(Self-released, 2019)
“It’s not over / But I’m getting older / And I just don’t want to be part of the scene anymore.” These are some of the first words on The Happy Children’s second and final album. What a farewell.
The Happy Children are a Minneapolis trio making rock music, working in the punk-adjacent part of the local scene for the last few years. Now, they’re making a hybrid of experimental pop and the math-y sound of prior releases, like if Bon Iver made 22, A Million with electric guitars instead of saxophones. It’s quite the leap of faith. The album sounds like nothing else, even as the band has come to define a certain part of the Twin Cities underground.
The mastermind of the Happy Children is Caleb Gabriel Hinz (who also runs Normal Parents), the vocalist, guitarist, lyricist, and producer. Can you say polymath? It’s his production that sets Same Dif apart from the band’s debut Self Help Book. That record flourished in complex guitar fireworks, but the new one finds Hinz executing his own Man on Wire balancing act with the past and future. Perhaps it was his experiments with his other band Baby Boys (featuring members of Twin Cities mainstays Hippo Campus). Maybe it was just boredom. Regardless, nothing is straightforward anymore.
With new drummer Sam Mathys in tow, Hinz and Mitchell Seymour (bassist and co-composer) put their old sound in a paper shredder. Vocal effects and nonsensical ideas abound just around every corner. “Playing Autumn Leaves” finds the Happy Children indulging in the AutoTune fantasy they’ve always dreamed about. “Belly Up” jams pitched vocals in a blender with a throbbing beat and plucks the on-switch. Penultimate track “Sued” is a tidal wave of effects and self-deprecation. Not since Weird Al threatened to sue us in 2006 has anyone so deftly invoked, nevertheless invited, such legal troubles.
Between the ways that he’s boosted the sonic textures of his collaborators and his own band, Hinz is well on his way to becoming Minneapolis’ own superproducer, a local BJ Burton. His work never takes the unexpected for granted. Just because a song begins with gentle guitar and heavy vocals doesn’t mean it can’t end up in a tornado of processed screaming. Even more conventional tracks like “Dennis the Menace” and “Switch It Up” find clever ways to reinvent themselves at points.
“Switch It Up” is simple but luxuriates in being the catchiest song of all time. Never before could I say that a song made me want to leave a print of my face on a truck, but now I really want to. Pop music is often seen as poisonous by underground bands, which is absurd. That isn’t the case with “Switch It Up.” Each scattershot drum beat, every note of the core riff, and above all, every vocal melody seems to have been built in a lab for maximum memorability. Interwoven guitars and dissonant harmonies populate the song’s grooves. At points, it’s almost cute; at others, absurd – it’s straight-up fun the whole way through.
On first listen, it would be easy to accept the lyrics as meaningless nonsense. In truth, sometimes they are. But more often, they mask pithy observations on love, partnership, and creativity. “When I’m Rich” fluctuates between chaotic verses and a chorus of genuine sentiment. It comes as an ode to the trust that comes from unity. Uncertainty hasn’t vanished, but it’s been pushed to the wayside for just long enough.
Same Dif operates from a point of youthful anxiety. Nothing is guaranteed, nothing stays in place. Drops of truth fall on occasion, giving Hinz something to cling on to. Instead of accepting these realizations at face value, he takes them and wrings them out like a millennial ShamWow. Once all the misguidance is gone, he’s found what’s important. Music. Protecting and supporting the people you care about. Loving more. When put in a list like this, these things seem either obvious or cliché. Hinz embraces them like his life depends on it anyway.
Obviously, sadness is something that comes with the death of a band, especially if it was unexpected. The Happy Children knew that going in, which is why they pulled out all the stops. Same Dif is a textbook example of going for broke, when a band uproots their sound and grows something new and unexpected. Even as tiny lyrical hints pop up like dandelions around the trunk, no one could have seen the tree for the forest.
There’s a single line that has stuck out to me over my half dozen-or-so listens, from “Sued:” “Love your friends, don’t play the part.” If there’s one thing the band wanted to leave with its fans, new and old, this seems to be it. Don’t let money or ego get in the way of taking care of each other. Despite the album’s seemingly apathetic title, the band wants you to know that there is a difference between caring and disregard. Hinz wrote a reminder in the Facebook post announcing the end of the band: “Just remember, it’s not about being the coolest person in the room. It’s only about family.” Keep that in mind. It’ll make all the difference.
“It’s not over / But I’m getting older / And I just don’t want to be part of the scene anymore.” These are some of the first words on The Happy Children’s second and final album. What a farewell.
The Happy Children are a Minneapolis trio making rock music, working in the punk-adjacent part of the local scene for the last few years. Now, they’re making a hybrid of experimental pop and the math-y sound of prior releases, like if Bon Iver made 22, A Million with electric guitars instead of saxophones. It’s quite the leap of faith. The album sounds like nothing else, even as the band has come to define a certain part of the Twin Cities underground.
The mastermind of the Happy Children is Caleb Gabriel Hinz (who also runs Normal Parents), the vocalist, guitarist, lyricist, and producer. Can you say polymath? It’s his production that sets Same Dif apart from the band’s debut Self Help Book. That record flourished in complex guitar fireworks, but the new one finds Hinz executing his own Man on Wire balancing act with the past and future. Perhaps it was his experiments with his other band Baby Boys (featuring members of Twin Cities mainstays Hippo Campus). Maybe it was just boredom. Regardless, nothing is straightforward anymore.
With new drummer Sam Mathys in tow, Hinz and Mitchell Seymour (bassist and co-composer) put their old sound in a paper shredder. Vocal effects and nonsensical ideas abound just around every corner. “Playing Autumn Leaves” finds the Happy Children indulging in the AutoTune fantasy they’ve always dreamed about. “Belly Up” jams pitched vocals in a blender with a throbbing beat and plucks the on-switch. Penultimate track “Sued” is a tidal wave of effects and self-deprecation. Not since Weird Al threatened to sue us in 2006 has anyone so deftly invoked, nevertheless invited, such legal troubles.
Between the ways that he’s boosted the sonic textures of his collaborators and his own band, Hinz is well on his way to becoming Minneapolis’ own superproducer, a local BJ Burton. His work never takes the unexpected for granted. Just because a song begins with gentle guitar and heavy vocals doesn’t mean it can’t end up in a tornado of processed screaming. Even more conventional tracks like “Dennis the Menace” and “Switch It Up” find clever ways to reinvent themselves at points.
“Switch It Up” is simple but luxuriates in being the catchiest song of all time. Never before could I say that a song made me want to leave a print of my face on a truck, but now I really want to. Pop music is often seen as poisonous by underground bands, which is absurd. That isn’t the case with “Switch It Up.” Each scattershot drum beat, every note of the core riff, and above all, every vocal melody seems to have been built in a lab for maximum memorability. Interwoven guitars and dissonant harmonies populate the song’s grooves. At points, it’s almost cute; at others, absurd – it’s straight-up fun the whole way through.
On first listen, it would be easy to accept the lyrics as meaningless nonsense. In truth, sometimes they are. But more often, they mask pithy observations on love, partnership, and creativity. “When I’m Rich” fluctuates between chaotic verses and a chorus of genuine sentiment. It comes as an ode to the trust that comes from unity. Uncertainty hasn’t vanished, but it’s been pushed to the wayside for just long enough.
Same Dif operates from a point of youthful anxiety. Nothing is guaranteed, nothing stays in place. Drops of truth fall on occasion, giving Hinz something to cling on to. Instead of accepting these realizations at face value, he takes them and wrings them out like a millennial ShamWow. Once all the misguidance is gone, he’s found what’s important. Music. Protecting and supporting the people you care about. Loving more. When put in a list like this, these things seem either obvious or cliché. Hinz embraces them like his life depends on it anyway.
Obviously, sadness is something that comes with the death of a band, especially if it was unexpected. The Happy Children knew that going in, which is why they pulled out all the stops. Same Dif is a textbook example of going for broke, when a band uproots their sound and grows something new and unexpected. Even as tiny lyrical hints pop up like dandelions around the trunk, no one could have seen the tree for the forest.
There’s a single line that has stuck out to me over my half dozen-or-so listens, from “Sued:” “Love your friends, don’t play the part.” If there’s one thing the band wanted to leave with its fans, new and old, this seems to be it. Don’t let money or ego get in the way of taking care of each other. Despite the album’s seemingly apathetic title, the band wants you to know that there is a difference between caring and disregard. Hinz wrote a reminder in the Facebook post announcing the end of the band: “Just remember, it’s not about being the coolest person in the room. It’s only about family.” Keep that in mind. It’ll make all the difference.
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