In a city whose underground music scene is awash with noise, punk, and fuzz galore, it’s always a treat to see a categorical outlier. And let me be clear: I love the scene in Vancouver for what it is—I have a whole blog about it. But I was also delighted to take a hard left turn from the city’s typical offerings and delve into this goofy, slightly twee, dare I say ska-adjacent pop album. Between the wry lyricism and vibrant musicality, Ira Hardly has carved out a style entirely their own: as guitarist Cass Picken put it, “happy-go-gloomy.”

“Remember” sets the stage for Ira Hardy’s distinct voice as a writer, which is equal parts humor—sometimes I wish that I could remember / if I locked the door or if I took my pills / and have you seen that thing I was holding / I thought I left it on the windowsill—and heartfelt—it’s a gift / and a curse / an empty head / devoid of words / you can rewrite the past / and you can’t get hurt. The song’s concept—the idea of not being able to hold on to memories, and the pros and cons that come with that—is also one of those ideas that could easily cause one to spiral. I began to wonder after listening how much everyone around me remembers relative to myself. How often am I the forgetter, or the forgotten?

“The Advertiser” is a total earworm—with its poppy instrumentation and doo-woppy backing vocals, the tune has been on a loop in my mind since the single’s release. But it isn’t just the catchy melody and upbeat style of the song that makes it so listenable. There’s a definite novelty to a song about late-stage capitalism/living in a surveillance state told from the perspective of the manipulator rather than the victim. “The Advertiser” walks a fine line, pairing the depressing realities of day-to-day life with over-the-top satire, a hyper-specific niche where Hardy’s unique lyrical style really shines.

In “Rollercoaster”, Ira Hardly again contrasts the seriousness of a situation with peppy instrumentation and playful simile: I know I said I’d love you till I die / but loving you is like a roller coaster ride. At just over a minute long, the track seems to function as a transition from themes of societal uncertainty to the romantic variety, continuing with the next track:

While the album’s lyrics, thus far, seem to dance around saying anything too vulnerable outright, “Out of My League” caught me slightly off guard by how genuine and direct it is: you’re out of my league / and for some reason, baby / you like me. My favorite part of this song is the bridge, which seems to be one of Hardy’s songwriting strengths across the board. In this case, it utilizes singing in the round to great effect by continuing the reassured chorus in the backing vocals while, in contrast, the speaker’s insecurities come to the forefront: when you’re walking by my side / I feel my heart beat come alive / but I tell you baby / I won’t be surprised / when you get to know me / and change your mind. Ira still manages to get a few quips in at the end to add some comedic relief (you’re so much hotter than me), but overall, “Out of My League” is quite earnest, setting it apart in an album that tends more toward poking fun at big feelings than stating them as a matter of fact.

“Man of Action” is a bit of a dark departure, sonically, due in large part to its killer sax. The song also leans into experimenting a bit more with the drums and electric guitar rather than adhering quite as closely to typical pop structure. Don’t let the heaviness of the instrumentation fool you, though—in typical Ira fashion, the lyrics still bring levity, finding bits of humor within the mundane. I ask my partner to write a list / I thank her dearly for the assist / forget the carrots and she’ll be pissed / you’ve never seen it done quite like this.

“Mayor’s House” seems to take more inspiration from ‘80s rock/power pop elements, and you can feel this stylistic difference right from the intro, as soon as the drums kick in and the guitar launches into a solo. “Mayor’s House” is also one of the more politically charged sentiments on the album: when you follow his commands / to sweep people under the rug / just know that your hands / will be stained with their blood. In addition, it is one of few instances where the jokes are dialed back, drawing more attention to the straightforwardness of the call to action, we should go to the mayor’s house / we should throw all of his shit out.

“Burn It Down” is more uplifting a song than one might expect. Reminiscent of an end-of-‘80s-movie anthem, it combines a healthy dose of angst (let’s numb our senses / till we can’t feel / let’s cover up the wounds / that we can’t heal), with the concept of cutting ties and moving on as a form of empowerment. Like a phoenix, it’s about the idea of fire not just as a destructive force but one of rebirth, and the new hope that comes from cleansing the past to make way for new beginnings: Let’s burn it down / let’s start again.

Reflecting its subject matter, “How to Get Stoned” is a bit more easygoing. Its initial bass line feeds into an ethereal chorus of backing vocals and lullaby-esque melodies. Like “Out of My League”, this song also surprised me by how earnestly poetic some of the lyrics are compared to its less-than-serious title: you’re chasing a feeling / you won’t ever find / ‘cause you’re lost in the fog / in your sailboat mind. It’s around this time I noted that Hardy has a real knack for wielding the second-person narrative voice in a variety of unconventional ways. From corporate overlord to heartbroken fool to concerned friend, this use of unexpected lenses is one of the things that makes this album such an interesting listening experience.

“Mind Reader” puts an Ira Hardly spin on the what-do-you-want-from-me songwriting tradition. Presenting an array of images from a lover seeking answers from everywhere but their romantic interest—the tarot cards are scattered all across my desk / I shook the magic 8 ball to get its best guess / I’m just trying to crack the code of your little test / but all it said back to me was all signs point to yes—the music seems to reflect this back-and-forth confusion in its oscillation between fuzzy guitar chugs and delicate flute riffs.

The production of “Dreams” feels sort of timeless. The slightly washed-out reverb on the vocals and slow cascading guitar melodies again could easily have been pulled from another decade, the only giveaways being 1) the occasional punctuation of more modern acoustic pop sections spliced in and 2) the distinctive lyrical stylings of Ira Hardy, in this case delivering harsh truths with a joke and a wink: nobody cares about your dreams except you.

“Wish I Was Water” is the most folk-influenced song on the album—complete with slow, sustained guitar chords and even a fiddle—and combines many of the lyrical themes from throughout the record: remorse (I wish I was water / the damage is done), the struggle of letting go (I wish I was water / I wish I could run), escapism (I’d become a puddle / I’d become the rain), and coping with a dry joke or two (I’d fill up the basin / and circle the drain).

A bit of a pick-me-up, “Life’s a Trip” speaks to Hardy’s strength both in wordplay and as a synth player. Imbued with a layer of linguistic trippy-ness just as the title would suggest (I’m heading to the forest to find the truth…I’ll peel back the layers so I can finally see), it’s a song about going on a trip—in more ways than one—to try and find oneself, only to come back down to earth feeling the same as before (I’m heading to the city so I can live my life…I never found enlightenment in that Airbnb). The instrumentation matches this duality in its balance between comforting acoustic chord progressions and synth runs that seem to mimic one’s mind running wild, or perhaps the dream of an ideal self that doesn’t exist.

Similarly, “Movin’ to the Country” is a meditation upon the urbanite dream of escaping to an idyllic rural oasis, only to realize there is no easy way out of human misery—it can find you even in the fresh air and blue skies: Do you feel fulfilled now? / in your isolated home / on your rotting compost throne / all your garden beds to tend / feel those barn walls closing in. It’s an interesting note to end on, and oddly reassuring: at a time when so many of us want a way out—of capitalism, of modern life, of ourselves—the closing track seems to be reminder that wherever you go, there you are, so you may as well make your oasis right here.

I can honestly say I haven’t heard another band in Vancouver quite like Ira Hardly, nor a record quite like Hardly Ira. It is utterly authentic—conceptually, lyrically, musically. The title alone tells you all you need to know: this is a record and project that Ira Hardy has put his whole self into, and it comes through in every note, every joke, every beat.