REVIEW: The Exit Bags - A Fear of Open Water

At sea

38:04 // August 8, 2025 // Drongo Tapes/Living Wake

I’ve found the previous two LPs from The Exit Bags to be challenging, albeit quite rewarding, listens. This “challenging” label isn’t because they’re super avant-garde, but, indeed, more due to their relative accessibility - both 2021’s Tower of Quiet and 2023’s Our Sun Will Clean its Holy Wounds have the capacity for immense beauty through their melding of art pop, folk, slowcore, and a whole bunch of other genre influences, but also subvert this dynamic through the inclusion of noisy and industrial elements, and an overarching sense of palpable darkness. The end results are quite pleasing but, seemingly by intention, hard to grasp in full.

These contradictions are further sharpened on third full-length A Fear of Open Water. This is the most straightforwardly gorgeous album released by The Exit Bags yet, even if the most cursory listen suggests it has hidden depths. As the Bandcamp blurb attests, this is an album derived from extremely painful circumstances, pondering its creator’s childhood trauma, a consideration accentuated by the passing of his mother. These themes come through intuitively via the music, which feels both deeply personal and extremely raw in its impact.

A Fear of Open Water functions like a post-rock or ambient album in style, its focus on soundscapes moving at a measured pace. Sonically, though, I’d say the more apt description is of delicate folky pieces augmented by varying amounts of noise. The mood is consistently reflective, a mild-mannered shell periodically cracked open by moments of pure anguish. Album title and artwork aside, there’s a real maritime vibe (even the beginning moments of opener “Your Fake Empathy” are reminiscent of a ship’s blaring foghorn).

I’ve found this album far more rewarding when experienced through highly focused listens - concentrate your ears, avoid any distractions, and read along with the lyrics (all tracks available on Bandcamp). While not a long record by any means, these nine songs progress in a thoughtful and patient way, and I’ve found every track to offer something rewarding. Tunes like the beautifully subdued “A Spell to Capture a Bird” and the unsettling “Holding Up a Picture Asking If You’ve Seen This Person” are clear highlights, but the tracklist as a whole feels notably stronger than the sum of its parts.

Closer “There’s Poetry in Dying Old at Sea” is thought-provoking in context of the release’s emotionally heavy subject matter. Initially blaring and abrasive, towards the end of the track some milder chords break through, perhaps hinting at a feeling of acceptance, but the album wraps up with no real resolution. Bleak, maybe, but also honest. A Fear of Open Water is that kind of album - frequently downright gorgeous, but also thoughtful, brooding, and unflinching in its portrayal of subject matter many would prefer to avoid. The final result might not make for easy listening, but channels real power and emotional heft. Highly recommended.

8/10