Today, the Illinois-raised, punk rock band Harrison Gordon has released their highly anticipated sophomore record, BLISS with Hopeless Records.
The new record is Harrison Gordon's attempt to define what "bliss" truly means, born out of a period spent chasing it in video games and beer before waking up to the realization that he wanted something more.
“I had a two-week period where every night, I'd have the same nightmare about people who weren't in my life anymore. Not even the individuals I'd burned or who'd burned me, just the friends who aren't around anymore. After a few nights I grew convinced that I had probably pushed them away at some point. The fact I was having nightmares about them dying was proof to me that I was 'entirely too much.’”
NAPNET's Winifred Color breaks the album down track by track
1. Weirdo
Some albums might ease you in gently, Bliss opens by calling itself a fucking weirdo. “No one thinks the way you do, no one else has thoughts so sad” immediately throws you into the narrator’s head, where sadness quickly becomes embarrassment and every negative thought comes with another telling you to quit complaining. It perpetuates a vicious cycle of feeling bad, then feeling stupid for feeling bad before trying to convince yourself that everyone else has it way worse anyway. Adding in the restless energy of the music and it makes the spiral even harder to escape.
That feeling only becomes more overwhelming as the song goes on. Time with friends and nights that should feel carefree are instead clouded by the haunting thought that none of this can last forever, “Every dance is a moment I won’t get back” turning even the present into something that’s already being mourned. By the time the song gives way to the repeated “I can’t do it man,” there isn’t much left to hide behind. Thoughts that have been spiraling throughout the track eventually become too hard to articulate, leaving behind one exhausted admission, repeated until it starts to feel less like a lyric and more like the only thing left to say.
As an opening track, “Weirdo” doesn’t give you much time to settle in, instead it throws you straight into the noise, anxiety and mess of what’s to come.
2. Milwaukee Josh
Hitting listeners with feedback the first few seconds, the song quickly finds its footing in a driving rhythm that never lets you get too comfortable. When “Don’t you think you’re being too sentimental?” hits, everything gets bigger and more confrontational, like the song has spotted a scab and ripped it straight off without thinking about how it might hurt. Underneath all that aggression is something much more personal. The music pulls back around “why do I get so mad?” giving the narrator room to sit with their anger rather than aiming it at someone else, a small shift that makes the chorus hit much harder when it comes crashing back in.
Then comes the real gut punch; instead of giving a clean resolution, the ending gets stuck on “we all know you’re just another punching bag,” repeating it until the words are practically drilled into the listener’s head. What starts as another cutting remark slowly becomes something harder to shake, like if you say it enough times eventually you’ll start to believe it yourself. “Milwaukee Josh” is messy, repetitive and uncomfortable in the exactly right ways, trapping itself in the same cycle of anger and people pleasing that its spent the entire song desperately trying to untangle.
3. Like Me Less
There’s something almost funny about how miserable this song is. The upbeat scrappy energy of the instrumentation sits perfectly against an opening verse about going up a waist size and drinking a seven dollar beer that “tastes like old men sweat”, letting the humor disguise how badly the narrator is actually doing. As the song pushes into “And you think I’m an asshole,” the music feels more frustrated, cracking at what was hiding underneath all the jokes. “What I’ve been running away from, lives inside my chest” is the turning point of the song, where is stops being about everything going wrong around and finally understanding that the bigger problems might be coming from within.
That feeling really settles once “perfume bottles fill the cabinet, my dirty dishes fill the sink” arrives, with the song falling into a more melodic groove against lyrics that show all the little signs of someone letting themselves go. Things pull back for “I’m just so tired I don’t wanna argue,” giving one of the songs simplest admissions enough room to sting before everything builds into “no one hurts me like I hurt me.” By the ending, that line is repeated until there’s almost nothing left to argue with, turning what started as a scrappy, self deprecating track into the crushing realization that the person the narrator has been trying to outrun has been themselves.
4. Not Working! Not Working!
There’s no hiding Harrison Gordon’s sarcasm in this one. “Not Working! Not Working” comes roaring in with a relentless force before “you’re just not working hard enough” turns that momentum into a dig at the constant pressure to be productive, something we can all understand. “Stop caring for the people that truly love when you could be working harder” takes that mentality to its ridiculous conclusion, treating time spent with the people you care about like some terrible distraction. The music keeps that frantic energy underneath it, making it the listener feel like you’re constantly pushed forward while the lyrics are asking why the hell we’re in such a rush in the first place.
The frustration only gets nastier in the second verse, where cleaning bathrooms and scraping gum become part of a life spent working yourself into the ground, before “sure, I’m my own worst enemy” once again turns some of that anger inward. By the bridge, there’s nowhere left for the song to go but straight through the same thought, repeating “you’re just not working hard enough” until it sounds like like advice and more like the voice in your head that refuses to shut up. By the time the chorus comes back around, the joke has pretty much stopped being funny. It’s loud, sarcastic and painfully familiar, taking the idea that we should always be doing more and pushing ourselves until you realize how stupid is sounds.
5. Pretty
“Make me feel pretty, will I still feel dumb?” wastes no time in getting to the point. The narrator spends the song caught between wanting somebody to see them and wishing they could disappear completely. “My eyes are burn out from the blue light, where would I look if I look away?” makes spending too much time staring at a screen feel less like a bat habit and more like forgetting a time before all you did was just that. The music carries that same uneasy feeling, staying restrained before opening up around “I only feel like a real person when I’ve spent the whole week inside.” It’s a pretty backwards way of feeling alive, but that’s what makes it hit so hard.
Hiding away gets a lot harder when there’s somebody who know where to look. “I wish you’d leave me undiscovered” turns being understood into something almost terrifying, while “I’ll do whatever it takes, I just won’t be honest” might be one of the simplest ways of admitting you want to get better without actually having to fact why you feel this way., But it’s the ending that really sticks the knife in and twists. “How many days would it take for you to notice I’m gone?” takes all that hiding away and suddenly makes it feel so much more permanent.
6. Scab
Opening with with a worn down guitar line and spacey vocals, each accusation is given time to settle before the rest of the band gradually presses harder. The image of picking at friends “like scabs” becomes pretty fitting description for the song, constantly returning to something that should be given time and space to heal. When “I’ll be here holding my breath” arrives, the chorus doesn’t sound like somebody patiently waiting to be remembered, more like someone stubbornly refusing to disappear.
Eventually, words stop being enough, “I’m a dust-caked reminder, and that’s why you don’t open my drawer,” the guitar solo tears through the middle of the song with all the frustration that’s been held back. It isn’t overly polished or detached from the rest of the track, it blends, strains and reaches upward as if the guitar itself is crying out for any sort of response. The song briefly settles again afterwards, but that restraint doesn’t last. Once the final chorus crashes in, the guitar becomes heavier, the drums hit harder and “I’ll be here holding my breath” is no longer sung so much as dragged out with extra heartache.
7. Sight of Blood
The gun might always be in their hand, but “Sight of Blood” is far more interested in what happens when all that anger comes crashing back as guilt. With jagged guitars and racing drums, there’s barely enough time for the narrator to catch their breath before “Another summer wasted away” turns into the worrying “I’m suspect number one.” This comes the contradiction that makes everything click; “the gun’s always in my hand, but I faint at the sight of blood.” for all the blame they’re willing to throw at themselves, actually facing the damage is a different story.
Getting away meant leaving behind the only person that they connected with for three months, so seeing them again brings everything right back to the forefront of their emotions. Naturally, the narrator decides this proves “entirely too much”. The band finally lose it, screaming those same three words until they’re beaten into the listener. The comedown might have finally woken them up, but all that’s waiting for them is everything they were trying to forget.
8. Middle Name
For BLISS’s shortest song, “Middle Name” still manages to pack one hell of a punch. Crashing in with distorted guitar, pounding drums there’s barely enough room between each line to breath, making the whole thing feel like a confession delivered before they run out of confidence.
Just as quickly as it’s arrived, it’s gone. The brief instrumental break gives the song one last breathe before “I always say I’m tired when I’m with anyone but you” turns familiarity into something beautiful. There’s no grand ending or time to soften the blow; “Middle name” gets in, says exactly what needs to be said before abruptly cutting out, proving a song doesn’t need much time to hit with feeling.
9. Oh God
(Feat. Excuse Me, Who Are You?)
“Oh God” sounds like the moment every bad thought that Harrison Gordon have spent the album trying to outrun finally catches up with them. Guitars crash into pounding drums while “Twenty-three mirrors, never done nothing for me, except show me an asshole” turns a passing glance at your reflection into another excuse to tear yourself apart. That self disgust carries straight through into the chorus, where “Keep a little piece of you with me” feels less comforting than it should.
Every broken promise becomes another reason for the narrator to hang their head and insist they deserve it. Excuse Me, Who Are You? add to that spiral making it feel even more crowded. Their guest vocals cut through with a harsher edge, turning parts of the song into something closer to an argument than a confession. By the end of the song, everything collapses into “I’ve been trying to fall asleep,” repeated until it starts to sound like a punishment.
10. Buffalo Jim
“How many people are gonna see my grave?” is thrown out without a care, setting “Buffalo Jim” up to be a song that’s far too comfortable with giving up. “Every day is hard enough, so just let ‘em win” only pushes that further, with the guitars bringing everything forward even as the narrator seems ready to give up fighting. But “If I fall off the ledge, who’s gonna pick me up?” lets something much more vulnerable slip through.
For all of the grave talk and misery, it’s “I just wanna hear you talk, about anything” that really gets you. There’s no huge declaration or desperate plea, just wanting someone close enough to feel that silence for a while. It makes the final “Just let ‘em win” string that so much more when it comes back around. The narrator may be ready to throw in the towel, but deep down inside they hope it won’t happen alone.
11. Bliss
On the closing title track, happiness isn’t some big finish line waiting to be crossed, it’s just another thing the narrator has to drag themselves towards. “I’ve learned happiness is something you just have to strive for, seems like such a chore” pretty much kills any hope of a triumphant ending we, the listener have even had the chance to expect one. The back and forth between “I like it” and “I don’t like it” only adds to the messiness, caught between how easy is it to give in to our vices, and how awful it feels watching everything happen from the outside.
The whole thing then reaches its breaking point. The solo gives all that frustration somewhere to spill before “Bliss is as good as I can get” is repeated until it sounds less like acceptance and more like giving up on expecting anything better. “Bury me like a dog” eventually takes its place, screamed over and over until there’s nothing left to say and nowhere else for Bliss to go.
Overall Thoughts:
Harrison Gordon have spent the record picking through guilt, isolation, shitty jobs and worst habits. Yet underneath everything, there’s always been hope that somebody might pay attention and stick around. Bliss doesn’t suddenly find happiness in its final few minutes, but it doesn’t quite give up looking either. Maybe “Bliss is good as I can get” is acceptance, maybe it’s the kind of lie to tell yourself when wanting something more has become too exhausting. Harrison Gordon don’t seem convinced either way, and by the end, neither are we.
Catch Harrison Gordon
on tour this fall opening for Mom Jeans.
