CHICO IS SCARED OF THE DREAM
All Photos Courtesy of CHICO and Kevin Allan
I don’t know if I should trust my ambition anymore. There is gratification, yet the strangulation of doubt grasps me, interlocking its fingers around my throat, slowly squeezing with every second guess. Did I make the right choices? Should I have dreamed bigger? Do I conform to those around me? They seem to have it all figured out. CHICO, from Southern California, captures this two-sided venture of having a dream and revolving one's life around it with their debut self-titled album.
CHICO is Lance Gibson (vocals), Tony Rangel (drums), Danny Chavez (Guitar), Jake Palma (Guitar), and Dawson Souisa (Bass). Through them, the dream is actualized, but the weight of it is never forgotten. “The record kind of touches on all of the emotions that make being in a band your life entails – joy, struggle, doubt, determination, pride, spite, and more,” says vocalist Lance Gibson, “at times it can feel like a one-sided relationship; you give it all your time, money, and effort but you get nothing in return more often than not.” The narrative here, very intentionally, wants you to feel this relationship.
It doesn’t know what to believe, what to stick with, how to be the person it desperately wants to be. It’s afraid, and it conveys that confidently. It's in turmoil, reflecting the band’s, and yet it knows exactly what to say, and when to say it in a way that is so tight, insightful, and relatable. Chico is highly individualistic and personal, yet it captures the journey of sacrifice, doubt, and triumph in a very human way that those on their own islands of doubt can relate to.
All Photos Courtesy of CHICO and Kevin Allan
There is a fluctuating confessional tone that embodies what it means to be in love with and critical of aspirations. Its melancholia is obvious, interspersing emo, shoegaze, indie, and even a cover of Fugazi's “I’m So Tired.” But it also knows how to be aggressively self-critical and of those in the vicinity, by grasping distinct hardcore elements. By combining these two specificities, it knows when to slow down, biting into alternative influences that summon Handsome and post-punk, with songs like “Big Joke” or “Blur,” leaning into self-deprecation and doubt.
Yet, the motivational anthems of Hatebreed or Terror come forward in its grasp of fear and the need to push beyond it. CHICO progressively intensifies with songs like “Too Late” and “Chico Style,” reflecting frustration and self-acceptance, exhibiting the album's main motivating tone: “I’ll never know if I don’t try.”
All Photos Courtesy of CHICO and Kevin Allan
I think at some point everyone chasing some insane dream has had those thoughts. You can’t help but question everything that led you to this point and what it may cost to continue. There are no guarantees, but your commitment and passion are. But those attributes are sometimes nonrenewable resources.
They can run out, change, and lose potency. In some cases, sparks ignite like pushing down on an old-timey blasting machine and BOOM, you're off, you know exactly what to do. But to achieve these states, to live through them and either fall or push through, is a highly challenging venture that is often so rarely expanded upon. Yet CHICO does it so precisely, and so openly, it's hard to be distracted.
All Photos Courtesy of CHICO and Kevin Allan
The debut is therapeutic, as if the band has sat down and talked things over with an embodiment of their fears. They’ve swapped blame, pleaded for understanding, maybe erupted into a fist fight, maybe even a healthy cry. But in the end, there is understanding in recognizing fear, how to talk about it, and pushing beyond it, which equates to expression. They seem to honestly understand themselves, releasing an album that doesn't scream of ego, but rather honesty and tenacity. The album is out now through New Morality Zine.
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