The term “kaleidoscopic” may be overused when describing music that’s even mildly psychedelic or richly layered, but it feels like a term almost tailor-made for Lord Huron’s sound. There’s a unique magic in the way he crafts sonic landscapes that make you instantly nostalgic for a memory that isn’t yours. The storytelling is so immersive you feel that you are not only a listener, but a participant. There’s an introspective depth to the music threaded with an almost celestial-like perspective which acts as an omnipresence that drifts through every melody.
The man behind the project, Ben Schneider, named Lord Huron after Lake Huron, a place he frequented as a child. A visual artist by training, Schneider studied abroad and worked in New York City before eventually relocating to Los Angeles, where his musical vision took root and flourished. It comes as no surprise that an artist like Schneider has found a way to fuse his talents, crafting a kind of synesthesia that bridges sound and image with emotion and memory.
The Cosmic Selector Vol. 1 continues down the path Lord Huron paved with his debut EP over fifteen years ago, expanding that signature blend of mythic storytelling and musical atmosphere. The album explores themes of fate and regret, and its cover art depicts a kind of jukebox of fortune, inviting the question, as Schneider puts it: “What if you could choose your fate like choosing a song on a jukebox? What if your finger slipped and you got the B-side instead? What if you misunderstood the meaning of the dang song to begin with?” It presents the thought experiment of what “fate” entails as a concept and how our choices can reverberate through time like a haunting refrain.
“Looking Back” opens the album as a hazy vignette of memory, setting the tone for a body of work steeped in longing and regret. Lord Huron explains this track is about “The weight of your past distorting the present and future,” likening this to “the way massive celestial objects wrap the fabric of the universe.” The song asks the question of whether it is possible to let go, or if pondering about the past is a necessary part of one’s lifestory. The “playback” of this story begins in the album’s second track, “Bag of Bones,” which begins with a mechanical whir, representing the aforementioned “cosmic selector” jukebox. The opening line “this is how my tale begins…” begins a fresh thread of Lord Huron’s storytelling, adding a western flair and just a touch of outlaw spirit. Beneath the surface lies the sense that everything has been lost, yet the irresistible drive to press on remains. Life’s absurdity is embraced in the declaration, “life is a joke if you laugh,” while a persisting existential nihilism reduces one’s existence to a “rattling bag of bones.”
“Nothing I Need” picks up the tempo of this emotional journey, continuing the twang from the previous track and adding some more folk elements. The turn this track takes embraces the high of chasing desires, but when those desires lack real substance, the costs are high as well. What’s left is the emptiness that follows when you miss out what you truly need, such as love. “Is There Anybody Out There” captures the ache of loneliness and the deep desire for human connection. It’s the realization that living in your own world only results in being alone: “Glimpsed a ghost in the darkness / Stared me straight in the eye / It was only my own face.”
On the fifth track, “Who Laughs Last,” the reflective journey takes a turn, embracing a full-throttle push into life’s unknown chapters ahead without looking back. It features a spoken word contribution from Kristen Stewart, who paints the picture of recklessly driving away from the city on an endless road – a metaphor for escaping regret by propelling towards an uncharted future. The song fits into the album as almost a fantasy, because the next song, “The Comedian,” addresses that regret and the desperate wish to enact this runaway dream of leaving the metaphorical city-of-the-past. In this song, Lord Huron acknowledges that fleeing isn’t a viable solution for someone already feeling lost; what they truly need is to find peace with the past, which means confronting it. The song is a letter, an attempt to find closure with the past. This letter continues into “Watch Me Go,” where liberating exclamations show a resolve to move forward and reclaim one’s life. There’s whispers of changes taking place within oneself. The track closes with a slowed-down effect, and sounds are distorted and stripped away, a nod back to the cosmic jukebox.
“Fire Eternal” continues the psychedelic thread with a subtle blues tinge and features Blonde Redhead’s Kazu Makino. She opens with delicate intonations that gradually build into an echoing, overlapping duet before her solo finally shines through, fully embedding into the song. The track feels like a flash into the “real” timeline, embracing the force of love and the impossibility of breaking free from an impassioned relationship. Once again, it proves that escapism is no viable option; true resolution comes only by standing within the fire and confronting its heat head-on.
“It All Comes Back” marks a turning point both sonically and lyrically. A sense of hope emerges as the track gains momentum and the orchestration swells with each verse, suddenly transforming the weight of memory from a crushing burden into something you can carry. With the repeated line “it all comes back to you” and the romantic, swirling violins, the song suggests this painful love is impossible to escape, yet impossible to live without. It’s another reminder that some things must be revisited and accepted before you can truly move on.
“Used To Know” asks the question of who remains after memories fade. Lord Huron again mentions a ghost “double” (“I saw a ghost / he looked the same as me”), in addition to a graveyard; representations of confronting the past and resurrecting buried fragments of identity. The chorus “If I ever come back from the graveyard / tell me I remind you of someone you used to know” acknowledges that while facing the past may free him from limbo, it also risks returning him unrecognizable. Once on this journey, there’s no way out but through, as “Digging Up The Past” illustrates, where an impassioned, lonely harmonica weaves its mournful call through the track; a guide through the dark forest of memory.
“Life Is Strange” concludes the album on a note of sober reflection, asking whether true release is ever possible. Embracing life’s absurdity (“Life is strange / so am I”) mirrors the album’s central tension of fate and free will. Just as the cosmic jukebox invites us to pick our destiny, if we haven’t fully reckoned with our past, we may still fall back on old habits to fill the void of an unresolved past. But again, if we will all inevitably turn to dust, does any of this matter, or does this only empower us to decide how we want to live out our days? By ending on this uneasy acceptance, Lord Huron affirms that some memories cannot be laid to rest. Confronting the past means owning our own strange, fragile selves. The Cosmic Selector Vol. 1 doesn’t offer a clean-cut closure but rather a harsh truth: to stand within the flames of our history is to live fully, even when we remain forever tethered to the collage of our past, both good and bad.
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