Before I can get into “Coriky,” I feel like I should state upfront something: I have not followed Ian MacKaye’s career at all since Minor Threat. When I was a teenager learning what the limits of punk rock could be, I picked up the D.I.Y. masterpiece “Complete Discography” and was exposed to a world of anarchic bliss, capable of being blasted indecipherably through a speaker. It was the pinnacle of Washington D.C. punk, where a bunch of self-starters helped to elevate the scene into an art form and launch several noteworthy careers.
Somehow despite liking Minor Threat and admiring MacKaye’s work ethic, I just never felt interested to see what else he had to say. These balls of rambunctious energy were enough for me. They could exist as memories and I would accept that whatever he did next was good. In fact, that’s what I’ve heard about Fugazi. I know that they’re just as influential, maybe even more so, and yet I never picked up one of their albums. I was meaning to, but my music tastes were changing by the time I found out about things.
I say this because I don’t know why else you’d listen to “Coriky.” In a time where I’m grasping at straws to pick albums to review, I land on this out of vague curiosity, ignoring more than 30 years of blank spaces in my memory. After all, Minor Threat only lasted three years. Fugazi went on for 17 and have been on hiatus for just as long. In that time MacKaye was in another band called The Evens with Amy Farina, but even that has been dormant for eight years.
I’m not saying that all of this informs “Coriky,” but at the same time, I feel like I’m missing something by not having anything substantial to compare this to. Sure, it’s on MacKaye’s label Dischord Records (still going strong after all these decades) and I admire that he’s keeping true to his independent vision, but what am I missing by not having any ways to compare it to Fugazi or Farina’s band The Warmers?
It’s clearly a more subdued sound, reflecting a darker punk rock that comes from somebody who is much more mellow than he was as a teen. Much like X with “Alphabetland,” this is a record that plays best as an elder statesman looking at the world around him and finally getting a chance to express himself. After forming the band in 2015, he has been tinkering around while trying to find the sound. What could’ve just been another album by The Evens felt like it was deserving of its own new project under a new name.
What is Coriky? If I’m being serious, I don’t honestly know. What I can say is that they’re clearly passionate, finding MacKaye and Farina going full-throated on the modern world while sharing their singles with websites that would host it for free. Given that they’re still based outside of D.C., it feels like they’re playing on the lawn of The White House, trying to have their message of compassion heard. They want to end corruption just as much as the rest of the world, and this quiet rollout provides a nice surprise for fans of MacKaye, Farina, and drummer Joe Lally (formerly of Fugazi).
To be honest, the whole thing has too much of a subdued quality to it. While there’s no doubt that Coriky is passionate about their variety of messages, it’s an album that rarely breaks out of its shell and finds an urgency that has anything meaningful. Even if this is a politically charged album that isn’t short on provocative messaging, it becomes a muddled record lasting under 40 minutes, featuring a grumbling sound that feels like phlegm in their chest, collecting in the years that MacKaye has been doing other less banner-waving projects.
Does it sound like Fugazi? I can confirm that it sounds nothing like Minor Threat, and it’s all for the best. This is a more mature sound, pushing concern over the inner turmoil that defined his earlier career. Now he has his sights on the world as we all do, finding urgency in getting his message out there, ready to be heard by whoever will think to listen. They’re still punk, but slower with a deeper mix of lower tones and more distinct instrumentation, existing like a sonic cloud as he brings his points to the forefront.
If you want to know just what Coriky’s targets (no pun intended) are, just listen to their opening song and first single from the album “Clean Kill.” Over the course of the song, MacKaye sings about a drone pilot going about their daily lives. She is isolated from some danger outside of her view, but with said drone, she’s expected to perform murder:
When she stepped outsideRaised her eyes to the skyThe fatal stare is somewhere up thereLooking for someone to dieSoap and water will never get rid of that spotThat she's got
She is being replaced by somebody else who will do this impersonal form of killing. While it isn’t as big of a story in this day and age, drone murders were a bigger issue during The Obama Administration, and it’s clear that MacKaye is reaching out for some empathy, to understand why humanity would need to participate in something so heartless. As he later sings “It’s a clean kill, but it’s not clean.”
This isn’t an album that’s critical of the current administration or one person. It feels like they have been collecting up over many years, and opening with this song proves how wide that net will be cast. He has always been critical of politics, and that is going to be the big draw of this album. But for those who think that he should talk about things more modern, just wait until the end of the album where The 45th President is taken on more directly with “Inauguration Day, where he claims:
There’s some people here to see youI don’t thinkThey agree with youOne hundred thousand strongStanding out on the lawn
It’s unclear when he wrote this song, but it feels indicative of events as recent as last month, where The 45th President gassed protestors to take a really stupid photo op in front of a church. Things are more absurd than ever, needing to be fought for in defiant terms. MacKaye couldn’t have picked a better time to come back and make his voice heard, even if what he’s saying has been better stated by artists like Run the Jewels in clearer, more direct statements.
Of course, the album attacks the president in a quicker, more direct way with the second song “Hard to Explain,” where he claims:
We speak in circles, no end in sightNeither one of us will ever be rightYour position is, you want me to fixSomething that you said I broke in 1986
It’s clear that there’s pain in Coriky that go back to their youth, unable to fully be removed. It’s reflective of a blame game that has been perpetuated for so long that it has become ridiculous, especially since neither side is willing to listen. There is frustration that nothing will ever change, even as Coriky is sharing stories about why the world needs fixing. It’s a cry for activism, and the tiredness in MacKaye’s voice is enough to suggest that he’ll keep fighting, even as he’s battered down by every criticism. He’s put too much into self-expression to do any different.
With all of this said, later songs like “Have a Cup of Tea” have poignant topics and urgency, but the production feels muddled and drowns out the point a little bit. As the song explores the desire to protest being contradicted by a desire to chill out and “have a cup of tea,” making an underlying sense of sarcasm come out during the chorus. Again, this is a push and pull that the whole album wants to have, reflecting a social turmoil that is continually growing. Songs like “BQM” find Coriky “beginning to question my motives,” and it’s easy to see why.
The urgency is what ends the album with “Would Coulda,” which features a reference to water as a commodity. As a replenishing part of life, it’s perfect symbolism for how resources should be shared:
We are all out of waterWe are out of running waterGaloreNo moreOnce there was a bountyNow there's nothing for washing the laundryGaloreNo moreWe are out of running water
It’s also symbolic of global warming and a need to start sharing and conserving resources. It’s followed by a repetitive chorus of the title, reflecting how things are disappearing and the need to hold onto them longer, to care for your fellow man, and make a difference. That’s what this whole album is preaching. While this song is symbolic of having resources for everyone, it’s also a perfect way to end an album about raising issues and wanting to do something about them. We all need that fuel to keep going.
To be totally honest, “Coriky” is a good album that achieves everything it sets out to do. I like how it mixes guitar and bass especially, with the loud thuds of the former coming up in endearing ways. The issue is that for being a record so charged with clear intent, I’m never won over by its motives. I’m glad that Coriky wants to raise awareness on drone fighting and political corruption, but it never feels like a bigger point gets made. These are all things that we should be fighting for but are not. As they’ve mentioned, they’ve been talking in circles. Things will continue to not happen.
That’s itself a powerful message, but it makes you want to believe that there’s some optimism or constructive criticism to better the future. This is MacKaye’s grand statement after eight years, and it feels mature only in that it’s acknowledging the world. The record does plenty to get you pumped up, but it’s not particularly lively otherwise, feeling more subdued than equally charged albums like Run the Jewels “RTJ4” and X’s “Alphabetland.” In a time where the action is just as important as words, Coriky feels like they’re still trying to get to the next step.
With all of that said, there’s plenty to like as a straightforward punk record. MacKaye and Farina clearly have the passion still inside of them to express themselves through independent means. I just wish that they had something more accessible about them, capable of doing more than wandering around through interesting corners of their sound. I don’t know if I would appreciate this more if I was able to compare how this differs or evolved from Fugazi or The Evens, but I feel like I’m missing something bigger about this record, and it’s why I feel the need to be more defensive than normal. It’s a decent record, but one that feels a little too simple to call a masterful return.
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