Even though they’ve been reunited for 12 years now, American Football opening the first single from their upcoming album with “Surprise!” is appropriate. Their continued existence, never mind new music, isn’t a given. The last time I saw them was a free outdoor show in Chicago thrown by a beer company, where a college-aged man next to me lost his mind throughout their set, whooping erratically and turning to strangers in jubilated shock that this mythical emo band “nobody knows about” was, in fact, right before his eyes. That emotional desperation is as key to loving American Football as relinquishing predictions of what comes next in their songs, be it mathy finger-tapping or Hayley Williams guest vocals.
In “Bad Moons,” the unpredictability lies not in the lyrics like usual, where Mike Kinsella admits he’s “just two little boys in a trench coat” in that languorous voice he can’t shed. Instead, the lasting impression comes from his bandmates’ graceful turns through delicate post-rock. Aqueous harp and piano eventually give way to a fishing net of guitars, each minimalist line woven tighter than the next. As the song escalates, so does their slow-motion rush of shoegaze, claiming space both outwards and upwards, like geometrical synchronized swimming routines through Busby Berkeley’s directorial eye. The mesmerizing evolution reaches its peak when a quivering guitar solo jettisons into view. Sure, Kinsella locks into his inveterate self-loathing here through a list of scenarios, turning shameful, amorous, and destructive under cover of darkness, but it’s the totality of American Football’s momentum that lends the music its wallop. You could make easy money betting on lines like “I’m scared and I don’t want to grow up” appearing, but even Kalshi odds would come up short on American Football gliding past the dazzling scope of their third album like this.
