Sonic Youth.
Thirty-two years on, and Together Alone still sounds like nothing else in the Crowded House catalogue. What seemed like a bewildering left turn in 1993 now reveals itself as the band’s most prescient work, a record that anticipated the alt-rock soul-searching of the late nineties whilst remaining utterly, defiantly itself. Neil Finn’s mob wandered off into the spiritual wilderness armed with nothing but a fistful of melodies and Martin Glover’s sonic wizardry, and what they dragged back from the void was this peculiar, haunting beast that sounds like it was recorded in some ancient Maori temple with the ghosts of a thousand ancestors whispering sweet harmonies into the mixing desk.
History has been kind to Together Alone. What critics initially dismissed as commercial suicide now reads as artistic bravery of the highest order. The title, which once seemed like undergraduate philosophising, now carries genuine weight, this is music for our atomised age, for contemplating connection and disconnection whilst doom scrolling at 3am, wondering where it all went wrong and why the notifications never stop.
The genius of Youth’s production has aged magnificently. The man who gave us Killing Joke’s industrial nightmares somehow coaxed sounds out of Finn and company that still shimmer and breathe like living things decades later. Gone were the pristine pop perfections of their earlier work, replaced by something altogether more organic and mysterious. Listen now and you can hear the DNA of everything from Radiohead’s OK Computer to Bon Iver’s falsetto folk, Youth was crafting the sound of millennial melancholy years before anyone knew what to call it. The drums sound like they’re echoing through cathedral spaces, the guitars drift in and out of focus like half-remembered dreams, and Finn’s voice floats above it all with an otherworldly detachment that’s genuinely unsettling.
The opening salvo sets the tone perfectly a rolling, hypnotic rhythm that builds into something approaching transcendence before dissolving into the ether. It’s pop music, Jim, but not as we know it. This is Crowded House wrestling with their demons in public, and Youth has given them the sonic palette to paint their neuroses in glorious Technicolor.
Finn’s songwriting has taken a decidedly introspective turn. Where once he dealt in universal truths wrapped in sugar-sweet melodies, here he’s digging deeper into the psyche, exploring themes of isolation, connection, and the peculiar melancholy that comes with success. The man sounds genuinely troubled, and it suits him.
The production shines brightest on the album’s more experimental moments. Youth has layered in all manner of mysterious sounds, backwards vocals, found sounds, studio trickery that would make Kevin Shields weep with envy. Yet it never feels gimmicky or overwrought. Every sonic flourish serves the songs, adding depth and texture without overwhelming Finn’s essentially human songwriting.
That said, Together Alone isn’t without its problems. At times, the band seem so determined to avoid their pop past that they forget what made them special in the first place. A few tracks meander when they should soar, and the overall mood is so consistently downbeat that you occasionally long for the simple joy of their earlier work. ‘Why are you listening to that depressing music?’ it is not, but it can be downbeat.
But these are minor quibbles with what history has revealed to be an essential record. Crowded House risked everything to make something genuinely personal and challenging, and Youth gave them the sonic framework to create what now stands as their most influential work. It wasn’t their biggest seller, but it was their boldest statement the record that proved they were artists first, hit-makers second.
In our current age of manufactured vulnerability and algorithmic angst, Together Alone stands as proof that real emotional complexity can’t be coded or commodified. It’s a grower, this one and the kind of record that reveals new secrets with each listen, the kind that soundtracks both Instagram stories and genuine moments of crisis in equal measure.
Three decades later, Martin Glover’s achievement becomes even clearer. He took New Zealand’s finest export and helped them create their masterpiece, a record that sounds more relevant now than it did then. The kids discovering it on Spotify don’t know they’re listening to the future of indie rock, circa 1993. Seems like Youth may not be wasted on the young after all.