On the other side of the property line, only marked by my neighbor’s natural shrubbery – unruly and free – is a decaying birdhouse dangling from a branch that I watch every morning from my kitchen window. Missing half of its roof from many of our repeated Midwest storms, its siding almost timid to be left on its own, the structure’s only sense of hope lies within a singular piece of twine wrapped around its perimeter put there a years ago in hopes to hold, sparingly, what is still together. But lo and behold, with every season comes a new generation of sparrows or chickadees, a race to get there first and fill it with found, soft textures of twigs and the shedding hair of our dog – home sweet home. But from where I stand, as this birdhouse persists through the changing seasons, rotting wood and weathered temptations to finally collapse – I have to wonder, do those birds live in fear, or is it just me?

Grounded in unique homemade foundations of gritty instrumentation and soured conventionals, ylayali is the project of Philly-based artist, Francis Lyons, becoming a safe haven for his artistic visions and rooted stories ever since he was in high school fifteen years ago. Whether as a producer or having played in bands such as free cake for every creature, 2nd Grade and most recently, 22° Halo, Lyons’ work over the years comfortably falls amongst indie cult favorites, rearing the notoriety from tender pop-lovers, lo-fi droolers and calculated gear heads alike. As his tender demeanor and experimental spirit spill out on his latest LP, Birdhouse in Conduit, Lyons brings that same appreciation and excitement of what ylayali has been for over a decade, and pulling it towards the possibility of what may come next – brilliant or unusual – both putting a beautiful and enduring edge to the recordings at hand.

Protruded by crude distortion and a grating, hypnotic march of sorts, the album begins with “Francis Funeral Home” locking into nine minutes of controlled chaos – a type of unmatched sanctity of when solitude is met with the fuckery of an electric guitar and a shit-ton of pedals. “Stay and dance until the place close / the Francis Funeral Home”, Lyons sings, guitars circulating as the idea of endings are weighed upon impact. This type of surrealism is nothing new to Lyons’ ability to tell, notably unconventional, stories of identity and self, as he himself becomes interchangeable amongst mundane objects, obtuse scenarios and lackey characters that phase in and out of his line of sight. Songs like “Shadow Play” and “Spacebar” become a pledge of irony when trying to understand his existence, or merely define its intentions. “never saw it comin’ / first lookin’ spider-wise / and the webs all disappear when the dew dries” he sings on the latter, as the delicate vocals of both Lyons and Katie Bennett (Katie Bejsiuk, Free Cake For Every Creature) force us to lean in, introducing a new level of fixation to the sounds he so easily controls.  

These sonic textures and attention to detail are almost moldable in your hands, as they condense and build, meander and squirm amongst the conduction of pulpy fuzz and distortion. “Devil Dog”, at its core, is a staggering and sticky rocker, subdued to fit into Lyons’ natural speed and rough façade that feels heavier than the actual sweetness underneath. “Fuzz” plays amongst a culmination of creeks, creeps and patterned fixations, paired together with the light and whimsical string arrangements and the choked clinks of a glockenspiel that push forward; a choreographed movement amongst the differing characters that each sonic voicing represents. The brief instrumental “Security Man” is an acoustic tribulation, a harmony of configured strings that sing for repentance before being overwhelmed by the warm rage of the closing track “God’s Man”. “I saw an angel / An actual angel,” Lyons sings, a continuation of religious motifs brought up throughout the album. But in the end, you can’t help but to think of the due diligence these angels actually perform for him, as absurdity overrides the elegance of salvation – “harbinger, angel of what, solicitation’s tale” – the words holding to whatever they can as the feedback sears its final marks. 

“There’s that shiny part / Worn smooth by vinyl twine / birdhouse polypropylene / one spool lasts one life” – amongst the tinkerings on the standout track, “Birdhouse”, comes one of the more tender and grounding expositions on the album as the song hums with a sound that crusts over like hardened sugar. But it is on this song where Lyons feels most grounded into his foundation, where all of those huge questions of fear, death, religion and belonging don’t matter anymore. It’s in these sonic trances that make Birdhouse in Conduit feel so enduring, where meaning fluctuates with a meandering rhythm, and yet, Lyons can still take a pause and look at what’s right in front of him. “But the birdhouse makes me smile with the loop knotted on the side,” he sings, cherishing something so simple; it means the world to both him and those little birds.

Birdhouse in Conduit is now available to stream on all platforms. You can purchase the album on vinyl here, which includes a 22 page booklet, various homemade inserts and found photos. Lyons will soon be playing a few shows with 22° Halo on the east coast. Find dates here.

Written by Shea Roney