Kevin Barnes is a master shapeshifter—someone who’s been making weird, provocative, frustrating, and fascinating music for so long that audiences have begun to take his prolific output for granted. Most artists contain multitudes, but few possess back catalogs that span from cheeky funk to progressive glam, or that balance character-driven narratives with raw confessionals. His history of collaborations, ranging from the indie-centric Elephant 6 collective to pop icons like Janelle Monáe, further cements his status as a singular force in modern music.
The joy—and perhaps the trepidation for the casual fan—of a new of Montreal album is the uncertainty of which version of Barnes will emerge. While some listeners pine for the mid-2000s era of bass-heavy, harmony-stacked earworms like “Gronlandic Edit,” others crave the genre-splicing experiments that have defined his later career. Recent projects have offered a blend of these impulses: 2020’s UR FUN leaned into compact synth-pop, 2022’s Freewave Lucifer F<ck F^ck F>ck explored dizzying, winding structures, and 2024’s Lady on the Cusp occupied a middle ground. Now, with the band’s 20th LP, aethermead, Barnes delivers his most organic, vulnerable, and psychedelic work in over a decade.
The project emerged during a period of significant personal transition for Barnes, following the end of an eight-year relationship and a relocation from Vermont to Brooklyn. By recruiting his live band—drummer Clayton Rychlik, keyboardist Jojo Glidewell, and bassist Ross Brand—for a focused five-day studio session, followed by solo home-studio refinement, Barnes achieved a sound that is overtly band-centric and uncluttered.
aethermead functions as a spiritual companion to 2013’s Lousy With Sylvianbriar, leaning heavily into folk-rock and psych textures. Tracks like “Listen to Music and Cry” exemplify this, layering vocal harmonies over warm, gleaming keys and prominent, phasing guitars. Barnes’ lyrics are strikingly plainspoken, as seen in his admission: “If I have one regret, it’s that I wasn’t more of a friend. I could have done so much better, especially towards the end.” The record frequently occupies this dreamy, introspective space, whether through the trippy folk meadows of “Lacan in the Family” or the jazzy, trance-like atmospheres of “From the Font of You.”
While of Montreal albums often thrive on stylistic ping-ponging, the consistency of aethermead is a refreshing departure. Even so, the album features standout anthems that break the haze. “Take the Form” introduces a steady, post-punk churn punctuated by bursts of electric guitar, while the centerpiece “When” masks deep yearning behind a violent, post-disco groove. In “When,” Barnes confronts his own desires with brutal honesty, singing, “I’m not trying to have an emotional connection. I just want to fuck you again.”
Ultimately, aethermead serves as a testament to an artist following his own path. For those seeking rich sonics and tightly composed songwriting, this record is a high-water mark in the band’s extensive discography. And for those who prefer the weirder, more experimental side of Barnes? History suggests that another shift is likely just around the corner.
