The first time I ever listened to Krill, I was sitting in a closet. It was just past New Year’s in 2015; only months before had I discovered the inimitable Pile, and I had only recently started listening to other bands from their label (Exploding in Sound Records). As to why I was sitting in a closet, my mother had made the fateful decision to cook with a pan that sat somewhere between horribly burnt and terribly old. The smell permeated the whole house, leaving me with no choice but to sit in my closet just so I could avoid smelling it.

I had seen mentions of Krill in various articles, tweets, etc., but part of me had no desire to listen to them. I can, oddly enough, be very selective about when I will willingly listen to new music, and they had never popped into mind during one of these windows. Nevertheless, they came to mind that day. I went in to Spotify, clicked on the album, and was blown away.

The album kicks off with a bang, “Theme from Krill” detailing a (probably) fake origin story for the band, as well as repeating the now ironic phrase “Krill, Krill, Krill forever” (the band disbanded in late 2015). The riff supporting the choruses was explosive; the bass was throbbing without being overwhelming, the guitars the perfect blend between slightly distorted and slightly modulated, the drums pounding away in a unique fashion. The sound blew me away; they carried a wave of energy that was propulsive and all encompassing yet somehow calming, with lead singer/bassist Jonah Furman’s unique vocal style giving the music an emotional punch it otherwise would not have had.

Furman’s vocals are in fact, arguably, the most crucial element of the band. Admittedly, they can be a bit of an acquired taste; he is not the most tuneful of singers, or the most talented. He yelps passionately, occasionally just speaking tunefully, occasionally breaking out a blistering scream. However, throughout all of this, he manages to put emotion at the forefront. His lyrics often deal with mental illnesses, daily anxieties, and the like; in the hands of a “better” singer, lines such as “if you want to feel like a failure / that’s your right” would just come across as a disingenuous attempt to seem relatable. But with Furman’s style it feels comforting, even refreshing.

Not to downplay the musical side of the band; Krill might possibly be one of the most tightly rhythmic bands to ever play on record. The drum fills are perfectly placed, propulsively pushing the beat to its highest points. The guitar is drenched in a wave of reverb, and can alternate between fluid, highly melodic leads to chords that jerk back and forth like the auditory equivalent of a student driver learning to use the brakes. The bass helps keep everything steady; Furman has a knack for keeping the foundation of the song while still sneaking in some of the most intricate fills this side of Brendan Canty.

Krill also teach some valuable lessons about empathy. Where many are content to use their song lyrics to just wallow, Krill often try and extend a helping hand or put in a positive message. Admittedly, this can lead to some pretty bizarre areas, such as on “Purity of Heart”, where Furman tries to spread the message that it is ok to be yourself to a talking tree and some talking grass. There’s also the aforementioned “if you want to feel like a failure / that’s your right” from “Infinite Power,” as well as a multitude of other lines from their discography.

There is no other band quite like Krill, and their vacancy leaves a hole that may never be filled. Hopefully, the various members of Krill will eventually make new music, together or apart. Until then, their brief but wonderful discography still remains. Krill is dead – long live Krill.