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Dear Life Records
Fust - Evil Joy (5th Anniversary Reissue)
Fust - Evil Joy (5th Anniversary Reissue)
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This re-release isn’t a victory lap so much as a way of keeping the band's earliest vision of ragged, lyric-forward country-rock in active rotation—putting their point of origin back in circulation even as their new music keeps widening.
Evil Joy was recorded sporadically between 2019 and 2021 in New York, eastern Pennsylvania, and Lake Gaston, but it was largely assembled in a shed in north Durham during the winter of 2020–21. The songs on Evil Joy probe the slow, strange weather of a relationship nearing its end, when time speeds up and thickens at once. Days blur, then suddenly reappear as hard markers: the last days, the day you left, the day you came back, the better days, the days to come.
What the record traces isn't a neat narrative arc so much as a lived-through duration: surrender and withdrawal, tenderness that keeps flickering, mistakes you can't rewind, and the uneasy relief that arrives alongside grief. As Rosy Overdrive put it, the album is “gentle, deliberate, and clear Americana/folk rock,” a breezy surface that nonetheless makes room for something darker beneath it.
And that’s the hinge of the title, Evil Joy: two words that don't resolve into a slogan so much as name a contradiction you can't talk your way out of—the strange experience of feeling something like lightness at the moment something shared is dying. If the phrase sounds a little overheated, that’s part of its honesty too: the way a hard period gets narrated in real time, when ordinary difficulty can feel momentous, and the name you give it is both an overreaction and a record of how heavy it actually was.
Evil Joy was recorded sporadically between 2019 and 2021 in New York, eastern Pennsylvania, and Lake Gaston, but it was largely assembled in a shed in north Durham during the winter of 2020–21. The songs on Evil Joy probe the slow, strange weather of a relationship nearing its end, when time speeds up and thickens at once. Days blur, then suddenly reappear as hard markers: the last days, the day you left, the day you came back, the better days, the days to come.
What the record traces isn't a neat narrative arc so much as a lived-through duration: surrender and withdrawal, tenderness that keeps flickering, mistakes you can't rewind, and the uneasy relief that arrives alongside grief. As Rosy Overdrive put it, the album is “gentle, deliberate, and clear Americana/folk rock,” a breezy surface that nonetheless makes room for something darker beneath it.
And that’s the hinge of the title, Evil Joy: two words that don't resolve into a slogan so much as name a contradiction you can't talk your way out of—the strange experience of feeling something like lightness at the moment something shared is dying. If the phrase sounds a little overheated, that’s part of its honesty too: the way a hard period gets narrated in real time, when ordinary difficulty can feel momentous, and the name you give it is both an overreaction and a record of how heavy it actually was.
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