The best new albums this week

by Juno Daily on 24.10.2022 at 12:49pm.
Last edited: 24.10.2022 at 12:49pm.

Don’t do your vinyl shopping til you’ve read this

ALBUM OF THE WEEK

“The only thing I could think to ask was,” intones Florence Shaw in that particular and peculiar way she does, part sighing disdain, part amused detachment, part passing random thought, part middle class embarrassment, part saying anything just to fill up the awkward silence, part found poetry and accidental enlightenment, “Do you like stumpwork?” It’s the perfect question and the perfect title for this most precious and uncommon of bands. On first hearing, stumpwork sounds like the word for something mundane – trudging through your day-to-day, clocking in and clocking out – but actually it’s a term for a type of raised embroidery. Something beautiful and intricate and meticulously crafted, that transforms a 2D object into a 3D one.

You see where I’m going with this, right? In these days of ubiquitous talk-singing post punk bands, it might be easy to undervalue Dry Cleaning – oh more gothy math rocky meanderings with these words, some words, any words floating on the top of it all. But that would be to suppose that Florence operates according to a shared blueprint, which she absolutely doesn’t. While others grasp and splutter and exclaim, she quietly stitches in three dimensions, artfully connecting afterthoughts and fleeting notions, still life and non-sequiturs, with a skill that’s almost invisible. To the casual observer, she flits from idea to idea like a child hopping across stepping stones, not worrying about the size of each stone or the form of each idea, just pressing onwards, trying not to get their socks wet. But view those stones from above and you can see there’s been a plan all along.

Sometimes the opening line of each song is unbeatable, and the rest is just – literally – conversation. Sometimes it feels like the point of the song is the opening line, which it almost never is. On ‘Hot Penny Day’, she begins: “If I could live across the road from a boot fair, wouldn’t that be something?”, and if that were me, I’d pack up and go home and put my feet up for the rest of my life. Job done. She kicks off ‘Icebergs’ with: “Whilst travelling a parasite buried itself in my head/It took me over and it had to be removed by a specialist,” and it’s a complete short story in 22 words. But if you stop listening after the first line, then you miss a kaleidoscope of tiny moments, of glimpsed observations, of freeze frames and sudden words. And jokes. Many jokes. For the opening line of ‘Driver’s Story’, she gives the game away: “It’s those kind of details that send out the best signals”, and there is it in plain sight, details and signals scattered across the eleven songs, like jigsaw pieces. Up to you to stare at the lid and piece them all together.

What is going on? What’s she going on about now? ‘Gary Ashby’, the family tortoise, escaped during lockdown, and she’s almost singing, trying to find him. We get important news – “My shoe organising thing arrived, thank God”, “There’s crumbs and there’s jam in the bed” – and timely communications – “I wanted to thank you for organising the Edinburgh trip which, apart from what happened to my Kindle, was amazing”, “What I really love is to not use something to its full capacity”. There’s the life we all recognise: the baffling moments that make you shake your head, the random circumstances that conjure up beauty, the crap that comes unbidden with it. “I see male violence everywhere”, “What are all these men carrying? What is this toxic sludge?” The words and the images keep coming, storing themselves in your subconscious for later, much later.

Best of all, and this revelation will delight Florence I’m sure, if you remove her vocals from ‘Stumpwork’ entirely, it’s still an excellent record. She needn’t have bothered. The music is superb and works perfectly well on an instrumental basis. You can hear the influence of the instrumental greats on the songs here, so it’s no accident – ‘Liberty Log’ sounds like its sprung from the jazzy post rock ecosystem of Tortoise, as does the title track. ‘Kwenchy Kups’ dreams of early R.E.M., all sparkling melody and shining optimism. ‘Gary Ashby’ luxuriates in lush post punk, driving towards the new dawn, while ‘Anna Calls From The Arctic’ marries tender synths to wistful sax. There’s almost two records happening at once here – Florence working her darning needle, turning words into embroidery, while the band do the same with the music, creating layers of emotion that work in tandem and on their own. The 2D album finding an extra dimension.

Here’s a final thing. For a singer who can often deliver a masterclass in withering – “I’m not mad keen on it”, “Can you not?”, “Whatever” – ‘Stumpwork’ sidesteps the cynicism that usually comes with talk-singing. This is an album that takes an interest, that’s constantly watching and listening and occasionally scribbling notes. It’s the work of a poet and a visual artist who sometimes finds words “opaque”, and musicians who feel the same. And it has the secret of happiness in the final song. “For a happy and exciting life/Locally, nationwide or worldwide/Stay interested in the world around you/Keep the curiosity of a child if you can.” It’s a gift and a joy. This record sets off fireworks.

Goat – Oh Death (Rocket)

Who are Goat? What are Goat? And why are they allowed to continue? The fact that we’re still asking the same questions of the mysterious and provocative Swedish collective, ten years after their startling 2012 debut ‘World Music’, is testament to their ability to stay faithful to their original vision. In all that time, they’ve remained masked and anonymous; spread confusion and disinformation about their line up by claiming that they have thousands of band members that stretch over generations; and artfully danced around the debate of whether their fusion of psych rock with African and Asian elements is cultural appropriation or part of the global cultural conversation that includes Tinariwen and countless others.

While such consistency is admirable, it also leaves Goat in a curious state of stasis. They are, as John Peel famously remarked of The Fall, always different, always the same. You know what to expect of a Goat album by now. There will be will swampy stoner rock riffs drenched in fuzz and lysergic attitude. There will be Saharan drone atmospherics twisted around stormy Scandinavian folk melodies. There will be dancefloor licks from 70s New York introduced to a fluid, circular groove. And there will be the overwhelming and uplifting sense that this is all the soundtrack to a black magic rite conducted by a secret forest cult. If Spacemen 3 took drugs to make music to take drugs to, then Goat appear to perform voodoo rituals to make music to perform voodoo rituals to.

Do you really need four albums of this? Do you really need 31 albums by The Fall? Probably not. But you can’t create a joyous communal, ceremonial atmosphere and adhere to the energising notion of perpetually pushing forward with yesterday’s tunes, so each record really exists to serve the ritual – in Goat’s case the live show, although what they get up to in the privacy of their commune in the north of Sweden is anyone’s guess. In that respect, then, ‘Oh Death’ is a glorious success. The humid, smokey wah wah grooves of ‘Soon You Die’ and the bright, percussive round of ‘Do The Dance’ are tailor made for shaking your kaftan to whichever pagan god you’re worshiping this week. ‘Under No Nation’ marries a Nile Rogers lick to celebratory chanting vocals. ‘Chukua Pesa’ introduces tablas and mandolins to spaced-out fuzz. And the frankly bizarre ‘Apegoat’ sounds like Sooty being roasted over an open fire, in a sacrificial rite for children’s TV puppets of the 70s.

It’s fun, it’s intricate, it’s inventive, it’s familiar and often insular, and what feels like a four song suite in the second half journeys from the pulsing celebration of ‘Goatmilk’ to the Led Zep meets Tinariwen raga of ‘Blow The Horns’ to ‘Remind Yourself’, an unholy fusion of gamelan rhythms and Spinal Tap’s ‘Stonehenge’, to the piano-led gong bath of ‘Blessings’. There’s nothing here to really match the bold, soaring songs that populated ‘World Music’, but plenty to keep your hips moving as you apply the woad, drink the potion, and surrender yourself to the elements. Blow the horns! Do the dance! Goat are once again ready to take communion.

Lucrecia Dalt – Ay! (Rvng Int’l)
Columbian experimental artist Lucrecia Dalt was once a qualiﬁed geotechnical engineer – a branch of engineering concerned with the composition and mechanics of the earth and their bearing on construction. Throughout her recent release, the highly-praised Ay!, this specialised combination of both the natural and the industrial seems strangely relevant. This is an album that initially feels organic and grounded before being ingeniously twisted into strange, churning, unearthly expansions of the music that Dalt grew up with. For the most part, the instrumental palette here feels acoustic, from the organs and woodwinds to the double bass to the frequent hand percussion.

But the production is laced with electronic experimentation that moves these compositions into ghostly, quasi-industrial territories. Over this unique foundation, Dalt’s often-multitracked vocals whisper through the speakers at disconcertingly close-range. Indeed, there is a distinctly technical quality to the album; a special attention paid to the spatial elements of the sound. With the aforementioned vocal recording technique and some intriguing audio panning in the mix, Dalt has crafted a truly immersive environment.

Lyrically, Dalt is similarly heady, detailing the journey of an alien landing in the hills of Mallorca before imparting its cosmic knowledge on the population. The songs follow the alien’s various experiences of this new world. This concept, maintained in both the lyrics and the instrumentals, leads to some truly alluring moments. The lighthearted “Bochinche” is a welcome break from its slightly unsettling surroundings. “El Galatzó” is a creeping highlight, foregrounding Dalt’s spoken lyrics. Elsewhere, the throbbing bass tones of “Dicen” are a terriﬁc display of the more electronic side of the record. All in all, “Ay!” is a wonderful, mind-bending interpretation of a variety of popular Latin American styles. It’s a terriﬁc concept album and a truly singular merger of styles.

Dead Tired – Satan Will Follow You Home (New Damage)

How’s that saying go about raining and pouring? With Canadian post-hardcore legends, Alexisonfire, dropping their first full-length in 13 years earlier this summer, it now appears that certain members also utilised the spare time provided by worldwide lockdown to dust off some older projects.

Dead Tired was originally conceived by frontman George Petit as a no frills, straight for the jugular form of raw hardcore, echoing specific influences in a much more blatant manner. Originally birthed from the initial Alexis hiatus in 2011, their self-titled debut served as a jagged burst of undiluted venom from the often sedated vocalist.

‘Satan Will Follow You Home’ is the long-awaited sophomore follow up from a group many had naturally assumed to be a one and done affair. Exuding a much broader scope and vision that its predecessor, the sludging grooves, palpable heft and Petit’s harsh, embittered musings coalesce into a cryptic cacophony.

From the southern tinged, Cancer Bats inspired trudge of the blistering ‘Tyrants Palace’, to the downtrodden stoner-doom of the menacing, ‘New World Pigs’, there’s a dichotomy between the evident joy the band showcase through their pummelling, nuanced performances, and Petit’s clear lack of hope or praise for the ensuing, burning mayhem we call the modern world.

Captaining the nightmare with shredded, haggard delivery like a whiskey soaked phantom, the fun and despair of Satan following you home plays like an introspective ballet, constantly at odds with the search for solace and the intersectional malaise of nihilistic acceptance.

With sonic nods to the likes of Converge, Misfits, and Down, as well as deluge of hopeless, impenetrable meanderings bolstered by thunderous bombast, Dead Tired no longer sound or feel like a side project in any way, shape or form. If anything, this is the sound of a band finally stepping out from their self-imposed shadow, making it home, only to invite the stalking dark one in for tea, crumpets and a chat.

The Soft Pink Truth – Is It Going To Get Any Deeper Than This? (Thrill Jockey)

You can always count on Drew Daniel to have a concept, whether working with Martin Schmidt in Matmos or flying solo as The Soft Pink Truth. This time around, the album title spells out an unwittingly profound retort from a nonplussed punter cast into the DJ booth some 10 years ago, which first became an in-joke and then an unlikely muse. Daniel created 10 possible responses to that question, and in the process he’s made one of the best house albums of recent memory.

Even if there’s often an arch impetus behind his work, Daniel’s musical chops are no joke, and these pieces are quite simply exquisitely crafted. 11+ minute opener ‘Deeper’ is the deep house opus dreams are made of, with exquisite swells of orchestral, post-rock splendour to match the disco-rooted natural thrust of the rhythm section. It’s good enough for Sprinkles to play, and it makes sense Sprinkles was name-checked in the accompanying text.

There’s a staggering scope to the ground covered, but rooting everything is a sincere and switched-on understanding of the roots of the music. The disco DNA instructs all other musical decisions, and it results in a beautiful, romantic and utterly infectious record that can artfully take the piss while also being a work of art. Such gems are to be treasured.

Architects – The Classic Symptoms Of A Broken Spirit (Epitaph)

The fact that Architects have journeyed from Brighton underground mathcore heroes to one of the biggest rock acts working today, is testament to their endless motivation and drive, even in the face of utter tragedy.

Losing their founding guitarist and primary songwriter, Tom Searle, to cancer back in 2016, was a devastating blow that many feared would stop the group in their tracks, but leaning into their art as a means of healing as well as enlisting Josh Middleton of Sylosis, granted the opportunity at a momentous rebirth.

While, ‘All Our Gods Have Abandoned Us’, and, ‘Holy Hell’, chartered a similar course to the mathematical metalcore grooves and anthemic hooks that have become their standard formula; 2020’s, ‘For Those That Wish To Exist’, marked a clear, unabashed desire to pursue a more accessible, alternative rock-oriented sound.

Those not terribly happy with that previous creative decision will find themselves at a loss then, with the shimmering accessibility of, ‘The Classic Symptoms Of A Broken Spirit’, which takes a further plunge into stadium-sized anthems, complete with glossy synths, gang vocals, and catchy, radio-rock riffs that wouldn’t be out of place on a Royal Blood record.

From the soaring heights of lead single, ‘When We Were Young’, to the brazen arena-ready pop-punk of, ‘Tear Gas’; this is the sound of a band deciding to reward themselves for their creative endeavours with a tenth full-length that’s as sonically joyful as it is lyrically exhausted with the current state of the modern world.

Taking note from their peers in Bring Me The Horizon and Enter Shikari, the band’s core identity still rings true although appearing in a more digestible guise, while the crushing breakdown on triumphant opener, ‘Deep Fake’, exudes enough devastating heft to satiate those pining for the chunk of old. With a tour supporting alt rock mainstays, Biffy Clyro, just set to commence, Architects have taken a brave plunge which might lose them some older loyalists but open their spectrum up to an entirely new legion of avid followers.

Black Zone Myth Chant – Embryo Issue 2 (Natural Sciences)

Flying the flag for gritty, grotty industrial dungeon works from the heart of Manchester, Natural Sciences display all the hallmarks of a true DIY operation. The releases sprawl across whatever formats are the most feasible, and they operate in symbiosis with the events, not least with this new release. Embryo Issue 2 can be considered an album from French avant-dancehall miscreant Black Zone Myth Chant, but equally it’s a new magazine providing a portal into hidden depths of the real underground. It seems that BZMC embraced the idea of presenting his new album, also known as Bad Decisions, in this context, and in appearing at a launch party in Manchester in September, purchase of the magazine also included entry into the event.

In the face of an industry which consistently leaves crumbs for creators, this kind of resourcefulness and community-spirited thinking feels incredibly refreshing, no matter how murky the musical content. As it goes, this is a pleasantly jacked up strain of the Black Zone sound, with plenty of firepower on ‘Grizz’ and ‘Told 1’ to get the dance shocking out in an apocalyptic sort of way. There are noisier, edgier forays as well, which bristle with an impressive amount of control for such grimy matter. If you prefer your soundsystem sessions to foreshadow our imminent ecological, societal, emotional collapse, then this new missive from Natural Sciences will be like manna from the devil himself.

Basement – Colourmeinkindness (Run For Cover)

Before relocating to the US and signing to Fueled By Ramen (label home to such names as Fall Out Boy, Panic! At The Disco, and, Paramore), Ipswich based emo heroes Basement staked their claim as one of the true 90’s grunge revivalists on 2012’s seminal sophomore effort, ‘Colourmeinkindness’.

Eschewing their melodic hardcore roots for a riff-heavy, equal parts vulnerable and aggressive style that drew influence from the likes of Pearl Jam, Soundgarden and Sunny Day Real Estate; the project resonated with many on both sides of the Atlantic, with their imminent indefinite hiatus that followed only lasting a couple of years, as the band slowly began to realise the impact they had left on the scene.

While their later works exude a more delicate, softer touch in line with say Jimmy Eat World, there’s no denying the sheer hubris and passion that drive cuts like the vicious opener, ‘Whole’, or the crippling self-deprecation of, ‘Spoiled’. There are clear indicators of their more melodious tendencies on the Pixies indebted, ‘Covet’, or the meandering beauty of, ‘Breathe’, but it’s the epic two-part finale of, ‘Comfort’, into the anthemic closer, ‘Wish’, that cemented both the group and their work as modern genre classics.

Even vocalist Adam Fisher’s prophetic chorus of, “Green eyes on a blue-eyed child, please can you stay awhile?”, initially served as bittersweet farewell to adoring listeners, who understandably felt disillusioned by artists choosing to bow out at the height of their abilities.

Celebrating its ten-year anniversary with a double LP repress complete with never before heard demos cataloguing the journey of the material, there’s never been a more suitable time to revisit a high watermark of 21st century grunge, emo, punk and alternative rock, that has set a powerful standard over the past decade.

This week’s reviewers Oli Warwick. Zach Buffy, Noah Sparkes, Ian Watson.