Opening with what sounds like vinyl static, the first song on the debut album from Montreal-based trio Blind Dogs Of The Sun – the title track – blossoms slowly.
The static eventually gives way to ethereal vocals, minimal guitar, sporadic bass, and a sparse, trip-hop beat. Think of a mellow Massive Attack or perhaps Portishead. Eventually, it’s beefed up by some electronic bass drum beats, and they, too, are complemented, in turn, by what sounds like live drums (love those rim shots) and acoustic guitar. It rumbles along in this fashion, and as This City Never Sleeps blooms, it builds tension and suspense, never really releasing. It’s a bit of a strenuous waiting game, but it hurts oh so good.
Next up is To The Blind which, in its intro at least, progresses at a similar rate to the previous song. A slow burn is clearly the order of the day here. Or so it seems. It’s eerie and atmospheric with singer Ally Levy’s vocals leading the way. At around 45 seconds in, the song bursts unexpectedly into life, and the trip-hop feel is joined by a cinematic cut-and-paste approach reminiscent of UNKLE or DJ Shadow, with record scratches and spoken samples adding depth and texture. The vocals feel like the star of the show on this one. The way they meld with the audio tapestry makes us think of Black Rainbow Collective’s majestic Backset Arsonists. Eventually, an acoustic guitar and some soaring synths are added to the mix, and this pairing takes the whole thing up a notch.
Wraith feels unsettling as it opens – like a soundtrack to a horror movie scene. Soon this gives way to a smooth 70s sounding guitar tone (compliments of Joshua Samuel, who also serves as the primary producer and songwriter on the album), but only briefly. It flickers and then fades, replaced by Levy’s sultry vocals. Eventually, the full arrangement kicks in, and it feels restrained but also quietly epic, which sounds like a contradiction but is absolutely the case, as incredulous as it may seem. There is more than a touch of the Pink Floyd Dark Side Of The Moon cuts Breathe and Brain Damage about it – we would suggest the band are fans. Shout out to Costa Damoulianos’s bass playing here, which is doing some very heavy lifting and keeping the whole thing nicely glued together. (He also mixed the album and did a fantastic job.)
Next up is Vespertine, which is smooth and slinky. The trip-hop backbone that has dominated the album thus far continues and is built on with delicate additional – almost jazzy – instrumentation. It reminds us a little bit of a shyer version of SHEBAD. Lyrically, this song is the highlight of the record for us. As Ally croons, “You want to be nice to me, but I won’t let you,” you can’t help but wonder why. There’s a touch of more modern influences here, with a little Billie Eilish coming through in some of the languid vocal stylings. The guitar takes centre stage as the song concludes with a fantastically face-melting solo. The use of samples must again be noted – the production throughout is, frankly, astoundingly good.
Demeter is the shortest song on the album. A brief atmospheric interlude, it’s rather amazing that in only 103 seconds the band manages to conjure emotion and intrigue that feels akin to some of the work on Daniel Luppin and Danger Mouse’s Rome album. Cinematic, rich, and rewarding – not bad for a minute and a half long instrumental.
After a suitably creepy intro, Vacant is all about the bass. If Soulsavers ever covered Blue Boy’s ubiquitous ‘90s hit Remember Me and recruited MxDicey to do vocals, it might sound a bit like this. The warm, warbly guitars transport you to another time with an almost spaghetti western type feel to them, and the male vocals in the background add a suitably sinister additional element to the track. It’s a fantastic piece of work.
Midnight begins with a dialogue sample from the Coen Brothers’ 1996 hit movie Fargo. It develops quickly into a (mostly) acoustic soundscape. It’s part Cocteau Twins, part Tricky, and entirely beautiful. Around the halfway point, it explodes into post-rock technicolour before a creamy guitar solo shrouds everything in a haze. It reduces back down to an almost unaccompanied acoustic, which is joined by some sparkling synths and squalling background noise before concluding with a final burst, and we catch our breath.
Adenosine is essentially an interlude featuring a selection of asinine, exhausting internet dialogue and feels like a snapshot of everything that’s wrong with social media. Everyone is an expert nowadays, aren’t they? It can be a challenge to tune out the incessant noise. This verbal onslaught is backed by an ambient electronic layer and eventually what sounds like the dulcet tones of a buzzing insect. It’s a claustrophobic and uncomfortable listen – but we imagine that’s exactly the point. A comment on the modern world in which we inhabit, clinging on from one day to the next, whilst trying not to drown in a bubbling cesspit of self-exposure, instant “influencer” experts, and shameless self-promotion (don’t forget to like, comment, and subscribe, folks!)
Far From Here… follows and becomes potentially the most accessible sounding song so far. The chorus is extremely immediate and would definitely be at home on the radio – and not just BBC 6Music. “If you ask me to stay, I’ll follow,” sings Ally, and we could say exactly the same. The vocals on this one remind us of a combination of the UK’s Corinne Bailey Rae and Betty, and the instrumentation towards the end feels a little bit indebted to Red Hot Chili Peppers at their most ginormously successful. Far From Here… is followed by the equally approachable Prediction – this pairing of songs feels like the apex of the album, despite it being near its end. The Pink Floyd vibes are back and are blended with a touch of Bjork (maybe?) and something altogether a bit folkier to make for a refreshing end result.
It’s Early Yet is a suitably windscreen moment to close the album. Beginning subtly, barely there, it develops slowly. When the guitar comes in, it’s probably the most gorgeous it’s sounded throughout the entire album. It burns slowly, as is their wont, and over the course of its 8 and a half minutes, it threatens to explode, but it never does. It’s an exercise in restraint, expertly realised.
This City Never Sleeps is not an album. It’s an odyssey. Let it take you away
Written by Kinda Grizzly
