“I saw a man jump off a bridge / He grabbed the rail and flipped over the edge, uh-huh / It was a sight to see. What did it mean to him? And I’ve thought about it every day since, uh-oh / And I’ve never felt better.”
Motherhood’s Thunder Perfect Mind opens with a jolt and a plunge—not of faith, but despair. Inspired by lyricist Brydon Crain’s daily walks across the Wolastoq River in Fredericton, New Brunswick, Canada the album spins a surreal tale of a bridge-crosser abruptly swept away by a growing, otherworldly force. Crain’s delivery on the opening track, ‘Flood II,’ is laced with a biting resignation that hooks you immediately. It’s as unsettling as the “dark, expanding Cloud” that looms over the album – a sprawling metaphor and an embodiment of the mayhem that pulls both the band and their listeners into its unstoppable, swirling grip.
Since their 2022 release, Winded, the New Brunswick trio—Crain, multi-instrumentalist Penelope Stevens, and drummer Adam Sipkema—has been on the move. Their relentless touring brought them to Canada, the U.S., and Europe, where they played their first sold-out London show, expanding their fanbase and refining their live energy. That restless motion infuses every aspect of Thunder Perfect Mind. It’s a record for fans old and new alike, one that Crain describes as full of “songs they’ll love”. That love is a complex, heavy mix of sci-fi concept album and blustering rock. Yet, as Stevens also puts it, this is without doubt “the most approachable album” they’ve ever done.
‘Bok Globule’ kicks off with raw, Pixies-style energy, blending punk intensity with goofy, reverb-drenched surf rock. The narrator, stuck in the ominous Cloud, yearns for the simplicity of rural life: “Dreaming of the country / Their roads don’t reach my house / Be nothing, feed cows.” The push-and-pull of frustration and longing weaves through the track, Crain’s jagged guitar cutting it open while Stevens’ steady bass holds all the pieces together. Next there’s the warped prog-rock prairie ballad ‘Wandering’. “ You said I’d never travel alone / I’ve been out wandering / All by myself / When can I come home?” Crain complains as Stevens’ harmonies and subtle synth textures turn the solitude into something more uplifting.
‘Grow High,’ drips with sarcasm and defiance. “Grow high, formless black Cloud / Cover up the whole sky,” Motherhood sings, teetering between mockery and victory. Leaning with both elbows into their Beach Boys comparisons, they flip the “inside, outside USA” vibe like it’s fat and sizzling on a charcoal grill before diving into the chaotic, Bad Brains-infected riot of its evil twin, ‘Grow Higher.’ In just 49 seconds, this track packs a punch, with soul-shredding screams and lines like “I fought harder than crashing waves against the farthest fence that Yaldabaoth made,” that draw on Gnostic myths. That’s the thing with Motherhood – they disguise intellectual grenades such as these as wild, genre-hopping bangers. Before you know it you’re on Google looking up lion-faced false gods. But it’s all fun, and they sure don’t make a big deal out of it. In ‘Sunk,’ they even sneak in a sly cowbell straight out of Saturday Night Live, a playful wink that cuts through the noise.
Back in the Cloud, the visceral ‘Dry Heave’ sends listeners tumbling back in time, its sharp lyrics and rasping vocals recount brushes with death, being dumped and abandoned in primordial sludge: “I could have been struck by a limb on a branch on the bed of a truck on the bridge and got chucked off the edge and died. And even as the water separated from my blood and pushed out of my skin, I couldn’t decide” . The Cloud’s crushing existential weight is mirrored in Sipkema’s drumming, channelling the inescapable vortex, as we surf out the track’s last dramatic moments on the crest of Crain’s guitar.
‘Moat’ captures Motherhood at their most surreal: “I’m in the moat / The circle goes forever if it’s watched,” Crain murmurs over hypnotic, samba-inflected beats. We’re “Not inside / Not outside” just floating in an infinite void where meaning and time dissolve—a fever dream occupied by Santana, jamming a solo, endlessly in limbo. If ‘Moat’ is about being stuck, ‘Propeller’ is about breaking free—just not in the way you’d expect. “There is a strong force propelling me,” the band sings with a mix of hymn-like harmonic awe and forewarning. Furious percussion detonates beneath Crain’s grizzly guitar as it churns through demonic scales, while Stevens’ bass grumbles below, anchoring the track in dark, driving energy. A highlight of the album, ‘Propeller’ blurs the line between fighting back and giving in.
The album winds down on a sombre yet cinematic note with ‘Kyle Hangs at Noon’ . This instrumental closer could be straight out of a spaghetti-western, but is actually a reworking of surf rock B-side ‘Kyle Hangs Ten’. The slow, Ennio Morricone stirrup-jangling march escorts us to the gallows, where The Cloud waits, hovering like a question mark.
Thunder Perfect Mind is a masterpiece of contradictions— playful and profound, anarchic yet meticulously constructed. Crain and Stevens’ vocal interplay is electric, their voices shifting between harmonies and counterpoints, while Sipkema’s drumming stitches everything together with flamboyant precision. The ever-present Cloud is a useful symbol – for progress, control, the unknowable forces shaping our lives – but it’s also just a looming, inscrutable enigma. One that Motherhood wisely refuses to define.
Sure, you could probably throw this album on as a soundtrack to your day, a companion to the futility of existence, jumping and screaming along to its cathartic chaos. But Motherhood dares you to go deeper.
Step into the Cloud. You may never want to leave.
Grow high
