While talking to RANGE after a soundcheck in Dallas, TX, Valley singer Rob Laska jokingly describes the band’s dynamic as a “four-way marriage,” with band therapy being like couples therapy, but for musicians.
Despite the band’s steady ability to release singles and EPs throughout the pandemic, Lost in Translation is their first full-length album since 2019. Part of what took them so long was the difficult decisions they had to make about the band’s direction and future. “We actually came up with the title in band therapy,” says Laska. “So that speaks to the headspace we were in while making the album. It’s about finding our place in the world at 27 [years old] versus 18 or 19, or even 21 or 22. Having been together so long, this album is us figuring out what it means as we mature.”
As a band, Valley is simultaneously nostalgic and futuristic. While fans can expect the singable anthems they know and love, Lost in Translation harks back to their experimental and stream-of-consciousness roots. One track titled “i thought i could fly,” a last-minute inclusion on the album, down-pitches Laska’s traditional vocal key for an uncomfortable effect. “Sometimes you find demos you made and dust them off,” he says of the track. “I pitched it all down because it sounded a lot cooler. It almost felt like a different person singing it, which made it more emotional in a way. That’s a very special song. A sad song.”
Another new stylistic move on the album is the alt-reggae track “We Don’t Need Malibu,” which bassist Alex Dimauro refers to as a “staycation song” about a love that doesn’t need to go anywhere special to be special. Think “Banana Pancakes,” but with a contemporary twist. These two songs were buzzer-beaters on the album tracklist, but they both elevate the alternative vibe of the project and show that Valley is willing to grow together and in new directions.
Writing a radio-friendly pop album is a process for Valley, and while they might not need Malibu to keep up a happy relationship, the success of the band’s creative dynamic often involves a new destination and some relaxing rituals. To finish the album, Valley rented a 1960s retro A-frame in Beachwood Canyon, where Laska notes that they would write two to three songs per day. “It was chaos,” he says, “But also the ultimate environment. We are destination writers. On top of that, for about half of the songs on the album we’d dive into some edibles. We like to feel good and get a little silly. A little bit of psilocybin—it’s all good.”
These rituals assist in the ever-important element of all successful relationships: communication. Guitarist Mickey Brandolino notes that it is important to “create a space where everyone can share their ideas and everyone can be okay with their ideas being shot down. It helps to have no ego in the room.”
– The article was originally published in July 2023 –
By Johnny Papan
Return to the Return (of the Spectrum of Intergalactic Happiness) is the duo's most ambitious audiovisual project yet.
By Glenn Alderson
To celebrate the release of Nouveaux Langages, we asked the artists who helped shape her new double album to ask the questions.
By Sofia Dawson
Daughter From Hell finds the songstress twisting the knife deeper.
By Sebastian Buzzalino
The Vernon quartet’s new album Rat Bastard is a fiercely alive mix of post-punk, dub, techno and basement-show energy.
By Kenna Clifford
Driven by the centuries-old sound of the shamisen, the Berlin-based quintet is deconstructing Japanese folk music and rebuilding it for new audiences around the world.
By Izzy Petraglia
The decade-spanning pop star held an immersive, phone-free experience for devout listeners to celebrate her new album, Music, Fashion, Film.
By Neil Jefferies
Alone Together finds the New York trio navigating grief, fatherhood and the uneasy distance between trust and suspicion.
By Sebastian Buzzalino
The Vancouver punk band bottle their chaotic live energy into a blistering black-and-white session filmed at Phony! Records.
By Cam Delisle
Paring alt-R&B back to its foundations, new avatar gives equal weight to songwriting, distance, and one of the genre's defining voices.
By Sophia Pan
Fire From the Hip finds the actor and musician taking control of his art – even if he can’t control who follows him there.