Los Angeles-based talent Storefront Church, real name Lukas Frank, is one of alternative rock’s most promising acts. After years of drumming in the background–supporting bands such as Phoebe Bridgers, Portugal. The Man, Alexandra Savior–the release of his debut album As We Pass (via Sargent House) puts his compositional and writing abilities on full display, skills that–from his Academy Award-nominated screenwriter and director father, Scott Frank (Out of Sight, Minority Report, The Lookout, Logan, The Queen’s Gambit)–run in the family.
There are many words one might use to describe the world of As We Pass; pleasant isn’t one of them. A more appropriate pairing of words, cool and bone-dry, wet and dark, or stained with smoke and smog. In any case, there is a layer of cynicism to it. Derived from eeriness, it’s this level of mystery that makes the album so tangible, so real. Though As We Pass is a solo project, Frank credits that quality 5 time Grammy award-winning producer Cassidy Turbin, who engineered the project, “the Hi-Fi quality to it is 100% attributed to him […] He’s kind of this pure filter of unaffected clarity.”
Church would argue this cloaked world is not his creation alone, rather one lens through which to see the world we live in if only we were curious enough to look through it. As We Pass is an apocalyptic and realistic experience of reality. The album is eerie, unnerving, and nearly nihilistic at times; while simultaneously stunningly beautiful and full of what little life remains as we’re moving towards an end. This is a theme explored throughout the album, Church explained, “if there’s one through-line, it’s this idea of living in a space where things are ending.”
“I do live with a lot of existential dread, be it the climate crisis, or any number of social justice issues that we face. At the time of writing this record, I was really thinking about the process of something ending. Whether that’s something that you want to end–it could be the end of an unhealthy relationship or something that, when it ends, there’s catharsis in it–as opposed to something really tragic, and you kind of see it coming and you’re suspended in this transition. So, speaking to the sort of apocalyptic or nihilistic undertones of the record, I think it just comes from a general sense of dread that a lot of people in our generation feel and I feel in particular,” details Church.
From the outset, even before the first track begins, Church is not hiding that dread on the album. At the sight of the album cover (a public bus engulfed in flames and plumes of smoke, crashing from the sky into a dark but calm landscape, without a person in sight) the listener settles into the album’s tone.
The album opens with “After the Alphabets,” an effective thesis for the project. The slow-moving, swelling composition and eerie chord structure underscore Church’s poignant lyrics, “after the alphabets / there will only be insects / we are the white hair / we are the snow.” Insisting on apocalypse, forcing it into the imagination; the severity of the lyrics is almost humorous. “Something about this song feels like a long introduction,” says Church, continuing, “it’s this very linear journey.” And where does that journey arrive? The too-real line, “the waters are rising fast.”
In terms of lyrics and tone, the remainder of the album evolves in the context of “After The Alphabets;” compositionally, though, the album will wander between influences. As Church puts it, the album has, “aesthetic range.”
“I think a lot about the many voices running around in my head. And I think that’s why this record is so diverse. I’m trying to give each voice its sort of platform,” says Church.
The earlier tracks exhibit a sonic swelling, an overcoming of sound and punctual beats that structurally calls to mind atmospheric rock. At “Total Stranger,” things take their first of many major turns. “Total Stranger’s” walking bassline and somnolent guitars accompany a love story half realistic, half hallucinated. With more roll than rock, he sings “there’s a photo of us that hasn’t happened yet / the past is just a tale I tell myself / a photo of us that just doesn’t exist is the only thing that’s pulling me through.”
This is followed by a soft piano track filled with social commentary “Us Against Us”. Church sings “not again/not again” with chilling clarity and detachment. His singing often feels anesthetized while he portrays end after end.
“A huge part of this album is finding the line between acceptance and apathy,” admits Frank, “there’s a lot of that sort of malaise, which I am a little insecure about because it is such a millennial tag, the disaffected millennial. It’s so easy to be dismissive of that and be like, ‘oh, the disaffected millennial. The ironic, irony-poisoned millennials.’ But it’s a coping mechanism for the overly sensitive, and the overly caring. At a certain point, you just become defeated. And you can’t care about everything.”
The album does exude that sort of malaise. But its most fascinating contradiction is that while Church may sound far off–the tone of the pieces almost resigned to darkness–As We Pass is directly confrontational. From the outset, the listener is faced with the existential dread that Church wants to make music from, and he makes no efforts to escape it.
“This idea of escaping versus facing, right? I think that for me, when it’s something that plagues me as much as this idea that we’re destroying our home, for ourselves and for our future generation for our children and our children’s children it. I don’t really think there’s any escaping that,” says Church. This isn’t shallow or surface, it’s art, it’s political, and it’s real. That’s not to say As We Pass will tear you down; in fact, it’s quite the contrary. The foregrounding of pain at the end of the album shows its power over the listener.
“I understand wanting moments of reprieve and not wanting your music to feel like you’re listening to, you know, the news. But when I listen to music that touches on things like that, whether they bring me pain or not, I feel a little bit more connected, a little bit more present. I feel less alone with those things. It helps me. Whereas when I try to escape or look away, it doesn’t ultimately help,” says Church adding, “it’s like when you read an incredible book, and you feel like someone had your thoughts. That’s different from reading something that was just kind of entertaining.”
As an album about living in the time of ends, the lyrics dive into the theme of escapism and confrontation. On “The Beach,” Church sings, “waiting for the days end / video games and little escapes are all that tie you to your friends.” Here escapism rushes in. On one side of the spectrum is coping while malaise comfortably resides at the opposite end.
The closing line of the album’s final track, “Let’s Leave”, “you shut yourself out / you keep yourself down,” alludes to a cease of some sort but is that escape or disaffection speaking?
As We Pass is a powerful album both musically and socially. With its release, Storefront Church has emerged as a tonal artist demonstrating capabilities across a range of sounds. But the most poignant part of his work is the realizations it induces. The world is dying around us in more ways than one. As We Pass asks you if you want to live in blissful ignorance. Then it asks if that ignorance will really have any bliss. Then it lifts the curtain and shows you what you needed but dreaded to see. At this point, it seems impossible not to look.
Storefront Church’s debut album As We Pass (via Sargent House) is available where all music is streamed and purchased including Bandcamp, Spotify, Apple Music, and Tidal.
Want more of Storefront Church? Be sure to connect with him across your favorite social media platforms including Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.
