Anarchy

Something breaks open here. "Anarchy" carries a controlled wildness that is unusual for a band known for sophisticated compositional restraint — the tempo lurches forward with the urgency of something uncontained, and the arrangement deliberately courts chaos without losing coherence entirely. Distorted guitars surface and recede, the rhythm section drives hard, and there are textural elements that feel almost combative, like the production is arguing with itself. Fujihara's vocal delivery is at its most physically committed, pushing against the upper registers with a rawness that the more polished tracks carefully avoid. The song is about some version of dissolution — of rules, of order, of careful self-presentation — and the music performs that dissolution without fully surrendering to it, which is the interesting tension. It exists at the edge of what the band will allow themselves, which gives it a particular energy: not chaos for its own sake but controlled transgression, a band testing how far outside their own conventions they're willing to go. This is the late-night track, the one after enough drinks when the careful self steps aside for a moment and something less managed takes over.