A sprawling odyssey of sound, the new album from this Camberley-based trio is everything and nothing. Over the course of this review, you’ll encounter genres such as post-punk, jazz, glam rock, grunge, metal, bubble gum pop, ambient, no wave, stoner rock, krautrock, and more – such is the musical versatility and artistic ambition contained within.
ARE YOU opens as it means to go on. Fiercely individualistic and exceptionally intriguing. Part Pixies, part Sonic Youth, part Gang Of Four, the angular guitars snake their way around girthy totem poles formed from deep bass notes and steady minimal drum parts on track one – Stick To What You Are Good At. Ostensibly a post-punk song blended with a stoner rock groove and occasional, almost funky-feeling flourishes, it’s sparse yet striking and sets the tone perfectly. Lyrically, it’s full of cryptic references and subtle allusions as Phil M ponders – in his distinct spoken word style – the work of Jodie Foster, deliberately breaking his leg in order to obtain a two-week holiday, day drinking, doing absolutely nothing, and more. The track gets spikier and sludgier as it progresses, reaching its apex and then settling down again before climaxing with another short, sharp, energetic burst.
Double AA is full of vim and vigor but also decidedly wonky and mysterious. It feels a bit like what Pavement collaborating with Sleep on a cover of a No Wave classic might sound like. With spoken word parts peppered about the periphery, as well as more traditional singing and overlapping vocals, it feels a bit like being placed in the middle of someone’s brain. The bands collected consciousness, perhaps. Agitated and restless, it’s powerful and propulsive. It takes on a more psychedelic feeling towards the end, which feels a bit like coming out of the other side of whatever it was that we just waded through.
My Cab Is Haunted starts with a krautrock/stoner wig out, which lasts for almost the whole first half of the song. When the bubble bursts, the arrangement shifts to slinky and skittish with more spoken word phrases over the top. They ask us, “You’re not actually considering listening to these guys, are you?”over and over again. The overlapping voices are utilised again here with a counter-vocal informing us that “bank robbery is punishable by 20 years in federal prison” – good to know. It’s like the audio transcript from a war between the angel and the devil on your shoulders. Or the shoulders of a would-be bank robber.
Club Rudio (Dead Men Don’t Laugh) features a classic feeling post-punk bassline – ably provided by Dan N. Pat H’s off-kilter drums are added to the mix and eventually the guitar seeps surreptitiously into the picture. All the while there are background noises which suggest a social, convivial atmosphere. Guests chatter, glasses clink, and laughter emanates from this invisible space, while the malevolent instrumentation grows and grows. Eventually, the background noise is swallowed by the foreground, the guitar begins to squall and squeal as the rhythm section holds things together – pinning down the chaos. Eventually, the atmospheric noises from earlier are reintroduced and, as the guitar becomes more and more warped by the liberal use of the wah-wah pedal, the song cements its status as expressive and inventive.
I Can’t Believe I Still Need More Attention is up next. With the most gentle start of any song so far, it features barely-there guitar and the most subtle of percussion. Clinking and slinking along in this minimal way for almost the entire first minute, it blooms into life when it’s good and ready. “Everyone I know is on fire” goes the most notable lyrics over the sparsely populated musical backdrop. Jazzy and loose, it somehow manages to feel both breezy and tense at the same time. Reminiscent, a little bit, of Radiohead circa In Rainbows or perhaps A Moon Shaped Pool, it glides and lilts around the listener, enveloping you with its hypnotic trance-like feel, culminating in waves of basic but taut, pulsating electronic drums.
Mumbo No. 666 is nearly 12 minutes long. It opens with another haunting post-punk bassline that throbs about your ribcage whilst what sounds like backward samples spin around in the background, like dried leaves in a cylindrical autumn breeze. Then, it kicks in. Dirty, distorted guitars chug, and the drums snap and snarl. Almost metal-esque in its unflinching aggression, its confrontation and conviction in equal measure. When the vocals are introduced, it’s perhaps the most “singy” they’ve been thus far. The guitars begin to spiral, becoming spidery and sinewy – sounding like a Pollock painting looks. It feels angular, awkward, and disjointed in the most fantastically freeing way. It’s not hard to imagine this being quite the exhilarating experience in a live environment. The vocals move to a shout-along style before the halfway point, before the track makes a sharp left turn. What previously felt like a train chugging along the tracks on a linear, easy-to-determine journey has significantly shifted. A minimal ambient soundscape takes centre stage before giving way to additional electronic elements that soon get overpowered by reintroduced crunchy guitars. Just as rifftastic as before, the approach at this stage in the journey is seemingly more considered and sparing. Less grimace and more grace. That is, before you board the train again. As you roll down the tracks, you may find yourself headbanging, singing along, and dreading the moment you have to get off. Don’t be alarmed. This is completely normal. If only we could stay on indefinitely, on an infinite loop of blood, sweat, tears, and barre chords. That would do just nicely. The song ends as it began, bookended by minimal arrangements made up of reversed psychedelic parts and not much more. The yin to the majority of the songs’ yang.
A Chance To Make You Smile (Bop Sha Wop) continues the psychedelic vibe that concluded the last song. A Pink Floyd-esque soundscape is peppered with altered vocals (courtesy of Pat H on vocoder) as the instruments piece together a fluid-feeling tapestry of sound. Eerie and ethereal, this is arguably the album’s weirdest moment so far. Employing a touch of The Flaming Lips and more than a little bit of otherworldly spectral spookiness, this feels like a cinematic sci-fi fever dream come to life. Approach with caution. You have been warned!
First Cockcrow is positively poppy after what came before it. Upbeat, thrashy, trashy chords are attacked with gusto, and the rhythm section keeps everything ticking along nicely. The lyrics are hard to make out, but the overall vibe is spritely, sing-along, and immensely fun. Like some kind of bubbling melting pot made up of The Jesus & Mary Chain, Teenage Fanclub, Felt, and The Concretes – it’s the closest thing to an obvious single that the album has produced. It’s practically bubble gum pop if the bubble gum has been rolled in sand and soaked in gasoline. Mmmn, tasty!
Astroecclesiophobia closes the record and comes across like a collab between Mudhoney and The Stooges. A ’60s-esque garage rock feel combines with a ’70s-style glam rock stomp and ’90s grunge textures to create quite the hybrid beast. Dirty and gritty, it sways its way to the album’s conclusion like a panther stalking its prey. It reminds me of The BRC’s own one-man rock n roll mastermind, The Lonely Suns. Perhaps recording with The Jim Jones Revue? However you choose to describe it, one thing is inarguable: it fucking rocks.
And with that, the journey is complete. Over peaks and through various troughs, across gargantuan oceans and delving deep in the valleys of sonic wonder, this album has taken you and me both on quite the voyage. Now, where to next, you ask? Only time will tell.
Written by Black Rainbow Collective
