While the focus on songwriting already makes Coagulated Bliss the most grounded album in Full of Hell’s catalog, it’s also the first Full of Hell record that tries in earnest to reflect the world around it—not in some broad, monotony-of-evil way, but the everyday horrors of life in small town America. Three of the four members of the band were raised in Ocean City. Hazard and Bland still live there, while Walker is located in central Pennsylvania and bassist Samuel DiGristine relocated to Philadelphia. “The American dream is small towns,” Hazard says. “But anyone that’s grown up in a small town realizes it’s just as fucked up in a small town as it is in a big city—if not more, because it’s more condensed.” Walker’s lyrics have always framed their suffering with what he calls “fantastical, metaphorical shit,” but on Coagulated Bliss his writing is clear and direct. The album’s title is meant partly to reflect the idea of the over-pursuit of happiness leading to misery—whether in addiction, greed, or anything else. “Your happiness is just out of reach and you don’t know why,” he says. “Too much of this bliss, you think you’ve found your endpoint, but it’s really just this small, tiny, little thing that’s going to ruin your fucking life. And that could be anything.” Much of the album is rooted in the band’s own experiences. “A hundred dead ends, a thousand dead friends,” Walker screams on “Doors to Mental Agony.” “I hear their howling, I hear them weeping.” There are corpses slicked with morning dew, “false balms for deep wounds,” numb failures, thieves in the night and killers in the dark. There are many trackmarks; there are many dirty needles. The album’s viciousness and Walker’s clear reading of the world around him might scan as misanthropy—“humanity to blame,” he concludes after running through the ways the earth is “riddled with sores” in “Gasping Dust”—but it comes from a place of disappointment that’s driven by a deep love for people and life and the world. “There’s not a lot of anger, to be honest,” he says. “I’ve never felt anger when we’re playing, ever. It feels like electricity that’s built up in my body that has to get out. But I feel more profoundly sorrowful than I ever do anger.” The world may be in a constant state of bitter flux, but Full of Hell have never sounded more at home in it.“We’ve shed any kind of ‘do we belong in this space, what do people expect of us,’” Walker says. “The joy is in the pursuit.” The loosening of their grip on the direction of their music has made it feel paradoxically closer to the bone. “People tend to burrow themselves so deeply into things they love,” Walker says. “It’s too much of a good thing, and it almost cheapens it.” By paring back their sound, Full of Hell aren’t just finding a new way forward: They’re proving that a little bit less of a good thing can add up to so much more.
