Songs don’t have a tendency to terrify me, but one in particular creeps a chill down my spine every time I hear it. It’s called the “Subway Song,” off The Cure’s album Boy’s Don’t Cry, and it details the plight of a woman coming home on the subway after midnight. “Echoes of footsteps/ Follow close behind/ But she dare not turn around” sings Robert Smith in the way only Robert Smith can. The bass line lingers then stops for a brief pause, giving way to a monstrous scream.
Bothers me every time I hear it.
I’m gonna have to guess Louis Vasquez knows that song rather well. The sole member of San Francisco’s The Soft Moon, Vasquez’ self-titled debut album mirrors The Cure, digging into a Gothic past and emerging with slick atmospheric grooves and sullen, glimmering synths. It also scared the shit out of me — leaving me edgier than Charlie Sheen in a room full of cocaine. Granted, everyone is edgy in a roomful of cocaine, but you get the idea.
The opening track “Breathe the Fire” enters in media res, with a feel as if you’re being chased like wild game. The ominous bass line is topped by Vasquez’ icy lyrics, which never rise above a cautious whisper. It gives way to the agitated “Circles,” a whirling loop of yelps and cries. I imagined myself being stuck in a tunnel while cars with blinding lights raced at me from every direction.
Yeah, I was losing it.
Vasquez saved me from despair with the rhythmic “When it’s Over,” which wasn’t exactly a merry track (the moans didn’t come across gleeful), but I didn’t see the need to keep looking over my shoulder. But “When it’s Over” was, Vasquez ramped up the tension again with “Dead Love,” and maintained the pressure until the final note of “Tiny Spiders” screamed into silence.
In between lurk songs modern horror movies would die for (sorry, I’m adding levity so as not to crumble). “Parallels” groans and gurgles like a drowning man, and the aptly-named “Sewer Sickness” is an onslaught of high-pitched synths and bass reverb. I don’t even want to talk about “Primal Eyes,” OK? Cause it’s not OK, man, it’s just not.
There is genius in Vasquez’ bleak world, but it’s a frightening place to be. The Soft Moon is a taut, thin wire over a deep canyon of pain — and as long as you keep going forward, you’ll be satisfied when it’s over.
Just dare not turn around.
