Car Seat Headrest’s newest effort, The Scholars, has been eagerly anticipated – particularly following the divisive reception of their previous album, Making A Door Less Open. Hype around the new release began in February with an ARG campaign that teased snippets of the album through cryptic riddles. But since then, two underwhelming pre-release singles have stirred more apprehension than excitement – and unfortunately, that apprehension proves largely justified.
The Scholars was marketed as a grand artistic undertaking: a rock opera with a compelling narrative; an expansive creative leap; the next chapter for the seminal indie band. Instead, what is offered is a clumsy, unfocused collection of pop-rock tracks, occasionally haunted by the faint echo of Toledo’s stronger works. The record is riddled with poor production choices, scattershot songwriting and a storyline that is muddled and ill-conveyed.
The opening track, 'CCF (I’m Gonna Stay With You)' hinted at potential when first released as a single. Within the album, it gains some contextual weight but also immediately exposes key flaws. It begins promisingly, exploring streams of reversed guitar, a tight cymbal groove and a fragmented piano line, before abandoning these elements entirely in favour of formulaic, pop-ish choruses, weak synth textures and an uninspired acoustic break. The sudden shift is jarring, entirely wasting the initial intrigue.
The follow-up, 'Devereaux', is shockingly bland, as awkward vocals and a lifeless drum mix culminate in a flat, forgettable chorus. 'Lady Gay Approximately', a sparse acoustic track, fares slightly better in the mix due to its minimal arrangement, but the songwriting remains uninspired and derivative.
Aptly titled, 'The Catastrophe' is the record’s chief offender. A sonically illegible Toledo fights to break through the chaotic chorus mix, with his grating verse performance almost justifies the indistinguishable vocal production. All instruments are pushed aggressively to the front, with a series of false crescendos offering no real payoff. The track epitomises the album’s broader failings: unclear intentions, excessive layering and an emotionally opaque delivery.
By the fifth track, 'Equals', I resorted to looking up a lyric sheet in the hope of deciphering the narrative. So far, the story had offered no emotional foothold or clear developments – aside from murky allusions to estranged parents on 'Lady Gay Approximately'. This trend of incomprehensibility persists through the record, largely due to Toledo’s mishandling of the shifting perspectives. He adopts multiple voices but provides no distinctive features, leaving the listener to guess when the speaker has changed or when a new narrator is introduced. The plot attempts to touch on adolescent and university-age experiences, but themes are often awkwardly discarded or dragged to a muddled conclusion. One of the main characters, Chanticleer, inexplicably vanishes halfway through, only to reappear at the end with a nonsensical twist involving his faked death. The storyline feels half-finished – a serious shortcoming for a concept album.
'Gethsemane' continues the decline. It was weak as a single, and within the album’s context it still falls flat due to a messy arrangement, poor mixing, and a strained vocal performance. It is ostensibly meant to usher in the album’s ambitious second half but instead drags listeners into a tedious triptych of ballads stretching across 40 minutes.
The word tedious may be unfair to the record’s sole triumph: 'Reality'. Sung by guitarist Ethan Ives, it breaks free from the album’s flaws entirely. Ives, who also led vocals on MADLO’s 'What’s With You Lately?', once again delivers a heartfelt, textured performance that makes Toledo’s heavily processed vocals pale by comparison. When Toledo does come in on this track, the softer sections give him space to remind listeners of his vocal abilities. He thrives in these slower, emotional moments where he can be frail, honest, and tearful. Ives’ emotionally resonant voice, the vivid guitar solo and rich brass flourishes – reminiscent of Teens of Denial’s 'Cosmic Hero' – combine to create the album’s only fully realised emotional moment. 'Reality' could comfortably sit on Twin Fantasy, and it’s a painful reminder of what Car Seat Headrest can still achieve at their best.
Unfortunately, 'Planet Desperation' immediately ruins this momentum, sending the record into turmoil once again. Despite its promising, Velvet Underground-style intro, it quickly devolves into hollow synth work and absurd transitions. The genre shift feels arbitrary and unresolved, and the structure is baffling: four disparate sections stitched together with cartoonish abruptness, resulting in nothing short of auditory whiplash. The resulting mix of acoustic guitar and synth is neither cohesive nor compelling. The song’s supposed climax – a dreary callback to 'Gethsemane' – is grimly underwhelming, leaving the extended runtime completely unjustified. The album closes with the lifeless 'True/False Lover', which seems intended as a rousing finale but only deepens the sense of disappointment.
The Scholars is a disorganised let-down of a record. It feels like a reaction to the mixed reception of MADLO, but one undertaken without clarity or conviction. The decision to refocus on young adult experiences is a poor one; Toledo no longer possesses the voice, literal or artistic, to convincingly embody adolescent angst. Musically, this new experiment has been disastrous. The band explore countless ideas but commit to none, and the production is astonishingly inconsistent – uncharacteristic, considering Toledo’s other stellar mixes. Much of the album meanders aimlessly, and its ambitious ideas collapse under the weight of such poor execution.
It's especially disheartening for long-time listeners. To hear the songwriter who, as a teenager, composed the extraordinary sixteen-minute climax 'Famous Prophets' stumble through two sprawling ballads in one record is quite saddening. After repeated listens for this review, I’m relieved to shelve The Scholars, save for 'Reality', which stands as a solitary reminder of the band’s potential. Car Seat Headrest have lost their voice, and one can only hope they rediscover it in their next endeavour.