The cover of Sean Solomon’s solo debut features humanlike cartoon animals, drawn by Solomon, who’s provided animation for videos by Odd Future and Run the Jewels, among others, in the style of children’s author Richard Scarry. Scarry’s work, of course, formed the basis of a ’90s cable cartoon show that imprinted the fictional metropolis of Busytown on the minds of Solomon’s generation. Solomon’s own animation style skews more toward the surreal and twisted—think Daniel Clowes mixed with Lisa Hanawalt—but with a covert whimsicality suggesting that the good-natured innocence of Huckle Cat, Lowly Worm, and company is buried in there somewhere. As a singer-songwriter, the L.A.-based musician favors disillusion over delirium, but his bummed-out, dissatisfied and wise-up narrators can’t help but carry at least a shred of what remains of their heart on their sleeve.
Solomon used to lead the crunchy rock band Moaning, who, when last heard from on the 2020 Sub Pop album Uneasy Laughter, were heading in a decadent new wave direction. Solomon lightens his tone on The World Is Not Good Enough, singing in a slightly higher register with a yolky timbre akin to a more grounded Daniel Johnston and sticking to a clean, colorful folk palette. The guitars are mostly distortion-free and firmly strummed, the tempos rarely push beyond an easy canter, the drums keep time but don’t get fancy or forceful. Fellow Angelenos Shannon Lay (ex-Feels) and Sofia Arreguin (ex-Wand) show up on guitar and vocals and violin, respectively, but keep to the background. Solomon has clearly studied the indie moves of the ’00s, and you can hear traces of the big names all over his songs. The mellow trumpet and buzzing synth on “Car Crash” recalls Beirut and the Elephant 6 collective, the abrupt, swooping choruses of “Shooting Star” and “Postcard” echo Arcade Fire, and the driving syncopated arpeggio of “Remember” owes a debt to Pinback. The ghost of Elliott Smith hangs over everything, wishing for a smoke and biting its spectral nails.
But Solomon’s music is not just a collection of influences. His voice has a steady resolve, avoiding the quavering hesitation of his sad-sack forebears. There’s a central toughness to his work that keeps the drama and extravagance to a minimum (a key departure from Arcade Fire and the Elephant 6ers). Even on the most despairing heartbreakers, Solomon refuses to play the role of Little Bummer Boy for long: “My heart breaks / when you make the face / Like father, like son / What have I become?” Solomon sings on “Black Hole,” a straightforward look at depression and cyclical dysfunction that could have easily sunk into its own inherited misery. Instead, Solomon tells whoever he’s disappointed and who’s disappointed him—a parent, a friend, a lover, or the insufficient, overstuffed world itself: “I love you / You don’t have to love me too!” It’s not exactly an affirmation, but as both a statement of independence and an acknowledgment of unworthy, vulnerable connection, it’ll do.
