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Crack Cloud has always been something beyond a rock band bothprofound and grand, vaporous and elusive.The first iteration of Crack Cloud was formed nearly a decade ago as aproxy-rehab outlet on the fringes of Calgary. Over time, two EPs andaccompanying visual pieces were produced out of the residence knownas Red Mile. By 2017, several members had relocated to Vancouver,working out of harm reduction centers and low-barrier shelters. Sobriety,self-reformation and the idealism of their work further formed an ethosfor Crack Cloud. It was during these years that the band produced theirastounding 2020 album Pain Olympics. At once, their vision becameexpansive, cinematic.Now, Red Mile is a bit of a homecoming. Members have returned toCalgary. But Calgary/home has become a liminal space, a place of flux.After a decade of personal and collective growth, what does home evenmean? Red Mile is, for them, something like samsara a return and arebirth.Red Mile's sound breathes expansive energy into the circuitous, streetbound sonics of Crack Cloud's prior material. Fizzling synths intertwinewith chiming pianos. Songs layer like Russian nesting dolls; one may finda Ramones chorus set within a desolate Western prog soundtrack only towatch it erupt into a joyous anthem. Real-ass guitars - alternately lilting,scuzzy and soaring - ring out across wide sun-bleached spaces. In 2024,the cumulative effect is (in rock instrumentation terms) naturalistic. Anywhiff of embalmed nostalgia is absent. Even the close of the album - awinding, alllllmost Jerry Garcia guitar noodle that leads us out of Red Mile- is delivered without sentimentality. Principal songwriter Zach Choy'slyrics are cutting but merciful, with a sharp self awareness that neverslides into self-satisfaction. Crack Cloud as artists are critical - andultimately as forgiving - of themselves as they are the melting worldaround them.
