Athens band Gláss means business. I don’t mean that in a way that places them in the realm of overly serious bands, but you can’t help but understand the vision the trio were gazing at when they created Accent. You open your eyes into darkness on the album. The limitations of the darkness are unknown, but as you carefully place one foot in front of the other, you eventually squint to see the flickering light. Bass walks and drum fills pick up the pace on “Hometown” as the lyrical repetition comes across like someone who just escaped and is saying the next step repeatedly until it (hopefully) happens.

This foundering sensation pervades various corners of the album. Whether it be a Pixies-esque bassline and disorienting pedals on “Pheasant Furs,” a track in no hurry to move forward, or comparing love to one of the more unromantic aspects of shopping on “Consumer Remorse,” you can’t help but feel like this tunnel is never ending. Musical chaos ensues on the aforementioned track in a way that switches the straightforward path into a geometric puzzle.

A track that we especially enjoyed that is a minimal escape is “Stifling Quarters.” Freak doom prevails on this beach party of a track, but, as you can guess based on the track title, a panic is caused by frantic key changes. Honestly though, it kind of feels like a really apt piece of symbolism for the modern world’s inability to wait patiently. Even the old school punk (both in length and words) of “Accent” doesn’t escape the grip of the hovering power doom. The track is fantastic though, as it seems to be a social commentary that kicks in the door only to immediately walk out the back.

This all reaches the ultimate level of climax on album powerhouse “Hotel/Motel,” a hulking wall of amps and tuning pedals. They connect to an inner My Bloody Valentine lo-fi tidal wave coupled with a distinct clarity in vocals. If we had to create a scene for this particular track, it would seem like this – someone in tattered clothes pushing their way through a crowd while observers ask if they need help, but said person simply declines and keeps moving without turning around.

“You’re Not Real” is a fitting penultimate song to the peacefulness that hopefully ensues on album closer “Jimmy Fountain.” The last track is a Southern night – stark, instruments noodling on a porch, clear skies – as breathing a sigh of relief still carries a large amount of paranoia.

Ready for this? You should be because it’s available now on Gláss’ bandcamp page. Joey Smith