Review: Joshua Hobbins
Horizons/West arrives as the thematic companion to Horizons/East (2021), a sonic and lyrical sequel that seeks not just to echo its predecessor but to complete a larger arc. It’s the first time Thrice have leaned explicitly into a direct continuation approach, and in doing so they aren’t merely revisiting, they’re looking ahead.
If Horizons/East felt like dawning, opening, potential, then West works in contrast — the closing of a day, the narrowing of light, an introspective reckoning with what follows the horizon.
That said, West is far from a sombre dirge. It’s alive, restless and urgent, driven by tension between reflection and confrontation, between what’s internal, and what’s external.
One of the strongest moves here is how Thrice intertwines texture and space with moments of raw propulsion. The record doesn’t assault you nonstop; it breathes. It leans into cinematic post-rock atmospheres, open expanses, and echoes, but then occasionally snaps you back with a thunderous riff, driving drums, and abrupt shifts in dynamics.
There are passages that recall the more experimental, expansive Thrice of Beggars and Major/Minor, while other moments harken to their harder roots (breakdowns, double kick, darker aggression), but used not as nostalgia, more as tools. The balance is deft – it doesn’t feel like a patchwork of eras, but rather a matured synthesis.
Vocally, Dustin Kensrue continues to impress, moving fluidly from quiet, haunted murmurs to throat-tearing crescendos and anchoring the more atmospheric stretches with emotional weight. Teppei Teranishi’s cinematic guitar textures layer depth and tension, Eddie Breckenridge’s bass provides a steady but dynamic backbone, and Riley Breckenridge’s drumming shifts effortlessly between precision and power, together giving Horizons/West its unmistakable intensity and pulse.
The pacing is mostly solid, though there are moments where transitions feel ambitious to the point of risk. The switching from expanses back into storm, or vice versa, can sometimes jar, but these are risks worthwhile, and more often than not they land.
Lyrically, West is probing and uneasy. It carries through many of the threads hinted at in East, now viewed with shade, hindsight, fog. Algorithms, social echo chambers, technological anxiety, identity, the tension of belief and influence. These aren’t new for Thrice, but here they’re more urgent, more insistent.
Where East offered questions of beginnings, West contemplates endings and thresholds. It’s not fatalistic; there’s still light, still movement, still resistance, but the tone is less about optimism and more about wrestling than resolving, a struggle that feels both urgent and deeply human.
What stands out is how personal and external worlds converge. The album isn’t content just to muse internally, it makes space for the broader world, the systems, the dissonances around us.
The album’s highlights capture Thrice at their most dynamic and unified. Gnash sets the tone with ferocity and urgency, driven by Riley Breckenridge’s relentless drumming and Eddie Breckenridge’s rumbling bass. Albatross stands out for its soaring melodies and lyrical weight, with Dustin Kensrue’s impassioned vocals carried by Teppei Teranishi’s expansive guitar work. Tracks like Distant Suns and Vesper Light showcase the band’s ability to weave atmosphere and emotion, with delicate textures and rhythmic nuance creating moments of reflection in the quiet before or after storms. Finally, the closing track Unitive/West pulls it all together, with Kensrue’s searching delivery, Teranishi’s cinematic soundscapes, and the Breckenridge brothers’ rhythm section working in lockstep to deliver a heavy, resonant summation of the album’s themes and sonic arcs.
Some weaker moments (if one must nit-pick) involve transitions that occasionally feel too abrupt or grandiose. In a few spots I found myself wishing for a smoother lead-in or more restraint in the dynamic leap. But even then, those are more curiosities than major flaws.
Horizons/West is a powerful, mature, and ambitious album. It succeeds not just as a follow-up, but as a bold statement on its own. Thrice have managed to age, reflect, and still push forward, resisting easy repetition or nostalgia. In West, they grapple with contemporary pressures and internal reckonings, offering no simplistic answers, but demanding listeners stay awake.
For long-time fans, it’s rewarding; there’s familiarity, but also growth. For newcomers, it stands as a compelling, rich entry point into a band still evolving decades in.
If Horizons/East asked “Where might we go?”, Horizons/West asks “How do we reckon with where we’ve been, and how do we keep going?”, and in that tension, it finds resonance.
Horizons/West is a bold, risky, and deeply felt chapter in the Thrice journey, and a reminder that after more than two decades, Thrice are still pushing boundaries, still searching, and still connecting.
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