Black Diet

Heartache is at the center. Every song written by frontman Jonathan Tolliver is about one thing. There are major chords, there’s dancing, and there’s plenty of boozing. Underneath, though, is pain. Fresh on the heels of a record that put them on the map in the upper Midwest, and having won best new bands honors from some of Minneapolis’ most influential publications, Black Diet stands at a crossroads. With a sound that fits well enough in a growing soul revivalist narrative, they can surely book shows, tour, work the circuit. But until that pain comes out, stands front and center, not obfuscated by hooks or shimmering guitar lines, it’ll be hard to move forward. You can only smile through so much. With this in mind, the band is smoking more, listening more, taking more in. While soul is the center, nobody’s ever been mad at a Talking Heads record. While Al Green stays on the playlist, Room on Fire’s probably next in the queue. Lyrically, the sordid tales of abandonment and sex without connection that marked “Find Your Tambourine” have been replaced by tales of familial strife, fear of failure, and hard fought, bleary-eyed love. Their growing sound can be summed up in the euphoria found in a great dancehall. Everyone’s moving, desperately trying to hold off the morning after. When those dancers take a break, grab a fresh drink, and step out of the haze of the hardwood floor, that moment of heartache, with the music still blaring in the background. That’s where Black Diet’s is. The center. Pulling everything in from the outer rings, the satellites, the tangential, to create something grounded and true. This is a band constantly in search of the center, the place where your heart and your body meet. If you find it first, you should let them know.