Secret Language doesn’t exactly sound like the band picking up where it left off. (For one thing, the band already picked things back up, sort of, reconfiguring their lineup, adding a guitarist, and releasing a self-titled album as Knot in 2020.) Furman’s sauntering basslines and Ian Becker’s drumming—which can tightly punctuate the vocal melodies or inject chaos into a song’s climax—are carried over from Krill 1.0. They’re joined by a new guitarist, Andrew Clinkman, who often prefers guitar parts that chug or sprawl over the band’s usual wiry, jittery riffs. Secret Language also features additions that would have felt out of place on previous Krill records: vocal harmonies, violin, and saxophone, performed by members of local bands in Chicago, Krill’s new home base. If the group’s earlier music captured the claustrophobia of young adult neuroses, this new sound feels more grounded and reflective.
That feeling threads through Secret Language’s lyrics, which contemplate the passage of time and the rewards of commitment. Furman doesn’t entirely abandon the self-loathing (“Hawaii”) and visceral metaphors (“Snails”) of Krill’s earlier work. But several songs consider what it means to re-engage with this band (“I have said what I have to say,” Furman murmurs on “Commemorative Plaque,” “I don’t know what any of it meant”). The closing track functions as a reprise of “Theme From Krill,” proffering a sort of justification for Secret Language: “A decade passed,” Furman sings on “Theme From Krill 2.” “Thought I had better things to do/Everything I hated about myself was Krill/But everything I liked about myself was Krill, too.”
Secret Language’s most moving moments come during odes to Furman’s family. On “Karst Fenster,” he uses the titular geological feature—a porthole into a sinkhole—as a metaphor for wishing he and his beloved could peer inside each other’s skulls, to completely comprehend the inner workings of each other’s minds, before he’s played out by a skittering sax solo. On the title track, he sings about reading Goodnight Moon backwards to his kids; then, once the kids are asleep, he describes being alone with his wife: “You are my radio/My guitar/The wanting sound in my throat,” he sings, swooning harmonies and violin beneath him, reveling in an unconflicted sweetness that’s new for the band.
