Concave crashes into being with bustling drums and shimmering cymbals, all ablaze with urgency—as if the song has been waiting too long to burst out. The guitars wail in tightly wound loops, distorted yet oddly melodic, establishing the kind of beautiful chaos that’s quickly becoming Jazzcat’s new signature. There’s math rock precision, post-punk grittiness, and something feverishly emotional simmering beneath it all.
Jagger’s voice enters like a ghost with purpose, hazy, lazy, and laced with ache. He doesn’t so much sing as spill, his vocals trailing like cigarette smoke in a cold room, angsty and heavy, yet never overwrought. He lets syllables melt and drag, like a thought you’re trying not to say out loud, and it works, his delivery becomes the wind whipping through the dark corridors the song builds.
The instrumental contrasts are striking: tight, calculated rhythms meet untamed, swirling reverb. The guitars shimmer and shriek, especially in the breakdowns, where motifs repeat but warp, drawing you into a hypnotic descent. That interplay, between control and collapse, the polished and the primal, is where Concave lives. The gang vocals answering Jagger’s pleas create the sense of an internal argument, voices inside your own head echoing doubt and desire.
The title Concave becomes more than just a shape—it becomes a feeling. A hollowed-out echo chamber of unresolved questions and attempts to fill the silence with noise.
With Concave, Jazzcat are shedding the remnants of their funkier indie past. They’re stepping into a grittier, more emotionally raw realm. If Scratches was the first warning shot, Concave is the moment they’ve lit the fuse—and the alternative scene should be watching.
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Photo credits: Ella Begley
Review by: Naomi Joan