Statistically, Spartanburg, SC is the tenth most miserable place in the United States and, appropriately, it's both the home of suffering and Coma Cinema man, Mat Cothran. Since his childhood Cothran has recorded dingy bedroom demos with the ambition to avoid the call of his native town: "country singers and cover bands". In 2009, Coma Cinema released their debut record, Baby Prayers, which was virtually an archive of his first songs. This effort was met with a furore of interest and acclaim, causing the group to then release two records in two years, 2010 and 2011 respectively. After a break, Coma Cinema vacated the constraints of a place where they "struggled to exist", and holed-up in Los Angeles to record their fourth album Pusthumous Release.

In an interview last year, Cothran talked about how "there is this wild ambition to be emotional" in life-– his aspiration has been realised on Posthumous Release. Almost instantly, Cothran is a fingernail away, "on the edge of being the same fuck up as before" with 'VHS White Trash'. From there on in, you can't help but engage and involve yourself with his frank, nuanced view of growing and aging, especially as his bleeding honesty is so finely crafted.

Due to its slightly more conventional, warmer sound, you'd expect this record to have fewer surprises at its behest sonically. However, when your ears spark to the woodwind motifs, arpeggiated piano and militant drums of 'Lee (Columbine High Harmony)', this record begins to encapsulate. There are many moments which are memorable after the first listen and beyond. The sharp sounds and peculiar vocals of 'Burn a Church', a 'Posthumous Release' piano drawl and 'Partners in Crime's delicate breaths of instrumentation; just to name a few. These components help forge a myriad of fondness for the album as your relationship with it progresses.

From "fuck me in the graveyard, confession's always on my mind" to "Satan kisses me gently," there's an ecclesiastical obsession throughout this record, which juxtaposes the other prominent theme of death appropriately. Even in the aptly named album, there's an incessant taste for rebirth and perspective after what has seemingly been such a difficult two years in Cothran's life.

'Virgin veins' coupled with 'Survivor's Guilt' makes for a beautifully bittersweet moment of heart break on Posthumous Release, and is perhaps it's finest. The former has a waltz-time feel and therapeutic soul, speaking lines line "Virgin veins hold the growing pain of a past that cannot die." The latter rests on the refrain "All this wasted time, to see your fucked up life become mine," which in itself is certainly unforgettable, but the subtlety and expertise lyrically throughout is an absolute rarity.

In eleven brief songs and under thirty minutes, Coma Cinema manage to emotionally exhaust you as a listener. There's a groundswell of depth here which continues to leave you somewhat bewildered. From the sound to the sentiment, this is in no respect a grandiose record, but rather something personal and almost celebratory. Through his ability as a songwriter, Cothran makes something unbelievably difficult seem almost effortless.