Pons, 'The Liquid Self' 

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• Pons, The Liquid Self

(Dedstrange, cassette, digital)

Pons make a great case for bands. You might not think the concept of "the band" is in such danger of disappearing that an argument needs to be made for it. But look around. Solo artists dominate the music landscape. Most bands playing arenas are legacy acts such as Phish and Duran Duran. Hardly any new groups get the chance to play for tens of thousands.

Bands still seem to thrive on smaller stages, though. And New York City's Pons — the trio of drummer Jack Parker, guitarist and vocalist Sam Cameron, and percussionist Sebastien Carnot, who met while students at the University of Vermont — are one of the most indefatigable and hardest-hitting outfits you'll encounter. They'll make you want to start your own band.

Parker, Cameron and Carnot are motherfucking rock stars. Snapshots of their live shows are staggering. Frozen in grotesque bodily contortions against gritty basement walls, they radiate fury and charisma. They dress in glammed-up, fashion-forward looks, peering sensually into the camera lens. They grind audiences to dust — and themselves in the process — with the sheer force of their songcraft. Over the past few years, they've progressed and tightened their jagged, no-wave style, coalescing with each ecstatic track.

Their new album, The Liquid Self, is a triumph, and not just because it's Pons' first LP on a label. Joining Dedstrange, they now rank with noise-rockers A Place to Bury Strangers and No Age's drone-scape composer Randy Randall.

Though the record has been complete for years, Pons held off on releasing it until they secured it a safe home and made a name for themselves in the New York scene. Being named Hardest-Working Band of 2022 by renowned music blog and show aggregator Oh My Rockness is indisputable evidence of their impact.

Hot on the tail of Pons' massive 2023 summer tour, which included 60-plus shows in American cities from Boston to Austin, Texas, The Liquid Self is the group's biggest release in terms of concept. Pons' work is always thematic and existential. But the new album is a rock opera drenched in mythical storytelling, adding new depth to the pools of paranoia in which the band so often swims.

The Liquid Self tells the story of a mariner who loses himself at sea and then loses his mind. Each track bleeds into the next in a continuous, disorienting flow. Thematically, the LP matches the through line of mental instability and anguish on Pons' debut full-length, Intellect.

Pons being Pons, you'll hear not a tidy seafaring narrative but a torrent of tunes full of cryptic imagery, a tidal wave of sound performed by a triad of unreliable narrators. Trying to follow the story is like straining to remember a dream from which you've just awakened. The harder you think about it, the more it eludes your grasp.

After the quick, gurgling opener "Fish Out of Water," "Sinking Feeling" makes a splash with a sunny disposition, despite its unnerving title. It's surf-rock on speed, with chunky punk power chords wedged in and screamed vocals echoing in the din. Lyrically, the song sets up the protagonist as full of preoccupations ("Until you're near / I won't stop thinking / That you're always on my mind").

And then — classic Pons — the dread and self-doubt creep in on "Hooks." Herky-jerky and punctuated by a clamoring call-and-response, the song reveals our sailor at a breaking point: "Somebody help me / I'm feeling like a problem / Somebody try me / Yeah, I can't stop the boredom." The track expresses a curious mix of apathy ("Save me or break me / I don't really care"), nihilism ("Stay back / I'm trying / To die / Inside") and panic ("All this fear is gripping me so tight"). In other words, a recipe for a complete mental breakdown.

Pons are masters of the mid-song transformation. Without warning, their tunes speed up, slow down, change tone and otherwise hurl bewildering new elements into the metaphorical and literal mix. "Flounder" and "Queen Conch" each take a series of left turns, with the former lurching from a plod into a full rip and back again, while the latter ebbs and flows with maniacal riffs.

Instrumental interlude "Flight 19" references a real-life mystery, the disappearance of a squadron of torpedo bombers over the Bermuda Triangle in 1945. More surf-punk mayhem arrives on "Manfish," which alludes to the same disappearance and brings in more horror by name-dropping Frankenstein actor Boris Karloff.

By the time the record concludes with the 12-minute monster "Big River," the story itself may not be lucid, but its themes are. The Liquid Self evokes a feeling of being unmoored and set adrift; of drowning, being crushed by immense pressure and surrendering to the darkness. On the deepest level, it's about what happens after that. The record is a signal flare, burning red over a black void and pleading for rescue.

The Liquid Self will be available on ponsbandofficial.bandcamp.com and major streaming services on Friday, October 6. Catch Pons the same day at an undisclosed location in Burlington. DM the band on Instagram for info.