Album by Cavetown
Running with Scissors is an interesting record, one that moves through a lot of different sounds and emotions without settling in one place for very long. There’s fuzzy electronic pop, distorted guitars, hip-hop-influenced beats, and moments that feel closer to straightforward pop and rock. Sometimes I found myself getting caught up in those changes, trying to figure out exactly what I was hearing. Which was probably a mistake. I was missing the forest for the trees.
“Skip” opens gently, with an introspective feel that suggests a quiet bedroom-pop song. But the sound gradually expands, with fuzz and distortion giving it a hazy, almost psychedelic quality. It’s a pretty song, and I like the way it seems to take a private feeling and make it something bigger. The lyrics suggest someone experiencing love and trying to understand what that feeling means. There’s a lovely sense of discovery here, with the fuzzy production giving the song room to wander.
That haziness takes a much heavier turn almost immediately. “Cryptid” has a thick, almost trip-hop drumbeat, distorted vocals, and fuzzy guitars that give it an artificial, slightly unreal quality. The lyrics push back against being treated as a curiosity rather than a person, and the music gives that frustration some real bite.
“Rainbow Gal” is a fun one, almost sounding like the beginning of a club hit. The beat and melody make me imagine someone remixing it into something you could dance to. But it never quite explodes into that kind of crescendo. The music stays restrained, shifting between moments of loneliness and the lift that comes from connecting with someone else.
Underneath all the fuzz, distortion, and electronic sounds of “Baby Spoon,” there’s almost an R&B song. It’s a love song with a real sense of physical closeness, built around two people who seem to fit together in a way that makes them feel whole. I like how the song turns the idea of being held together by someone else into an offer to do the same for them.
The mood changes with “NPC,” the first song here that really feels sad to me. The distinction between being the main character and an NPC gets at that feeling of being present in other people’s lives without ever really being seen. It’s a heartbreaking sentiment, but the music is almost the opposite. There’s an 80s pop feel to the melody, which eventually gives way to a fuzzy, guitar-driven rock song with a great hook.
That guitar-driven sound gets considerably heavier on “Reaper.” It starts quietly, with a little electronic sound hovering in the background, before the distortion creeps in and the guitars take over. There’s almost a screamo moment waiting to happen here. Lyrically, it’s pretty dark, with a sense of being trapped in bad habits, wanting to escape your own head, and recognizing the damage those patterns can do to the people around you.
The struggle becomes more internal on “Straight Through My Head,” which plays with duality in both its sound and its lyrics. It feels like a battle with the voice in your own head, the part that feeds your doubts and anxiety and makes it harder to get out of your own way. The music shifts between introspective passages and harsher, guitar-driven rock, while the vocals move between a softer, more vulnerable delivery and a deeper, more forceful one.
A darker alternative-rock sound runs through “Tarmac,” with electronic textures hovering behind the quieter passages before the guitars kick in with a grungier edge. I hear someone fighting against their own self-destructive impulses, recognizing the ways they sabotage the good things in their life and trying to resist those urges.
There’s a brief change of pace in “No Bark, No Bite,” a mostly acoustic interlude that turns over ideas about masculinity, how men carry themselves, and what it means to behave like a man. That quieter mood carries into “Micah,” perhaps the prettiest song on the album. There’s a tenderness to it, like a conversation between people who care deeply about each other. It’s a lovely moment on an album that spends so much time with distortion and heavier guitars.
The electronic side of the album gets more frantic on “Sailboat,” with a digitized, sped-up sound that keeps the song moving. Beneath all that energy, there’s a sweet but slightly anxious song about closeness, protectiveness, and the fear of hurting someone you love. “First Time” continues in a similar fuzzy, digitized style, packing a catchy little burst of music into a short running time. It seems to capture the nerves of getting pulled over, turning an ordinary encounter into something that feels a lot more stressful than it should.
For the title track, the album settles into a gentler close, with a hazy, fuzzy electronic-pop sound. It makes me think of taking chances, allowing yourself to be vulnerable, and accepting that putting yourself out there comes with some risk. You might get hurt, but that’s part of life, too.
Running with Scissors is a creative, unpredictable record that moves all over the pop spectrum. These songs can be vulnerable, funny, aggressive, or reflective, and the music often changes direction just as I’m getting a feel for it. There are plenty of melodies, hooks, and sounds that caught my ear, even if I sometimes got so caught up trying to make sense of what I was hearing that I forgot to simply listen. It’s not quite my lane musically, but there’s a lot here that works for me, and the album opened me up to a kind of songcraft I don’t spend much time with.
Verdict: Worth a Spin
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