Toxic Sincerity

Chronique

Luke Wyatt's explorations of aggression, sensitivity, artificiality, and authenticity as Torn Hawk have helped him carve out his own territory in the world of electronic music. On albums like 2014's Through Force of Will and Let's Cry and Do Pushups at the Same Time, compelling melodies and creative production supported his high-concept ideas; years later, Toxic Sincerity shows Wyatt can still find fresh angles on this approach. Introducing a style he's christened "advice pop," the album unites long-simmering aspects of his work by using its dichotomies more brazenly than before. Even the album's title provides a lot to unpack: As it questions the notion of oversharing, it distills how genuine emotion has always been as vital to his work as his refashioning of sounds, images, and technology tossed on the trash heap. Wyatt fully integrates the self-help motifs that felt tangential to Pushups and Union & Return with the use of his vocals, which he introduced on 2020's Here Comes Language. They're even more expressive on Toxic Sincerity, whether Wyatt tweaks them into elastic melodies that suggest a heartbroken AI learning to express loss on "Ruth" or lets his New Jersey accent give a tough-guy edge to poignant and humorous spoken-word pieces that fall somewhere between standup and performance art. Chief among them is "Thoughts," a barrage of sounds and words where Wyatt's intrusive "mind loops" race from throwing his keys in the storm drain, one of David Spade's infamous moments on The Howard Stern Show, and heartbreak over jittery beats, syrupy piano, and shuddering noise. That Wyatt follows it with the vaporous shoegaze/ambient fusion of "What You Need After That Last One" reflects Toxic Sincerity's fourth wall-breaking self-awareness and how balanced the album is as a whole. Predominantly instrumental tracks like "The Last Email" convey heartbreak in ways words could never express, while the monologues put a finer point on the experiences that shape Wyatt's advice. Though he's dedicated to self-improvement, he never presents himself as perfect. He tells listeners to "sit with the discomfort" of actually feeling emotions on "I'm Not Embarrassed," but also confesses that he screams into his pillow. Here and on "Alabama," a throwback to his stay at a disciplinary camp as a teen, Wyatt's skills as a multimedia editor and producer suggest scenes as vividly as the video mulching that put him on the map. Like those video collages, the album subverts nostalgia on tracks as different as "It's a Shot of Them from the Movie Heat" and "U2 Song That Doesn't Exist," a glitchy interpolation of "One" that replaces that song's universality with Wyatt's own hyper-specific thoughts. Ultimately, Toxic Sincerity's intentionally uncomfortable juxtapositions and emotional whiplash feel real and bracing in a way that few albums achieve. Even by Wyatt's standards, it's a singular work.
© Heather Phares /TiVo