Darkside has an uncanny knack for impeccable timing. Just when the world seems to be teetering on the edge, they emerge from the shadows to soundtrack the chaos. On Nothing, their mesmerizing third album, Nicolás Jaar’s deep, measured voice slithers through the brooding waltz of “Hell Suite (Part 1),” a moment of eerie serenity in a whirlwind of frantic drumming and swirling organ. As he intones, “We’re living in hell,” the words land with a quiet finality—like the breath you take before unlocking your phone to a barrage of bad news.
THE SOUNDTRACK TO OUR EXISTENTIAL CRISIS
Darkside has always operated on its own timeline, appearing only when the atmosphere is ripe for their brand of shadowy, hypnotic soundscapes. Their music is both seductive and sinister—imagine a rainbow streaking through an oil slick, beautiful yet toxic. When Jaar and multi-instrumentalist Dave Harrington first introduced Psychic in 2013, it was a revelation: a genre-defying fusion of electronic minimalism and sprawling, menacing psychedelia. That record didn’t just capture the mood of the time—it anticipated it, a slow-burning prophecy of the disillusionment that followed the Occupy era.
Then came Spiral in 2021, a record that reflected the strange, liminal space between lockdown isolation and the hesitant return to normalcy. It was looser, almost jam-like, yet still steeped in the duo’s signature dread. Warm acoustic guitars and gentle pianos peeked through the darkness, but their flickering presence felt fragile, always on the verge of collapse. It was the sound of cautious optimism, one fluorescent strobe away from tipping into a full-blown panic attack.
Now, four years later, Darkside is back—and they’ve evolved yet again. With the addition of drummer Tlacael Esparza, their latest incarnation embraces a new sonic terrain. The world is noisier, more fractured, and more unsettling than ever, and Nothing channels that instability into something raw, urgent, and—dare we say—almost pop-leaning. But don’t get comfortable. This isn’t a pivot toward accessibility; it’s a transformation that makes their music even more potent. Gone are the drawn-out cosmic odysseys and folky meanderings. Instead, the album thrums with a sharper, more direct energy, like a knowing pat on the back from an old friend who’s just as exhausted as you are.
AN EXPANSION, NOT A RETREAT
The trio began crafting Nothing in 2022, holing up in a Los Angeles storefront for an experiment they dubbed the Nothing Jam. The concept? Total creative freedom. No expectations, no genre constraints, no allegiance to the past. Harrington described it as “a thought experiment for playing music,” an approach that cracked open Darkside’s sound in exhilarating new ways.
Their signature elements remain—Harrington’s searing guitar work, Jaar’s love for deep, pulsating rhythms—but the sonic palette has stretched in fascinating directions. Opener “SLAU” pulses with Darkside’s signature slow burn but nods to dub pioneer King Tubby more than their usual krautrock influences. “Are You Tired? (Keep On Singing)” detonates into an ecstatic, Grateful Dead-style jam, a rare moment of unguarded euphoria. And then there’s “S.N.C.,” which struts in with a clavinet groove that echoes Superstition-era Stevie Wonder, injecting a bit of funk into their nocturnal throb.
But Nothing isn’t just about new influences—it’s about texture, depth, and an evolved sense of atmosphere. Jaar’s production wizardry is sharper than ever, but Esparza’s Sensory Percussion system—a technology he developed that transforms drumheads into intricate samplers—brings a whole new dimension to their sound. The glitchy, cascading samples that close out “SLAU” and “Graucha Marx” feel organic yet alien, like remnants of a half-remembered dream dissolving into static.
A DARKSIDE RECORD FOR RIGHT NOW
At its core, Nothing is the sound of Darkside once again meeting the moment. Their music has always been attuned to the undercurrents of cultural unease, and this record is no exception. Jaar’s voice is more haunting than ever, his words steeped in a world-weary knowingness. “Look at the window,” he sings on “Hell Suite (Part 2),” his falsetto curling through a warped, pastoral arrangement. “It’s hell out there.”
And yet, as bleak as Nothing can feel, it’s not hopeless. It’s an album that embraces discomfort, uncertainty, and the sheer weirdness of existing in the present moment. It’s a reminder that even in the midst of chaos, there’s beauty in the unknown—and sometimes, in letting go completely. Check it out below: