Down on Them

Manhattan once teemed with trout. Though Minetta Creek was diverted underground in the early 19th century and eventually ran dry, some still claim to hear running water beneath the streets of Greenwich Village where, nearly two hundred years later, Paco Cathcart would be born. Cathcart grew up across the East River in Brooklyn and began recording music as the Cradle in 2013. Across some 50 albums, the project has evolved from off-the-cuff experiments to increasingly intentional gems like 2018’s Bag of Holding.

Down on Them is Cathcart’s debut release under their own name and their first with “one band.” Cathcart, who has played in groups like Big Neck Police, Shimmer, and Climax Landers, found like-minded bandmates in bassist Miriam Elhajli, keyboardist Ellie Shannon, and drummer Bailey Wollowitz. Together, the ensemble builds intricate, transfixing melodies with a weighty undercurrent that’s reminiscent of the way a populous city can still feel profoundly lonely. And yet these are ecstatic songs, especially when the bandmates build progressively expressive harmonies, as they do to great effect on “Oh, Joy” and “Gender Neutral.” The mournful “Pale Grey Light” begins with Cathcart singing the titular phrase alone before their bandmates’ voices wrap them in an embrace for wistful lines like, “Goddamn, you showed me so many things/You showed me why I love life.”

New York City can sometimes feel like it takes more than it gives; a certain suspension of disbelief is required to continue paying rent. The 12 songs on Down on Them capture the city’s extremes, weaving together struggle and cruelty, but also resilience and affirmation. The opening track “Your Reflection” is a brief glimpse at beauty witnessed while biking. It sounds like a gentle, early morning yawn, with a drumroll announcing Cathcart’s arrival much as a rolling gate opens a storefront.

The urban environment sustains tension: Weeds pop up between cracks in the pavement, rusty engines languish on the riverbed, and bird bones litter the streets. The easygoing “Invasive Species” weaves a local history of intrusion, from the displacement of the indigenous Lenape by the Europeans to the introduction of the spotted lanternfly. Time marches (or stomps) on in the city forever in a rush, but Cathcart and their bandmates have made a record that encourages close listening. “Cry on Command,” about a woman adrift in a toxic relationship, is rich with subtle textures. By all means, listen to Down on Them on a walk—but maybe also try leaving the headphones at home once in a while.

But an assured way to gain perspective on one’s home, adopted or otherwise, is to travel beyond its confines. Down on Them includes scenes from the American South with consideration of the many ways that marginalized people are rendered voiceless. The Spanish-language “Ella Vive Sola” is a portrait of a grandmother figure isolated by language, distance, and loss. The subjects of the quivering, tense “TM Joint” are migrants and laborers repeatedly subjected to cruelty, instability, and exploitation. “Do you think they wish to feel undignified?/Do you think they want to feel so sick and tired?” Cathcart asks.

An overarching theme of Down on Them is the possibility of softness, of humanity, in a world that so often inspires division. The standout “Bottleneck Blues” finds reprieves from mental and physical claustrophobia down by the city’s marshes and beaches. Coasting on a jangly melody that could be a lost cut from the 1986 Felt classic Forever Breathes the Lonely Word, Cathcart is revived. Maybe a trickle of water does still run deep below the concrete.