a review of the maine's joy next door

The Maine’s Joy Next Door feels like laying a picnic blanket out somewhere between nostalgia for one’s younger days and gratitude for the present moment.

The band contemplates aging amid the triumph of finally becoming “sort of famous” after nearly twenty years together. The acoustic chords on the opening track, “Green”, move with the breeziness of blades of grass, guiding the listener into thirty-nine minutes of clean, sunny instrumentals. I hear hints of country twang on tracks such as “Palms”, “And Then”, and “It’s Not Over Yet”, which represent a slight departure from the band’s previous record.

Their 2023 self-titled project had the glitter and cheekiness of The 1975, while Joy Next Door rings with the millennial optimism of Walk the Moon with a slight southern drawl. It is an album that feels like a bike ride through one’s hometown on one of the final days of springtime; vocalist John O’Callaghan passes his old apartment and watches as the “Kids are getting high on dummy grass/Up the street where I learned how to crash.” With a distant approval of the new generation that feels almost paternal, he ponders his place in the music world now that “I was young/Now I’m not.”

The choruses on “Alone for a Year” and “Joy Next Door” take on a sing-a-long quality perfect for the drive back from a hike with your oldest friends; the sentiment is warm and grateful, but cheesy at times. There isn’t a strong chord of desire or lack running through the track-list, and that might be the problem. It feels like the band members are reflecting on what they want rather than chasing it, which limits Joy Next Door’s emotional depth and range.

There are references to drunkenness and sleep deprivation, but nothing indicative of the wildness, hedonism, or self-destruction that gives rock music its teeth. I wrote in my Notes app on the first listen that the way the band talks about drinking is in “such a safe, IPA way,” but perhaps the intention was to keep things light. The Maine seem genuinely grateful to enjoy the highs and lows of music, and that itself is refreshing. The Maine’s greatest strength is the harmony between O’Callaghan’s confident vocals and the tight, although redundant production. His voice molds perfectly to each song, even the sleepy and saccharine ballads “Joy Next Door” and “Quiet Part Loud” that I registered as the low points of the record.

The uptempo “3:31” and “Half a Spark” stand out as the highlights of the album, both beset with colorfully catchy choruses and lyrics that come with a bit of a wink. I especially enjoyed the staccato vocal delivery of the latter, with lyrics such as “Bad, bad Kerouac brat in your latex/Had that honey whiplash, used to break necks.” For a moment, I heard flashes of The Killers across those two tracks.

The weakest part of the record is that it lacks conflict, both within the lyrical themes and between songs in terms of production. Each cover-to-cover listen left me with the feeling that each track sounded a little too similar, with lyrics that are a little too generic and corny. The Maine has released a record that’s highly agreeable to the ear, but a little too much so. However, I appreciate their decision to resist seeming too cool or too complicated, and to find their joy next door.

words by Ella