Regret is a two-edged sword. It can serve as a clarion call to absolve ourselves from past sins. Or it can be used as a cudgel to hammer home those same failures. For those of us who struggle with our mental health, it’s a familiar cycle. The occasional sliver of grace followed by long stretches of self-loathing. Memories become like traps, ensnaring us in the inextricable knots of what could’ve and should’ve been. And the more we wrestle with the past, the more entangled we become.

As PLS PLS’ potent new video unfolds, the predominant mood is one of encroaching dread. In it, we encounter a troubled bartender played by actor Mark Ashworth (Doom Patrol, The Walking Dead, Logan) and become witnesses to the agonizing trauma of his pain and guilt. There are glimmers of violence and death strewn throughout, but as the action plays out it seems clear that a history of addiction and chronic self-abuse has brought him to a breaking point. Whatever hope remains of shattering the cycle and finding healing lies in personal absolution.

“You can leave the past, but the past will never leave you,” explains Calvin Florian who directed the video and conceived its harrowing storyline. “[It’s] a story about rebirth and forgiving ourselves of past mistakes.” A long-time friend of frontman Dan Dixon, Florian once served as the touring guitarist for Dixon’s previous band Dropsonic. He has collaborated with PLS PLS twice before, directing their 2017 video “Broke” and assisting on the visuals for “Jet Black.”

“Calvin approached me about doing a video for the new album,” Dixon says, “and we landed on doing something for [this] song. You’ll notice the band and I are not in it. This was his baby and we just get to reap the spoils of his hard work.”

One of the highlights from their 2020 LP Everything That’s Left, “The Island” ripples with dark shadows and moody textures. It’s a song that’s content to take its time, alternating subtly from brooding electronica to pulsing synth-rock without disrupting its narcotic atmosphere. That lethargic, world-weary sprawl gives Dixon plenty of space to weave his plaintive vocals, peaking in a surging chorus that just manages to touch the light before quietly receding. Ultimately, the group’s stoic demeanor and understated intensity makes for powerful songwriting. But combined with Florian haunting visuals, the effect yields something far more raw and unnerving.

Watch/listen above.

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