out of the ragged, loud-quite-loud bluffs of the unorthodoxly cut "Patterns" and the amped-up, scaling flight of "Already Peaked," which along with it's poppy-accents, has the structure of a frantic rope-climb where you become more tangled in its slack the higher and faster you ascend. As is California Cousin's preference, many of the tracks of Secret Footage feel like delightfully magnetic pop-punk songs that have been cut up and rearranged by someone who is more familiar with multi-part saga structure of post-hardcore- but with more sparkle-dork fan service (in a good way!). "Sleep City" has a drunken quality to its trembling groove patterns that makes it feel like the song is struggling to stay on its feet while the forward stumble of the vocal hook eggs it onward, "The Fire" playfully tilts between tindery chord combustions and blustering grooves that fan the flames of its final exhaustion, and "Tinnitus" feels like it's trying to referee a boxing match where the combatants lob waves of '90s-inspired indie rock distortion at each other instead of punches. It's one of those albums that you want to share as soon as you hear it due to its unique take on familiar sounds and the enthusiasm that the bands has for their own material- it's a gift that keeps on giving in a cycle and repetition of gratitude and gratification. You might even say, that Secret Footage is as reel as it gets.
