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Review: Death Cab for Cutie “Asphalt Meadows”

Proto-emo indie rock group Death Cab for Cutie has been in the back pocket of sad kids across the world since their debut in 1998, which, unfortunately, is before some of you were born. Those of us who remember a world without the internet, however, are thrilled that Ben Gibbard and his crew of melancholy merry men are back with 2022’s “Asphalt Meadows,” a sprawling return to form and experiment at once.

We’re less thrilled with the fact that there are zero, and I mean zero, songs about asphalt on this record.

I’m not really sure what I expected. I guess that when I was assigned to review “Asphalt Meadows,” I was excited to dig a little deeper into the world of industrial paving. Ben Gibbard has always struck me as the kind of guy who knows the difference between asphalt, concrete, and other various types of construction materials. Boy, was I wrong. With each passing track it became increasingly clear that I’d been duped by the title of this record, and not a single fucking song on this thing has the lyrical content I was so looking forward to.

Really, the more I think about this drastic oversight, the more incensed I become. My father spent his entire life building his parking lot empire from the ground up, pulling himself up by the bootstraps literally and figuratively in order to provide for me and my 17 siblings. They didn’t call him the “Concrete King of the Tri-County Area” for nothing. He kept food on the table for us with some Asphalt Meadows of his very own, if you catch my drift. And yet—not a single fucking song to pay homage to him. Amazingly disrespectful, really.

So when I say this album is a personal affront to everything me and my family stands for, I mean it. I’m appalled. I’m furious. I’m deeply disappointed. I’m sure my father is rolling in his grave.

And frankly, I’m looking for Ben Gibbard’s home address. Please DM me any leads.

Verdict: 1 out of several federal offenses I’m looking to commit