Liars—The Apple Drop

Recent Liars releases have felt like acrimonious breakup albums between founding member Angus Andrew and his own band. 2017’s TFCF was particularly difficult to get on with and, despite having its fans, felt at times like an uncomfortable, messy and spite-fuelled vanity project. For new album The Apple Drop, Liars’ mojo is restored by a talented selection of new blood; especially drummer Laurence Pike and lyricist (and Andrews’ wife) Mary Pearson Andrew.

The Apple Drop is not only more ambitious than its immediate predecessors, it’s more accessible. Liars’ typical weirdness takes the backseat in an album propelled by more infectious (and more conventional) melodies than the band has ever produced before. Edgier fans won’t be thrilled to hear “Liars go radio-friendly”—but they’d be turning their backs on some impeccably constructed material. Andrews’ knack for putting together a great, straightforward tune—and to incorporate others’ ideas—is a surprise that’s both revelatory and welcome.

‘Big Appetite’ is probably the purest example of The Apple Drop’s M.O. It’s a bit like a Stereophonics song, except it’s written and performed by people who are actually trying. And on the other end of the scale you have ‘Sekwar’, which mixes a Baxter Dury drawl and the sort of instrumental you’d expect from Thom Yorke (better than it sounds). In all instances Andrews’ collaborators absolutely make this album. Laurence Pike’s drums are brilliant without exception and slot neatly into a canvas of performers who sound like they’ve known each other for years.

Special notice must be given, too, to the album’s engineering. The vastness of its sound belies its modest budget, like Andrews and company hijacked Kanye’s ridiculous pop-up studio in the Mercedes-Benz Stadium changing rooms and made use of all his very very expensive computery things.

The sum of these parts is a fresh, vibrant and approachable course-correction for Liars—a band who, just a few months ago, were on the ropes. The best comeback since Rocky IV.  

The Apple Drop is available for purchase and streaming here.

Words: Andrew O’Keefe

Lingua Ignota—Sinner Get Ready

Lingua Ignota’s latest remake of the 1987 Swans album Children of God is a quieter affair than followers may expect. Kristin Hayter hails from an active noise scene in Rhode Island which has until now provided her stylistic template—and an endless supply of abusive men to draw inspiration from. Sinner Get Ready swaps out screeching power electronics for restrained analogue instrumentation, giving further emphasis to Kristin Hayter’s intense vocals than ever before.

This proves a double-edged sword. The strength and vulnerability of Hayter’s performance shines brighter. The deficiencies of her repetitious lyrics become impossible to ignore. It sounds uncharitable, but Hayter is a one-trick pony; she uses religious iconography to explore the power dynamics of violence, abuse and revenge. This is interesting the first few times you hear it but very quickly feels hackneyed and overwrought.

Similar to Nick Cave’s compulsive invocation of Jesus, Hayter’s treatment of Christianity feels awkward and lazy, like a first-resort attempt to cram power into their work. Perhaps this exposes a bias in my own enjoyment of noise—but I can’t help feeling that a vital layer of abstraction and transcendence gets lost in all the structure and dogma. When Hayter was turning everything up to 11, it brushed the transcendence that lies within organised religion—the zenith of which can be found in the album Yirat Hashem, by an unknown artist. Quieten things even a little, and the whole illusion crumbles and feels like fool’s gold.

Sinner Get Ready is enjoying a rapturous reception but I can’t really figure out why. Lyrically and thematically it retreads the exact same ground as its predecessors—and instrumentally it is nowhere near as brave, unusual or arresting. Previous Lingua Ignota album CALIGUA was the body and the blood of Christ. Sinner Get Ready is some nice crackers and communion wine that got delivered to the church by Brakes.

Sinner Get Ready is available for purchase and streaming here.

Words: Andrew O’Keefe

The Rebel—REMEMBER YOUR FAILURE IN THE CAVE

BR Wallers has, over the course of his musical career, employed a good many styles and aliases—none of which have proved as enduring or prolific as The Rebel. Through all of The Rebel’s billion-or-so tapes are two contradictory feelings: that of oversharing, or slipping up; and of withholding, revealing very little of what’s behind the curtain. This balancing act is impressive. What’s even more impressive is Wallers’ ability to sustain the illusion throughout his entire career —early work in Country Teasers balanced on the same knife-edge. The resulting tension is perhaps what feeds Wallers’ quasi-mythical status among fans; the intimate inscrutability of looking at something through a microscope.

REMEMBER YOUR FAILURE IN THE CAVE is, unsurprisingly, full of contradictions. As the cover might have clued you in, the album is domestic and playful (at one point featuring enthusiastic guest vocals from what I assume is Wallers’ infant daughter). But it’s also anxiety-inducing, and sometimes apocalyptically terrifying. This uneasy juxtaposition makes me think of 70s kids’ TV. The people who made those shows had it hard—you can only be so jovial when you’re staring expectantly into a Cold War sky. Opening track “And Now” sounds like soot-covered CBeebies presenters blasting from a set in the nuclear wasteland of what was once a living room. “Baby Chick Went Down To The Fayre” is another beautifully mangled track, and sounds like a Texas two-step refracted through the prism of the (fantastic) show Roobarb and Custard.

Another commonality with kids’ TV, Oliver Postgate sort-of shows, is a blending of compositional sophistication and an affected naiveté. There is no question that Wallers is a formidable musical talent (and there’s strong case to be made for his genius). Without this as a known quantity, REMEMBER YOUR FAILURE IN THE CAVE would probably make me say “is he doing that on purpose” or “is this supposed to be funny”. Wallers’ work is confrontationally odd, and most listeners eventually get to a breaking point where they realise how silly both of those former questions are, and just start enjoying themselves. Large sections of this album sound like the blissful few minutes when you’ve given a child one of those Yamaha PSR keyboards and they haven’t discovered the fucking DJ button yet.

For some reason this album keeps making me think of kids, of childhood. Only in gathering thoughts together two write a review did I realise this. A catchy, kiddy charm and instant likeability have throughlined Wallers’ career—even stretching back to the days of the Teasers and their ‘hit’ “Golden Apples”—but this new album finds its compositions, with a couple of exceptions, unmoored from venomous and mucky lyrics. Consequently the album, gnarled and misanthropic as it may be, finds an explicit kind-heartedness. It’s a strange feeling. Imagine watching a dog who’s finally caught a mouse or bird they’ve been chasing for ages, and is taking infectious delight in shredding it to bits. You can’t help but cheer the little pooch on.

REMEMBER YOUR FAILURE IN THE CAVE is available for purchase and streaming here.

Words: Andrew O’Keefe

Coded Marking—Coded Marking

This self-titled EP from Leeds three-piece Coded Marking marries beat sequencing with brash bass to evoke the forgotten misery and terror of the 1980s. The decade had seen temporary whitewashing in younger people’s heads, and been painted as an endless John Hughes/Señor Spielbergo schmaltz-fest. The resurgent popularity of post-punk, though, has helped resurrect awareness of the period’s financial desperation and nuclear paranoia. This isn’t to imply that contemporary post-punk acts are a nostalgia trip. Their existence more likely symptomizes the 80s’ cultural anxieties rearing back up like a fucking hydra, as the craggy ghost of Thatcher cackles from the sky.

In this sense Coded Marking vanish amidst a sea of their own peers. There’s a lot of people around who are worried about the same stuff, it seems. Where the band distinguish themselves, however, is in their fairly unique and sickly sonic palette. Instrumentals are rich, full and bass-laden. Everything sounds muggy and indistinct, as though the master was found in some plane wreckage or one day bubbled up out of a swamp. When instruments poke their heads above this miasma, they buzz and clip (see: the guitar which plucks its way through closing track “The White Cord”).

Vocals, too, are treated almost to the point of inhumanity. Words become hoarse exhalations who find most of their meaning through the expressiveness of their delivery. Beneath the post-processing is a voice similar to Jason whassaname from Sleaford Mods—and I’m not saying that because I’m a Southern willy who thinks Leeds and Nottingham are the same place. There’s a gravelly and overexerted timbre to vocals—halfway between apathy and pure rage—and a relaxed attitude towards staying “in time” (whatever the fuck that means).

These tracks are unassuming but still make themselves known. They basically function as a collection of dark jams who lock into grooves most sane people would be happy to listen to for ages and ages. There’s no doubt this band would be a great experience live, but until you can go see them, this EP is the next best thing.

Coded Marking is available for purchase and streaming here.

Words: Andrew O’Keefe

black midi—Cavalcade

The second album from Windie-darlings black midi, titled Cavalcade, largely improves upon its predecessor Schlagenheim. Perhaps the band had too much to prove on their self-consciously weird debut, because this sophomore sees them relax a bit and stop foot-pumping smoke up their own arses. Their “experimental” imitation of Scott Walker, Beefheart, and Zappa stays—but it’s now tastefully incorporated into songs which have something of their own to offer too. There’s an exception in closer ‘Ascending Forth’, which sounds so much like Tilt-era Walker it must be a deliberate parody.

None of this really hurts Cavalcade. It’s possible to be derivative without being shit. Zappa’s mania, jazziness and lyrical oddity aren’t things everyone would be able to pull off. And it’s refreshing to hear some actual musicality from BRIT school alumni. Half the time I feel like a post-war dad, waggling a cane around and asking, “what do they teach you at that sad excuse for a school”. I know I’m not alone: BRIT school’s spectre hangs over BM at the Brixton Windmill where, in one of the toilet cubicles, at one point was scribbled a disparaging message about them in marker pen. I don’t remember exactly what it said, but it was something pretty meaningless along the lines of “art school punks”, and was probably left there by someone called Oscar whose dad is a stockbroker.

Cavalcade has a mid-heavy mix that could sound a little tinny if you have Skullcandys, Beats, Marleys or any of those other toy headphones they sell next to the Funko Pops in HMV. It’s a unique counterpoint to lots of modern releases, which are automatically smiley-face-curved to de-emphasise mids. This is so you can rattle your nan’s windows when you roll up in your Citroen Saxo for Scrabble. Cavalcade’s mix reminds me a bit of Death Grips’ Year of the Snitch, which sounded like a computer being sick. Cavalcade is overall the better-engineered album; no individual elements compete for space, and even the bizarrely quiet vocals are easy to pick out.  

Cavalcade is a step forward for black midi. They still have some ways to go, but there’s definitely potential that it’d be great to see fulfilled. Unless it’s baby's first paddle in the experimental, black midi offer few surprises, and aren't quite the earth-shattering God-band that many hail them as. But they're not exactly Ed Sheeran either. black midi occupy the same Goldilocks zone as Radiohead, and will likely hoover up much of the same fanbase. They do scare the hoes, but not all the hoes. Cavalcade is a promising album—but unless black midi step out from the shadow of their influences, they’ll never shake that “buzz band” label. Whether they have it in them or not, it’ll be fun finding out.

Cavalcade is available for purchase and streaming here.

Words: Andrew O’Keefe