YELL FALL KISS - EP Review
Coming of Age: A New Era for Dinosaur Boyfriend
photo by @simoneeaiyana on Instagram
The phrase “coming of age” is often used to describe stories in which a character has one or multiple life experiences that ultimately shift or define their identity, ushering them into a new era of their life. Though these events are hardly mere plot points, they are often romantically portrayed with a sense of order and meaning which develops into emotional catharsis and closure.
However, as likely any grown person has experienced, those real life events rarely seem to occur in any rational order with thoughtful through-lines or well-developed characters. They can be hectic and confusing—not vacuous, but requiring a certain framework through which they may be understood.
Dinosaur Boyfriend embodies this coming of age structure on its latest EP, YELL FALL KISS. Through a process of rediscovery, the Oklahoma City band reflects glimpses of the past to emerge with clearer character and purpose. The growth in this narrative parallels not only the personal and artistic evolution of DBF but its literal membership, too.
Initially shifting between a solo project and rock three-piece under founder Mario Amador (around 2018), Dinosaur Boyfriend has since grown to five total members—currently Connor Bowen (bass), Jaime McKnight (drums), Jessi McCord (keys), and Tristan Todd (guitar)—expanding both its performance capabilities and songwriting potential. This new release was co-written among the current members.
Inevitably, venturing into collaborative creative territory has influenced the band’s sound, first demonstrated by the 2022 release Fuzzy. Its three alternative rock tracks represented a notable shift from earlier iterations, setting the stage for this current era.
The tone was deeper and darker, the presentation more confident. Taking full advantage of the new layers of instrumentation, the dynamic range grew, and the arrangements became more effective.
This live band foundation seemed to provide the space for Amador—a guitar player himself, as well as main vocalist and songwriter—to shake off many constraints of solo production, and for the rest of the group to render their own influences within this world he has created.
His signature stylings of steadily-strummed, dreary minor chords and huskily-uttered, candid vocal phrases remain the backbone of their sonic skeleton. But if the early releases felt more like Amador and a backing band, the latest sounds purely like Dinosaur Boyfriend.
YELL FALL KISS is hectic in its passion, reaching across the alternative soundscape with a newfound boldness; perhaps not entirely sure of itself, but not shying away from its desires.
The four tracks tread the seventeen minute runtime with a romanticism reminiscent of the silver screen, searching for meaning in every moment. The lyrics speak with a sense of finality that lends an even greater sense of desperation to that search. Even the EP’s title evokes this sense of presence and urgency.
The opening song “Words” seems to manifest somewhere in the midst of this, as if continuing a previous conversation with the listener. Indeed, those familiar with DBF’s previous output should be able to pick up the thread quickly, as the crisp rhythm guitar tinged with fuzz and reverb begins to pluck the intro, eventually piling onto a thick, prominent bass.
Anchoring layers of keys and additional guitar melodies tastefully round out the space once the full riff kicks in. Across the EP, dark, dry drum tones provide a pleasant contrast among the hazy instrumental atmospheres.
Even as Dinosaur Boyfriend has pushed the boundaries of their sound in many ways, Amador’s vocal stylings and approach remain largely unchanged through this latest offering. Although, they have been augmented with unique effects and also perceptive harmonic work, like on the verses of “Words” as Amador ponders, “Is it over now or just the start / To something else?”
The swaying syncopation and stacked rhythms of this main section crescendo into the B-section, introducing a pinch of psychedelia as the synth bubbles up under distorted whole note chords that climb down chromatically, simultaneously affording relief and forming tension.
Landing a bit unexpected (but welcome), this sort of turnaround certainly does sound like the start to something else—that is, something unknown and exciting.
Moreover, these musical moments read as a reflection of the influences exerted by the new members and methods, a direct result of the growth this group has undergone. Though the track that follows might be the furthest exploration of this “something else”, a distinct distillation of this burgeoning style.
After a clever false ending and brief coda, the second song in sequence, aptly titled “Hope”, immediately breaks into its primary passage, eager to lift the listener with brighter melodies and bouncy rhythms. This rugged optimism is reverberated in Amador’s terse wording:
“Hope I make it out
If you can wake me up
Hope I made you proud
If you can move around”
As also evidenced by the first track’s title, Dinosaur Boyfriend acknowledges the importance of words, refusing to throw them away carelessly. The staccato’d lyrical statements mimic shots in a film: at times, nonlinear, but nevertheless intertwined by their relation to the others, often hinting at something beyond what they explicitly tell.
The same riff continues through most of the arrangement on “Hope”, maintaining momentum until a sudden bridge section sweeps the listener out of this loop. Rhythms straighten out, and arpeggiated synth runs duck behind layers of vocal harmonies as Amador affirms with increasing conviction, “Oh we’re gonna make it / We’re gonna make it / I know.”
But that conviction is subtly betrayed by one repetition where the last word “know” is swapped for “hope.” Synchronized band hits build back into one last repetition of that primary passage, and the final hit feels like a release, its twinge of melancholy momentarily reprieved (until the catchy song is inevitably replayed).
These sonic and emotional spaces make for smooth movement into “El Doon”. Its combination of breezy guitars, warbling synth, and lax rhythm section shuffling lays like a cold sonic rag across the forehead, while Amador soothes, “You said you wanna be all by yourself / I can’t blame you.”
After a minute and a half, the instrumental rings out on the downbeat, as if halted by the casually spoken but powerful question:
“When does love begin
When does it end”
This lyric and its implications lie at the heart of YELL FALL KISS.
Beginnings and endings are a quintessential part of the coming of age narrative. These clear markers of transitions into identities are important to how many stories are told, giving people a lens through which to ascribe meaning and infer order among the “random” nature of things.
Though many experiences become influential by altering perspective over time. Just as someone can be greatly influenced by art, love may forever change how someone interacts with the world. So then, when does love end?
Conversely, when do these identities truly begin? Being a musician is undoubtedly influential to one’s life, but is one innately musical from birth, or only once they first pick up an instrument, or write a song?
When does a group of musicians become a band? When does a band actually become itself? Dinosaur Boyfriend has had several incarnations, technical beginnings and endings. Yet, by continuing to learn, collaborate, and grow, they seem to have found (or made) their own answers to the questions.
photo by @simoneeaiyana on Instagram
Even the song seeks to start anew. All at once a guitar riff sneaks up with a tempo increase, and the drum beat comes out of half-time like a pumped up football team, charging forward alongside pulsing eighth note bass patterns. This feverish feeling follows in the lyrics:
“You got my head spinning
I couldn’t feel the ground
When you said I love you
I could feel the ground”
Graceful harmonies overlay these phrases while love is once again underscored as a grounding element, a guide through the fog. Electric guitar wails distorted melodic phrases intermittently until overtaking in a shredding solo, culminating in a huge half-time jam.
“El Doon” sets a new energetic high point for the project, showing an increased capacity for sonic intensity from the band; rather than coast down from that crest, it continues to climb.
The final track starts similarly to how the first did, with a bracing four-on-the-floor kick drum. This time the bass chimes in first, then the band builds in piece by piece, as if retracing the steps of their growth—their own coming of age—each member adding their own lines, until the message comes into focus.
“Powers” is the most expansive song of the four, not just in length at slightly over six minutes, but as the full demonstration of present day Dinosaur Boyfriend. Founder Mario Amador sings, “I’ve got one last chance / To tell you how I love you / How I feel.”
Dramatic, fuzzy guitars; understated, enticing synths; articulate but lively drums and bass; washed-out but vibrant vocals all recorded and held together under cohesive, hard-hitting mixing and mastering by Trent Bell of Bell Labs in Norman, OK.
Before and beyond production, the band has applied this palette with ambitious but tasteful songwriting, letting their sound evolve naturally while still providing something familiar for seasoned fans.
In a big breakdown (in multiple senses of the word) halfway through “Powers”, they find themselves questioning, “Did I even love you I guess / Do we even know what love is?” As if driven to frenzy by these feelings, the next section forms the heaviest and most striking moment on the EP.
Finally able to see through the fog, Amador cuts to the heart of his desire, screaming, “Will you / Will you love me / Will you touch me?” His last words resonate beyond their breadth as the band plays out, stretching to hold an entire lifetime in their grasp, capturing the essence of “coming of age” in just three words: YELL FALL KISS.
