Category Archives: Album Reviews

Olivia Rodrigo: GUTS review – the rallying cry of a generation
12
Oct

Equally packed with punk rock instant classics and beautifully understated piano ballads, Olivia Rodrigo’s bravura second album is somehow fiercer, wittier and altogether even stronger than her Grammy-sweeping debut.

It takes about 52 seconds for the brilliance of Olivia Rodrigo’s sophomore album to hit. It begins with a delicately plucked acoustic guitar and semi-whispered vocals as Rodrigo sweetly delivers disingenuous lines about being perfectly socially aware and having “sun in my motherfuckin’ pocket”. It’s an expletive that foreshadows the rage that’s about to unfold: a clatter of drums followed by an implosion of distorted guitars and bratty, Avril Lavigne-esque vocals, matching Rodrigo’s rage at having to conform and look effortlessly pretty as the fawned-over young American pop star she is. all-american bitch is not just a smartly executed satire but simply a great rock song, with unusually fierce and unhinged guitars for a pop album so deeply in the mainstream, plus a rebellious shouted chorus that lands with all the impulsive force of a teenager’s bedroom door slammed shut.

It’s a bracing opener that sets the tone for what should become one of the great pop-rock albums of the decade. Where her generally excellent debut record SOUR outstayed its welcome with increasingly underpowered wallowing in the same formative breakup, GUTS sees Rodrigo venture (partly) beyond the world of misbehaving boys, in the process diving deep into the full throttle punk music that lingered dormant within the highlights of that first album. Raucous banger ballad of a homeschooled girl perhaps best exemplifies Rodrigo’s evolution and sudden maturity as an artist as she sings about social anxiety and unease at settling into a crowd after her unique upbringing as a child actor at Disney. What makes this song about awkwardness so brilliant is just how confident the music sounds as Rodrigo sings of “social suicide.” This song is not self-pity but a vivid recreation of Rodrigo’s (and, as it happens, much of her generation’s) anxiety in the form of a rapid torrent lyrics and a restrained bridge that promptly collapses upon itself into an electrifying finale.

Interestingly, a newfound willingness to be a little silly on GUTS is all part of that new maturity. Where SOUR occasionally risked slipping into melodrama, GUTS is mellowed out with wry anecdotes from a turbulent love life and jokes at Rodrigo’s own expense. “Yes I know that he’s my ex but can’t two people reconnect?” she quips on gritty Wet Leg-esque number bad idea right?, a song about willingly doing what you absolutely know you shouldn’t – far from the only unifying feeling of adolescent life that Rodrigo has comprehensively unpacked in her two albums already. get him back! is even more fun, a sharp-witted tale of getting a spot of light revenge on a clueless ex complete with a killer singalong chorus and an irresistibly groovy drum groove.

When Rodrigo gets serious, though, she doesn’t hold back. Lead single and perhaps this album’s finest achievement vampire steadily crescendos towards the condemning lines “bloodsucker, fame fucker, bleeding me dry like a goddamn vampire,” delivered with enough conviction to void any previous criticism that 20-year-old might be throwing in swear words just for cool points. There’s no mistaking that vampire’s vehemence is whole-hearted as the drums build into a canter and a twisting chord progression tugs on the heartstrings with accumulating urgency. At the heart of it all is the best vocal performance of Rodrigo’s career so far, transitioning from exquisitely quiet opening to bell-clear belted high notes that slice through the mix like a hot knife during the second utterly flawless middle eight of her career (after drivers license, of course). It all comes crashing down satisfyingly in a wall of spliced piano chords and deafening cymbals, triumphantly wrapping up what may be Rodrigo’s greatest three minutes of pop.

On lyrics alone, however, it’s hard to beat making the bed, an artful standout ballad that grapples with the uglier aspects of the celebrity life that Rodrigo has inadvertently created for herself. “I’m playing the victim so well in my head,” she admits as a mire of electric guitars and washed out piano chords inexorably begin to subsume her. Much of the detail on GUTS is inevitably difficult to relate to given it draws directly from the truly bizarre upbringing of a young global celebrity, but on making the bed there’s something strikingly universal about Rodrigo’s deep-seated guilt and cognitive dissonance. There’s similarly exceptional lyrics on classy piano ballad logical, where Rodrigo tells of falling for a dishonest lover “like water falls from the February sky.” She ends up concluding that nothing about love makes rational sense with the ingenious “the sky is green, the grass is red / you mean all those things you said,” making a mockery of the superficial ‘roses are red’-style love poems she must have received from countless desperate boys over the years. It’s rounded off with a sense of self-awareness typical of GUTS’ maturity, Rodrigo admitting in an introspective bridge “I know I’m half responsible.” This isn’t just a case of mining a flawed relationship for witty comebacks and one-upmanship. This is the intricate, pained unravelling of both party’s flaws set to ruminative piano and beautiful melodies.

In terms of sheer songwriting quality, GUTS never loses an ounce of momentum during its 40 minute runtime. In other years and on lesser albums, love is embarrassing could quite easily be a smash hit and worthy song of the summer with its joyfully self-deprecating chorus and pulsating synth beat. On GUTS it’s just another underappreciated deep cut, as is smooth and catchy indie pop number pretty isn’t pretty, which covers the well-documented topic of unrealistic beauty standards with a new clarity. “Fix the things you hated and you’d still feel insecure,” Rodrigo bluntly points out at one point, reminding us it’s something deeper than the supermodels and sunny Instagram posts that are making young people feel so insecure.

Most of all, it’s Rodrigo’s age that runs a thread through this album, with the singer both grappling with intense fame at such a young age and the jealous, patronising put downs that she receives from her invariably older critics. The opener’s semi-earnest declaration of “I know my age and I act like it,” proves to be self-deception by the time the stunning closer, teenage dream, is reached, when Rodrigo asks “when am I going to stop being wise for my age and just start being wise?”, sounding almost defeated. There’s also the uncomfortable question of whether committing her entire young adult life as an actor for Disney was wise. “‘Got your whole life ahead of you’ […] / But I fear that they already got all the best parts of me,” Rodrigo reflects in a line that must resonate with any young person unfortunate enough to come of age during a pandemic. Therein lies the great magic trick of GUTS, an album that has the raw intensity of Rodrigo’s singular life experiences but is equally adept at speaking on behalf of an entire generation of Gen Z-ers. For me, like many other 20-year-olds the world over, this album has quickly become part of my identity, a work of music to scream and dance along to in vigorous catharsis or confide in during quiet moments of overwhelm. I couldn’t ask for anything more.

Vulfmon: Vulfnik review – puts the future of Vulf into question
25
Sep

With rambling tangents and a confused mix of genres, Jack Stratton fails to deliver on an otherwise promising new identity yet again. Matthew Rowe gives a track-by-track rundown on why the latest album doesn’t live up to the potential harboured by Vulfpeck frontman.

To call Vulfmon interesting would be an understatement. Jack Stratton has always been known within Vulfpeck as a wildcard, not standing out musically like Joe Dart and his iconic basslines or Theo Katzman with his incredible vocal range but as a personality, known for doing the unorthodox. From this, you would gather any solo project of his to be very experimental and unlike most of Vulf Records, and you wouldn’t be wrong. The two albums he has released so far, Here we go Jack and the most recent, Vulfnik, do exactly this but have been quite a letdown. Unlike coherent albums where a full listen feels natural, listening to these albums often feels like you’ve hit shuffle on your liked songs, but they don’t hold up to the standard of the genres they’re exploring into.

With the announcement of Vulfnik, I didn’t feel the general excitement I had a few years ago whenever a new Vulf release was announced. Recently they have fallen short of my previous expectations of them, struggling to hit that old, funky minimalistic feel that helped them flourish (The Fearless Flyers being the exception). A while back I looked forward to their weekly releases, but the first song didn’t set my expectations high.

This was I Can’t Party, in which Jack tells us a story about getting hit on at a coffee shop and him having to turn down the offer due to the fact he can’t party. The issue with this song is that it sounds like he’s trying to make a song specifically to become popular with millennials on TikTok; looking this up, you’ll see several videos of millennials frankly embarrassing themselves. For reference, if you’ve heard “coffee shop bop”, it’s a very similar vibe. But you’ve got to give it to him: he has some serious leg strength in the music video.

In the same category of lacklustre songs in the first half, we also have Harpejji I and James Jamerson Only Used One Finger, both of which could not even be seen as songs. Harpejji I does what it says in the title, consisting of Jack playing a harpejji with a basic drum beat in the background. In comparison to the short list of artists who show off this instrument, it falls short of the standard given by artists like Jacob Collier. The latter of these two songs is three and a half minutes of Jack rambling on about Motown bassist James Jamerson. There isn’t much to say about this other than the fact that the Vulf compressor makes a seemingly random speech even worse to listen to, leaving zero replay value.

Listening to Vulfmon feels like you’ve hit shuffle on your liked songs.

There is some redemption in the first half. Louie Zong helped to make an upbeat, beautiful-game-era sounding song in UCLA, with a solid bassline, tight drum beat and fitting keyboard to serve as the hook. The music video for this is quite special since Louie Zong is involved. It’s only right he has complete control over the video, which consists of an animated bear dancing through UCLA and performing in front of a judging frog, who was impressed. With the positive tones the song gives and the good vibes from the music video, it makes for a redeeming second song in the album. This is followed by Bonnie Wait, a very solid song which reminds me of Here We Go Jack, showing Stratton’s ability as a vocalist. Lyrics in this song show both outwards melancholy towards Bonnie’s situation and internal anger and jealousy towards Bonnie’s fiancé but unfortunately this is the only strong instance of Stratton’s vocals in this album.

Unlike the first half of the album, the last 5 songs get released at the same time and during my first listen of this half it was obvious there were too many wildcard songs thrown in there, even for Vulfmon. This side of the album had its fair share of disappointing songs but does have some redeeming factors. The three songs that took me aback were Harry’s Theme (Lite Pullman), Nice to You and How Much Do You Love Me.

The ending brings celebration for getting through Vulfnik and being frankly upset with Stratton.

In the first of these, the first few minutes is a nice chill song made up of two guitars, a bass, and Jack playing the drums using his thighs, naturally. This segment of the song is reminiscent of Grandma and other older Vulfpeck songs. But this isn’t the only part of the song. Seemingly in the middle of nowhere we get Lite Pullman which would probably work as its standalone song given how out of place it is. After some research, a lite pullman is some sort of travel bag, but where is the correlation here to Harry’s theme? Nice to You follows. This is a punch to the gut and Jacob Jeffries’ only new vocal appearance on this album, and he isn’t living up to his potential. On the debut Vulfmon album, he sang How Much Do You Love Me which gave him an impressive start in Vulf. However, this song is a satirical take on the emo genre, where Jacob draws out a lot of words in an unbearable accent, which would probably work fine as a parodical YouTube video, but it doesn’t hold up on an album. As well as this, Bonnie Wait covers similar themes in a much better way.

This album is wrapped up with a new take on the Jacob Jeffries classic How Much Do You Love Me. Seeing this on the announced track list, I was excited to see what they could do with it, expecting a more fleshed-out band version of the song but was let down. I hadn’t done my research on who “Ellis” was before listening to this song and nothing could have prepared me. The song kicks off like the original before dropping into an EDM version. When this happened on my first listen, I was speechless for about 5 minutes. Afterwards, my mix of feelings was a blend of feeling like celebrating getting through Vulfnik and being frankly upset with Stratton for his choice of collaborator and song direction.

Thankfully to save this album from being a complete travesty we have some highlights in the second half. This half opens with some of Vulfpeck’s most influential collaborators – Antwaun Stanley and Joey Dosik – on Lord Will Make a Way. This duo brings much-needed revitalisation to the album and even with a tiny mic, Antwaun’s vocals shine like they usually do and gives a good improvement to the questionable vocal decisions of this album. On top of this, Joey’s sax solo is very well-fitting and brings some good jazz vibes into an otherwise jazz-free project. However, there are drawbacks to this song as, much like a lot of recent Vulf, it’s a cover and I find the Al Green version to have much more impactful instrumentals where Stratton has dulled them down significantly. Another decent song in this half is Blue, is a relatively simple jazzy/blues song. The piano, performed by Jacob Jeffries, slightly redeems his efforts in this project.

I have found that this album is successful in branching out into areas Jack would most likely be too cautious to lead Vulfpeck into. However, in these attempts they haven’t reached the levels I hoped they would, often being too satirical or going too far to fit the theme of Vulf. Comparing this to the first Vulfmon album, it also doesn’t live up to that, with the first album being much more consistent. Stratton needs to pull off a miracle to bring Vulf to its former glory.

Jessie Ware: That! Feels Good! review – riotous party album makes for a worthy sequel
14
Aug

Continuing on from the success of her masterful 2020 release, That! Feels Good! is every bit as delightfully danceable as its predecessor, with more cheeky funk bass lines than you can wave a disco finger at.

By 2020, Jessie Ware seemed to have found a comfortable, if unflashy sort of fame. Three albums of dependably listenable pop had earned her a loyal fanbase big enough to secure European and American touring dates and the promise of longevity on the fringes of the British pop mainstream. A label deal with industry giant Island Records gave her access to songwriting megastars like Benny Blanco and Ed Sheeran, and Ware seemed to settle into her place in the British pop landscape, making occasional appearances in the UK Top 40 or even on the One Show. Nonethless, she was rarely talked about compared to the Adeles or the Dua Lipas of the world.

And yet, in the midst of the pandemic, Jessie Ware’s career dramatically shifted course. Her fourth album, What’s Your Pleasure?, did away with her previously broad-brush pop for scintillating, razor-focused dance music that fizzed with a newfound purpose – namely to recreate every inch of the clubbing experience right down to the smoking area and toilet cubicles. Indeed, the magic of What’s Your Pleasure? was in its powers of musical worldbuilding. To listen to those patient, swirling synth grooves and intoxicating bass riffs if so be swept away in a blissfully sweaty club, lost in the ecstacy of seemingly endless dance music. Closing track and soulful standout Remember Where You Are came tinged with the sweet melancholy of the silent taxi ride home.

In many ways, That! Feels Good! feels like an answer to its predecessor’s titular question. This album does away with What’s Your Pleasure?‘s moments of rumination in favour of explicit dancefloor diktats. “Stand up! / Turn around! / Take a bow!” Ware bellows on Beautiful People, seemingly relishing her role as party commander on chief. The title track opens the album and is about as unambiguous as album manifestos come: “Everybody gets a little modest and shy sometimes / Just remember, pleasure is a right!” Ware pronounces us in a lyric that lingers in the mind as the enthralling, pleasure-rich dance numbers start to come thick and fast.

For much of That! Feels Good!, Ware seems to be taking the Vulfpeck approach to music making: music trumps lyrics, immediacy trumps depth, groove is king. It’s a strategy that relies heavily on the quality of the music (for which the lyrics merely play a supporting role), but in the safe hands of an increasingly disginguished industry pro such as Ware, it’s a strategy that pays dividends. Lines like “Free yourself / Keep on moving up that mountaintop” on Free Yourself might sound clunky and clichéd on paper, but it’s difficult (and downright inappropriate) to put a magnifying glass up to the words as thumping piano riff and driving drum groove provides the song an immediate lift off. To listen to such a joyfully retro groove and not get swept up in the self-aware campness of Ware’s vocal performance is like showing up to a mosh pit hoping to find somewhere to unfold your comfortable camping chair. House-adjacent firecracker Freak Me Now is even more innately thrilling, Ware’s punchy hook finding home in a glorious, restless Daft Punk-esque keyboard riff designed to be played long into the night. Even more than the rest of Ware’s discography, this is the sort of roof-raiser that is will be best served live, no doubt to a dense crowd of whooping, carefree revellers. (Undertone‘s tickets are very much booked.)

Like all great dance music, bass is the secret sauce here. Strong bass lines are abound on That! Feels Good! most obviously on the title track and playful Shake The Bottle, a song littered with even more cheeky double entendres than is customary for Ware. A rumbling bass provides plenty of heft to funky highlight Pearls, a track suitably decked out with all the bell whistles – a seemingly endless hoarde of backing vocalists, plus a weighty strings section and excessive bar chime glissandos. Begin Again is grander still, a song that may owe a little too much to Another Star for some tastes but nonetheless provides the same pathos and sense of theatre as the work of His Royal Stevieness. The heavily orchestrated feeling of drama is apt for a song ostensibly about post-pandemic relaunch, and the gospel chants of “can we be who we were at the start again?” come with a tinge of vulnerability as the horns swell into a breathtaking final minute. It’s a song that manages to recreate the staggering magnitude of the world hurtling towards a new way of living, whether we like it or not.

That! Feels Good! is heavy on uptempo party fuel, but an exhausting onslaught of high octane jams it is not. Touching love song Hello Love offers a first chance to catch your breath, the heavy kick drums momentarily swapped out for a delicate bed of simmering congas and gently soaring strings. Lyrically, it’s a blatant attempt by Ware to slot into the newly-wed first dance canon alongside the likes of Thinking Out Loud or Marry You, but it’s also a genuinely heartwarming tale of old lovers reconnecting that’s worth swooning over. Towards the end of the record, Lightning is a more nuanced but no less beautiful change in pace. “I can give you all of me every night,” Ware languishes with trademark sensuality, her silky smooth vocals aided by a soothing wave of R&B backing vocals.

Satisfyingly, this sequel to What’s Your Pleasure? has a closing track that’s a worthy match for Remember Where You Are‘s unique allure. These Lips is the peppier, perhaps more optimistic of the two album closers, but nonetheless showcases Ware’s uncanny ability to create an instinctive sense of ending. There’s no need to process the words she is singing; the yearning of These Lips is palpable in the chorus, before Ware reigns herself back into a cheeky funk groove, never one to over-egg it. “I wanted the fade-out to go on for fucking ever,” she told Rolling Stone of the final moments, and who could blame her? The highs of the mellifluous grooves prior make tearing yourself away from the technicoloured fantasy world of That! Feels Good! a struggle. No, this album doesn’t reinvent the wheel, nor does it provide much lyrical meat beyond the joys of dance and sensual pleasure, but equally there is absolutely no reason to for anything more from Ware. This album is a fun, unapologetic burst of escapism so visceral the outside world feels a little less vibrant in comparison when that final bass line disappears towards the horizon.

Vulfpeck: Schvitz review – scattergun sixth lacks inspiration
22
May

A return after a prolonged hiatus could have spelt creative reinvention for Ann Arbor funk group Vulfpeck. Instead they continue to underwhelm on a sixth album let down by vapid hooks and lazy rehashes.

After some years spent climbing the pinnacle of the undersaturated genre that is contemporary funk music, Vulfpeck reached the summit on 28th September 2019. Having successfully resisted the temptation to sign to a record label ever since the group started up in an Ann Arbor basement eight years prior, the endearingly nerdy five-piece delivered a career-defining set at a sold out Madison Square Garden in New York, being only the second independent act to do so. The 100-minute whirlwind tour of the band’s discography was a glorious achievement duly immortalised in a live album and film, featuring a host of special guests and multiple unforgettable performances (see Woody Goss’s spectacular baroque organ improvisation or Dave Koz and Chris Thile’s saxophone-mandolin duel for starters). 2020’s The Joy of Music, The Job of Real Estate soon followed and featured a handful of standout tracks amongst inconsequential instrumentals. Since then Vulfpeck have taken their first hiatus, with Cory Wong and Theo Katzman finding considerable success in their solo careers and eccentric frontman Jack Stratton apparently hunkering down in his Los Angeles home, masterminding the next era of Vulf.

Few could have guessed Stratton would return quite like this: drumming in a steamy sauna and dressed in a white towel robe and sauna hat alongside half a dozen similarly barefooted bandmates. It’s certainly a concept, but quite why the aesthetic was chosen beyond a good album cover and clickable Youtube thumbnails is anybody’s guess. Disappointingly, saunas are almost entirely irrelevant in the ten tracks that make up Schvitz, but perhaps that’s for the better.

Stratton’s nasally vocals as ‘Vulfmon’ are nothing but unbearably irritating

More pertinently, Schvitz also marks the return of ever-lovable guest singer Antwaun Stanley, who takes lead vocals on five of the ten tracks and is often the album’s greatest asset. He’s radiant on chirpy highlight New Guru, joyfully riffing his way through the verses and digging into a catchy classic funk chorus with gusto. He also elevates well-written Simple Step alongside a pleasingly crunchy upright piano and Joey Dosik’s smoky sax hook. The lyrics, as often is the case for fun-loving Vulfpeck, are simple placeholders for a melody and demand little attention (Simple Step focuses on describing a single dance move), but the quality musicianship does well to smooth over any deficiencies in Stratton’s penmanship.

Elsewhere, Vulfpeck are less lucky. Earworm lacks both lyrical depth and musical interest, and Stratton’s nasally vocals as his alter ego ‘Vulfmon’ are nothing but unbearably irritating. It’s a song told excruciatingly from the perspective of an earworm (“I’m not in your stomach / I’m not in the ground”) but critically lacks an earworm of its own, with Katzman’s slurred hook too convoluted to live long in the memory. By no exaggeration, it all amounts to the most insufferable two and a half minutes of Vulfpeck’s career. Curiously sleepy closer Miracle is marginally better and features a corny chant of “all life is a miracle”, which lacks any self awareness of its own soppiness. There’s hope Joe Dart’s smooth bass line might lead to something more interesting, but it simply doesn’t besides a clunky key change. By the time the lyrics nonsensically start discussing Pokemon, all hope is lost.

For now, Vulfpeck seem to be settling into their life as former world-beaters now past their prime a little too easily

Antwaun may be back, but what hasn’t changed is Vulfpeck’s distinct lack of genuinely new songs. Theo Katzman’s quite sublime solo tune What Did You Mean by Love? gets a remake, and the clever chord progressions and neatly crafted lyrics prove incongruous on Schvitz. Stanley gives a strong performance, but the changes from the original are so minor there’s nothing to recommend the Vulfpeck version above the original. Joey Dosik’s delightful In Heaven also gets a cover and the switch to sparkling acoustic guitar for the cheerful hook is a welcome one, although there’s a niggling feeling that Vulfpeck are rapidly running out of ideas for new songs. A faithful but uninspired reproduction of Bob Dylan’s bluesy Serve Somebody drives the point home.

Schvitz may not completely devoid of highlights, but it is nonetheless an album that tests the patience of even the most dedicated Vulfpeck fan. Covers and joke songs are all well and good, but they largely end up hiding a lack of ambition that could drive the band on to new heights. Songs with more spectacular musicianship and lyrics that dig deeper are entirely within the realms of possibility for Vulfpeck (Katzman has long proved himself as an outstanding lyricist), but for now the band seem to be settling into their life as former world-beaters now past their prime a little too easily. Madison Square Garden was fantastic, but there are more hills to be climbed. In this album, Vulfpeck seem to have stopped trying.

Silk Sonic: An Evening with Silk Sonic review – a modern blast from the past
21
Mar

When megastars Anderson .Paak and Bruno Mars first collaborated under the name Silk Sonic for their gorgeous retro single Leave the Door Open earlier this year they blew minds and topped charts the world over. Could the album that followed ever hope match the stellar quality of the lead single? Alex Walden seems to think so.

Remember as a kid when you’d be in the car with your parents and they’d play their music and they would be absolutely feeling it, yet, if you were like me, you were probably sat their thinking “these songs are so cheesy, I wish they’d put something better on”? I’d say that’s probably one of my fondest memories as a child. Despite this, I was surprisingly excited when famed artists Anderson .Paak and Bruno Mars came together to release their debut track Leave The Door Open under their collaborative name Silk Sonic, which is a complete tribute to 70s B. Considering this song was released in 2021, as well as being in keeping with both Anderson .Paak and Bruno Mars’ musical styles, I was surprised to discover that this song sounded like it came fresh out of a 1970s RnB album and even more surprised that I liked it as much as I did. Everything about it from the music video to the sound, the background and even the dress sense screamed 70’s to me and I couldn’t get enough of it. The vibe was immaculate. I could tell that these two were destined to create something great from this song alone.

Shortly after, the dynamic duo released their next singles, Skate and Smokin’ Out The Window featuring Paak’s playa style lyrics followed by Mars’ amazing vocals. These tracks did not miss at all and only made me more excited about the possibility of an album. With features from Thundercat as well as the Godfather of Funk himself, Bootsy Collins, I was incredibly excited to see how these two could do when they make a full-length project.

The Sound of the album

As far as the album goes, I feel confident saying that this album is one of the best albums I’ve heard this year. It feels refreshing to get a decent short-length album which if entirely full of memorable tracks. Most albums produced by major artists today end up being one or two hours long and have about 20 to 30 songs which you end up forgetting the majority of because you just stream a few tracks. Silk Sonic definitely made the right decision by choosing to just keep their project short but sweet, with this project being nine tracks long and lasting a nice 31 minutes. It definitely feels like that feel-good funk that you need in your life to put you in a good mood. I find myself enjoying this project a lot (sometimes way to much more than I should do I’ll admit). Songs such as Fly as Me and 777 have that rich 70s Playboy vibe to make you feel confident and ready to stunt whereas songs such as After Last Night and Put On A Smile definitely have a much more relaxed feel. Nevertheless, Mars’ vocal ability on these tracks will definitely have you lip syncing in as if you’re on stage with him. As well as the duo’s lyrical ability, this album features plenty of comedy. With one liners such as “But I also hope that your triflin’ ass is walkin’ round barefoot in these streets” and “If bein’ fine was a crime girl, they’d lock your lil’ fine ass up in a tower” from Paak, These little splashes of comedy scattered throughout the album definitely help with the project’s originality.

It’s feel-good funk to put you in a good mood… Mars’ vocal ability will have you lip-syncing as if you’re on stage with him.

However, despite me mentioning the projects originality, honestly there’s not a lot to comment about when it comes how unique this project is. Now don’t get me wrong, I know this project is intended to sound like an ode to the 70s, but you can tell from the lyrics on this project that the main focus of this project was just to have as much fun as possible and while that pays off with the feel good vibe throughout the projects, the majority of the lyrics feel kind of bland considering were talking about Bruno Mars and Anderson .Paak here. These guys clearly have the potential to create something a more lyrically complex.

That said, it feels slightly weird to critique this project at all. Listening to this album is a bit like watching a school band performance or an old movie which has got quite poor special effects when compared to today’s standards. You don’t expect it to be flawless by any means but you’re seen as a bit of a party pooper if you critique it. The main purpose isn’t to sit there analysing how every single detail could be better – ironic considering that’s what I’m trying to do right now. It’s supposed to let you escape from modern music for a bit and just let you have fun, so I advise you listen to this with a casual mindset. Don’t go trying to analyse every single layer of music in each song to try comprehend how amazing it is.

The vocals are both incredibly smooth and extremely powerful. Prominent bass compliments the drums effortlessly.

Final Thoughts

Honestly, I’d recommend this to pretty much anyone. It just has an amazing vibe to it. I think everyone can enjoy this, regardless of what music you choose to listen to; no one can resist those vocals which are both incredibly smooth and extremely powerful, as well as that prominent bass which compliments those drums effortlessly. It’s not some project that you have to sit and really focus to fully grasp the artistic capabilities of these artists and that’s the good thing about it: you can just enjoy it casually and have fun. I guarantee you’ll be moving in some way while listening to it, whether it be just moving your feet, or dancing in your room like me. Either way, make sure you enjoy yourself.

Cory Wong: Wong’s Cafe review – nothing new from a band in disguise
14
Mar

Cory Wong’s latest project is ostensibly Vulfpeck’s sixth album, and it’s perhaps telling that the band have avoided official recognition for their efforts – Wong’s Cafe feels rushed and uninspired from start to finish, and is home to some of the most unremarkable songs in the band’s history.

Approaching the end of my first listen of Wong’s Cafe, I couldn’t help but feel baffled. Why does this album even exist? Wong is now somewhat notorious in funk guitar circles for his relentless, somewhat overwhelming creative output. 2021 may have only brought a miserly four albums from Wong (2020 had twice that many), but to be fair he’s been busy pumping out online guitar courses, presenting his own talk show and larking about on an ice rink with his band. On paper, Wong’s Cafe is just yet more output from the Vulfpeck guitarist, and the album does indeed have a good deal of Wong’s ultra-clean rhythm guitar idiosyncrasies that helped him gain a name for himself as a solo artist during Vulfpeck’s recent hiatus.

Look just a little closer, however, and Wong’s Cafe has the fingerprints of Vulfpeck creative mastermind Jack Stratton all over it. All the beloved characters are back in action: Joe Dart’s neck is as flexible as ever, bobbing to the tune of some typically outstanding bass lines; Stratton is still plonking a piano and excitedly directing each tune; Theo Katzman spends the album cowering over a minimalist drum kit; enigmatic Woody Goss is as humble as ever with his jazzy keys embellishments. Joey Dosik even pops up at one point, contributing with his signature sax rasp. I felt almost emotional when the first studio clips of lead single Disco De Lune were released; it’s been too long since I’ve seen my favourite band jam together like that.

With such esteemed company, it’s strange how so often on Wong’s Cafe it’s clearly not Wong leading the show but Stratton and the rest of the band. Stratton-penned You Got to Be You, for example, sees Wong as nothing more than filler behind a passable, if rather derivate piano hook. It’s been confirmed that Antwaun Stanley had recorded vocals for the entirety of this track, but his input was scrapped when the band decided to keep Wong’s Cafe wholly instrumental. It’s a tragic loss – without any vocals, verses feel empty and directionless, and that piano riff lacks the Parcels shine that might have helped it get past the first chorus before growing dull and repetitive. The groove is so run-of-the-mill for Vulfpeck, even Joey Dosik’s best efforts in a closing saxophone solo can’t save it. The following Let’s Go! is a similar story, and ironically sees Stratton play the lead guitar riff in Wong’s place. Cheesy disco strings and a plodding drum beat would have been a little less nauseating had it not all sounded like a blatant rip off the 1983 classic Jump (For My Love). Goss is plonked somewhat uncomfortably on a cliché retro synthesiser, and his solo lacks the assured jazz improvisation skills so often demonstrated when Goss is on his home territory of Wurlitzers and good, old-fashioned upright pianos.

Smokeshow and Sweet Potato Pie deserve some praise for experimenting beyond the retro funk and disco genres the band have churned out for over a decade now, but neither track offers much appeal beyond a first intriguing listen. Smokeshow is an attempt at sexy, catwalk-ready 90s house music, but the bumbling groove behind Eddie Barbash’s breathy saxophone seems to run out of ideas halfway through. Sweet Potato Pie is bizarre bluegrass jazz that might have been bareable had Wong’s acoustic guitar hook not been so unoriginal and bland. A series of rapidfire solos are competently performed, but the return of that nauseating original melody does well to snuff out any building momentum.

There are more oddities later on in a tracklist that has a habit to fly by unnoticed. Vulfpeck’s brilliant Radio Shack (released to great acclaim less than two years ago) gets a needless redo, this time minus all the authentic charm of the cheery original. Over-production and a few unnecessary instrumental additions bog down the track a little, but the truth is Radio Shack (Wong’s Cafe Version) is remarkably similar to the original and as a result feels completely redundant. Any new song would have been much preferable to this, in spite of the fact that the original Radio Shack is one of Vulfpeck’s best songs in recent years.

The times when Wong does take full control of things happen to be when Wong’s Cafe is at its most unremarkable. Guitar musings like Memories and the throwaway closer Kitchen Etude leave no impact on the listener at all, barely passing as background music. Then there’s Guitar Music, a 70 second loop of one guitar chord that marks the nadir of Wong’s career to date. A song uniquely devoid of any ideas whatsoever, quite how fluff like this managed to make it onto an official album by a professional musician like Wong is beyond me. He should have tried much harder, or better, not released the song at all.

For all its failings, Wong’s Cafe is not completely lacking in redeeming qualities. Disco De Lune is the album’s most promising moment, with a fresh and genuinely original take on Debussy’s famous dreamy piano harmonies. The outro builds up a good head of steam, giving Dart a chance to flex his still-extraordinary bass guitar muscles. It’s a shame that all the seven tracks that follow lack Disco De Lune‘s albeit modest confidence and flair.

Whilst it’s technically only a Cory Wong album, Wong’s Cafe is an unfortunate return for the Vulfpeck lads. The heady heights of the band’s unbelievable, seminal live album seem like a long time ago now. Try as Stratton and Wong might, the magic is fading. A distinct change of direction and some fresh ideas is essential for the next album; half-baked songs like these just won’t cut it.

Sam Fender: Seventeen Going Under review – arena-worthy classics to feed the soul
24
Feb

Whilst Fender’s expansive, often breathtaking sophomore record may not be flawless, it has more than its fair share of genius songwriting and lyricism thanks to a potent concoction of sepia nostalgia and brave sociopolitical lessons for the here and now.

I’ve long thought I knew who Sam Fender was. The caricature seemed fairly straightforward: Geordie and proudly working class lad turned hometown hero with a razor-sharp jawline and creamy yet delicate singing voice; probably the adoration of teenage girls and admiring lads who will think any song with a lot of distorted guitars is cool. Sure, I could appreciate Hypersonic Missiles, the driving title track from Fender’s commercially successful debut album, but beyond that I spent years not paying him much attention.

Then I heard Seventeen Going Under, the lead single ahead of Fender’s big coming-of-age sophomore release in 2021. I was alone in a car driving a long distance to the Lake District for a night and, despite the song’s simplicity, something about it had me enthralled. The characteristics I had expected were all there; the song and Fender in general are inseparable from the North East town of North Shields where “luck came and went” as Fender puts it in the form of once prosperous coal mines. Yet almost instantly, I came to the very belated realisation that this guy is the real deal. Over the jangly Springsteen-esque guitars, Fender’s faultless lyrics demand full attention. They illustrate adolescence in the town with visceral depth, from the “fist fights on the beach” to the mental health issues bottled up by the need to be the “joker” amongst “boys’ boys and locker-room talking lads’ lads”. The descriptions are painful yet sound vaguely nostalgic, portraying a childhood that was as precious as it was scarring. An awesome rush of noise gradually accumulates in support of Fender as his emotion builds to boiling point: a pounding, war-like drum groove, a sparkling glockenspiel and a screaming saxophone (an inspired instrumental choice) all contribute to the growing din. It’s sonically overwhelming, the song dripping with feeling and heartache in every note. To call it one of the finest songs to reach British mainstream rock this year is an understatement. It goes without saying, Seventeen Going Under was to soundtrack my subsequent hike in the mountains with an apt feel of September melancholy.

Both the memories of growing up in Tyneside and Fender’s generational anger at being left behind by his government run right the way through Seventeen Going Under. Getting Started decries the “council rigmarole” imposed on Fender’s poverty stricken mother, which is powerfully juxtaposed with Fender’s own urge to go out and do the things that 18-year-olds are supposed to do. The fact that Fender faced a decision between helping his mother or himself (“What I wouldn’t do to get you out this hole / For tonight I gotta let her go”) is an impactful political statement in itself. If the album needed a flagship political anthem, however, seething Aye is the song. Whilst it occasionally gets into the habit of look-at-this-very-bad-thing-isn’t-it-awful, there is also a good deal of provocative and interesting social commentary to be enjoyed. Written in the wake of the Conservative party’s shocking byelection win in Blyth Valley, Fender notes how the working class is being pulled apart by political polarisation (“poor hate the poor”) and how each side blames the other for society’s failings whilst in his view it’s really just the richest that are pulling the strings. Fender may be proudly left-wing, but the line “the woke kids are just dickheads” has proved contentious in the days and weeks since the single’s release. As far as I’m concerned, Fender’s bravery in the face of cancel culture should be applauded.

Elsewhere, toxic masculinity is a fruitful and powerful lyrical theme. Spit of You heart-wrenchingly covers Fender’s inability to talk to his father about the death of his grandmother over a tasteful and disarmingly light electric guitar backing. It lacks the fire power of something like the title track, but the hook is undeniably very strong. Get You Down is a much more compelling reflection on the anger and fear of emasculation that filled his early twenties. Its soaring melodies and relentless snare drum builds deserve to be blasted out from a lad’s first battered Vauxhall Corsa as he navigates the challenges of manhood alone, as the archetype of the perfect manly man demands. The strings are glorious and lush and Johnny Davis’ raspy saxophone makes another chill-inducing appearance, lifting the song from good to unforgettable. For all it’s self-loathing, Get You Down sounds remarkably cathartic, and makes for a perfect centrepiece to Seventeen Going Under.

The Leveller lands with similar urgency, and once again soaring strings are used compellingly. “Mark my words / This is a leveller”, Fender sings of the pandemic whilst painting his surging depression as a sort of unstoppable beast of its own. Stunning lines like “Scribed on the walls in the back lane by my flat / Teenage premonitions of Armageddon” or “Waiting in vain for the mighty crash / As little England tears itself to pieces” sound deeply unsettling over the ear-piercing punk guitars and menacing, shifting power chords. Later, Paradigms takes flight with a bright piano and expansive sound that evokes Coldplay in their world-dominating prime. I’m sure the fact that the sonic euphoria is set to words about marketing-induced bulimia and the UK’s shocking male suicide rates won’t stop thousands of young people belting this at full volume, sat on the shoulders of friends during next year’s festival season. In fact, it will make them sing louder, and rightly so.

I’d love to say Seventeen Going Under is perfect, but I’m afraid it’s not. Mantra is fatally lacking any hook whatsoever, a fact that not even a remarkable and completely unexpected trumpet solo can make up for. Getting Started and the lethargic Last To Make It Home also lack the songwriting oomph found in the album’s purple patches.

When it comes to the showstopper closer, The Dying Light, I hardly know where to begin. It’s another painful yet important song about Fender’s very personal depression and reckoning with suicidal thoughts, but the resolve and determination in lines like “I’m damned if I give up tonight / I must repel the dying light” speak of the universal urge to persist through extreme hardship even when death seems like such an easy escape. The reason to live, Fender decides, is not for his own gain, but for the sake of his family and friends and, as he belts on the album’s devastating final lyrics, “for all the ones who didn’t make the night”. Musically, the build is truly awe-inspiring, with grand strings and brass and percussion giving company to a once-solitary yet beautiful piano accompaniment. The final few minutes bounce with that innately human triumph of survival – another day of life to enjoy, another long list of challenges overcame and many more to come. As far as I’m concerned, this is as life-affirming as music gets.

In the end, despite all the gloomy depictions of an austere childhood and grim proclamations on the state of British politics, Seventeen Going Under is one gripping reminder that life is indeed worth living, no matter what. To try to make a caricature of the man behind this magnum opus is to miss the point entirely.

Jade Bird: Different Kinds of Light review – a sparkling delight
16
Feb

English singer-songwriter Jade Bird’s sophomore album builds on the best parts of the debut with new maturity, sincerity and most importantly some cracking singles. The result is an album I felt an instant personal connection to.

There’s nothing quite like listening to an album in bed. For me it’s by far the most immersive way to enjoy it – an otherwise completely silent environment with no distracting visual stimuli, just a voice and instruments and a musical story to try and dissect. I find myself happy to lie motionless as the late hours pass and soak in someone else’s creative labour of love, moving only to check my phone and make a futile attempt to memorise the name of that standout song before an early sleep wipes it from memory. For me, late-night album listening is usually saved for special occasions, in particular for those times I find myself far from home and therefore prepared for a long, dark wait before sleep finally finds me. Of course, no night is as sleepless as a night spent wild camping, and so on each of my more recent camps I’ve chosen the company of a handful of outstanding atmospheric albums. Turn Out the Lights was an apt choice as I overlooked distant bright lights whilst bivvying in the Yorkshire Dales last year, whilst Lianne La Havas’ self-titled album (and more specifically her cover of Weird Fishes) was on loop when I had another overnight visit to the Dales this summer. Phoebe Bridgers’ Punisher joined me in north Wales whilst Cage The Elephant’s Melophobia was a psychedelic sleep soundtrack in the Lake District. Each time, I finish the album with a deeper personal connection to it, having experienced it at its fullest and purest.

I wasn’t in a tent when I first heard Different Kinds of Light, but was nonetheless once again sleeping alongside my best friend, sharing a ¾ double bed in a cramped Edinburgh uni student flat that felt like luxury compared to my poky two-man tent. It took only a few seconds of belting opener Open Up the Heavens for me to be fully engaged in the loud and bold new world of Different Kinds of Light. The opening bass riff is electrifying, helped along by a relentless tambourine and Bird’s impassioned vocals describing stormy betrayal. She really opens up in an expansive chorus, raising her voice almost to breaking point with the memorable refrain “it’s raining on a sunny day”. As an album opener to get me pumped up for what’s to come, it’s near flawless.

There’s plenty more vocal and instrumental grit to enjoy throughout Different Kinds of Light. Honeymoon moves with an Eleanor Rigby-esque chug, while Candidate serves up the nastiest chorus of the album, with Bird offering powerful self defense of her friends over screeching rock guitars, instead offering up herself: “If you want somebody to judge, if you want somebody to blame, if you want somebody to hate, I’m a great candidate”. It’s more disjointed and musically complex than Bird’s loveable but straightforward earlier tracks like Uh Huh and Love Has All Been Done Before, and offers a momentary insight into an art-rock side of Bird that sadly isn’t much explored elsewhere on Different Kinds of Light.

The real test of a country-rock album like this is if the quieter, less showy moments stick. In this regard, Bird does a pretty good job, with songs like Red White and Blue offering a much-needed tender side to Bird’s sound, as well as strong examples of good old-fashioned acoustic guitar songwriting. Sweet and delicate closer Prototype is a hidden gem of a love song, with Bird’s upfront and endearing lyricism (“I love you and I think I always will”) sitting nicely beside a joyful harmonica and touching harmonised vocals from boyfriend Luke. It’s a romantic campfire-ready package that sits just on the right side of cheesy. Houdini, however, is less successful, and a promising verse is let down by a rather weak and forgettable chorus, as well as a structure that gives the song little room to develop.

Where Different Kinds of Light excels most, inevitably, is where Bird finds the sonic balance between Prototype’s sweetness and Candidate’s bitterness. That moment comes around about halfway through with the stunning Now is the Time, which turns out to be one of the finest moments of Bird’s still-blossoming career. A gloriously bright acoustic guitar gives the song the vague feel of a modern Here Comes the Sun, complete with delightful lyrics about the love of life. “Never ever seen a better day to get up, doesn’t matter ‘bout the weather now’s the time to go and get it,” Bird blurts out in one excited breath at the end of each chorus before giving way to a country-informed guitar solo. Bubbling congas and some typically adventurous bass lines seem to fill the track with a sincerity and warmth that matches well with Different Kinds of Light’s bright orange album art. With all its soaring melodies and sense of youthful freedom, Now is the Time is a three-minute musical smile, and a timely reminder that every day is a gift during what has been a special summer for me.

Listening to thumping bonus track Headstart in the small hours in the middle of a new city, I’m reminded of why music means so much to me. Different Kinds of Light ends up feeling less like an escape from a long and unsuccessful night’s sleep and more a way of intensifying and enriching life’s emotions, be it through the raw anger of Candidate, the pure love of Prototype or the all-encompassing optimism of Now is the Time. It’s not a perfect album, but at its scintillating best Different Kinds of Light never fails to improve my spirits, no matter where in the world I happen to be.

Parcels: Day/Night review – a risky, rewarding retro pop quest
27
Jan

Parcels’ unfailingly ambitious and original double album may often be just as irresistibly funky as their debut, but it’s also a huge step forward for the band with its daring genre experimentation and philosophical lyricism. It’s a shame that with such grand aims, there were bound to be a few misfires amongst the extensive tracklist.

“It’s a bit like a good bath,” my dad told me of the latest release from Aussie-German funk-pop band Parcels a few days after my second failed attempt to put together a satisfactory opening paragraph for this post. “You have to wallow in it,” he assured me. “You can’t rush it.”

Even though my three week delay in reviewing the album is more due to my limited free time than the nature of the music itself, he has a point. Unlike their groovy (if a little repetitive) debut album, Day/Night demands full attention throughout its meaty 23-song, 100-minute runtime. In fact, it’s not just one album but two sister albums with their own recognisable sets of openers and closers and intriguing parallel themes of lightness and darkness. To listen to it in full is to immerse yourself in a world (or rather, two worlds) of shifting pop chord progressions, sticky bass lines and many, many hooks.

Over the last two years Day/Night has been a labour of love for the endearing five best friends, who recorded both albums during a residency at Le Cigale studios in Paris. The intensity of such close contact is clear not only in the rock solid musicianship on display but the sweetly harmonised group vocals, which are as pristine and finely tuned as ever in five-part falsetto glory to an almost miraculous level of perfection. The obvious strong friendships within the band have also helped powered Parcels’ formidable reputation as a live band. It’s true that whilst moments of Day/Night are spectacular, to see Parcels live is to see them at their scintillating, world-beating best.

Free is complete with multiple piano glissandos, luscious strings and one of the most engaging cowbell performances you’ll hear all year

As I’ve come to expect from the band, the general approach from the self-titled debut largely remained for Day/Night: find a good groove and use it for all it’s worth. Where five minute takes of the same looping four-chord sequence would (and should) be shunned by critics of any chart-topping pop artist, the simple quality of their loops are what makes Parcels the exception to the rule. Nowhere is this more true than on Free, a stunning, sunshine-fueled introduction to Day. As foreshadowed by last year’s fantastic live album, 2021 is the year of the acoustic piano as far as Parcels fans are concerned, and Free serves as a grand inaugural outing for a plucky little upright which is treated to one of Patrick Hetherington’s best riffs to date. The song builds and builds, with Toto Serret excruiciatingly holding back on the all important snare backbeat before another magical build from almost nothing, complete with multiple piano glissandos, luscious strings and one of the most engaging cowbell performances you’ll hear all year. Expect to see this one rank very highly indeed when I come to look back at Undertone‘s best songs of 2021 next month.

Day proves to be the more single-heavy – and in my opinion, slightly better – of the two albums. The piano makes a prominent return for the irrestibile cascading groove on Comingback, a song about rediscovering yourself in the wake of the pandemic. Lyrically, its Parcels at their most touchingly sincere. “If anyone gives a damn, I want you to know I’m here / You’re never alone,” Noah Hill sings, apparently in acknowledgement that even though the virus may be on its way out, its personal impact remains universal yet strangely alienating. Like many tracks on Day/Night, it only really makes sense when you see a crowd of revellers singing and dancing along to the chorus.

It would be wrong to reduce Day/Night to Happy/Sad. The distinction between albums is something deeper than that, and there’s plenty of emotional contrast to be found on both sides of the record. On Day, for example, the remarkably minimalist and mellow Theworstthing brings us back down to earth after Comingback. In an album packed with flashy production and even a dozen strings players, there’s beauty in the simplicity of a melody, a bassline and a backbeat. Other instruments only arrive when the time is right. Jules Crommelin’s pained and superbly controlled guitar solo is an equisite face-scruncher, while Louie Swain’s simple but effective keys riff does well to wrap things up.

If the ultra-slick Bee Gees disco of Famous doesn’t compel you to jump up from your seat and bust out a few moves like it’s 1977, there’s frankly something wrong with you.

Theworstthing‘s antithesis can be found in the maximalist extravagance of Famous. Positioned firmly within the supposedly moody and depressing world of Night, the no-nonsense intro is easily Night‘s most thrilling sonic surprise. Much more than a mere foot-tapper, if the ultra-slick Bee Gees disco of Famous doesn’t compel you to jump up from your seat and bust out a few moves like it’s 1977, there’s frankly something wrong with you. Serret’s thump, Crommelin’s precise rhythm guitar and Hill’s pounding bass octaves all combine to produce a glorious few minutes of dancefloor hedonism that wouldn’t sound out of place alongside the retro classics of the genre; the titular hook seems as inevitable and irresitible as a certain Tragedy. An abrupt groove change to a slower, even funkier 16 bars is welcome, but a second sharp left-turn in the direction of smoky late night jazz seems a little unnecessarily jarring.

Day/Night mostly succeeds in avoiding the habit of producing an anthology of singles, which the debut album somewhat fell pray to. Opener LIGHT rewards patience with a masterclass in musical world-building. Over six minutes, the band (and their highly-important group of strings players) aimed to recreate the rising sun in music, and as far as I’m concerned, they couldn’t have done a better job. LIGHT develops like a modern day answer to Grieg’s Morning Mood, unfolding gradually at first before the arrival of a stunning wall of vocals which feel just as awe-inspiring as the sight of a giant orange globe appearing on the far horizon. It’s a stylistic high that few of the more conceptual tracks like in Day/Night ever quite live up to, with corresponding sunset track SHADOW sounding inevitably half-baked in comparison. At other times, the mellower tracks can come and go almost completely unnoticed. Reflex and the virtually interminable Nightwalk provide some interesting and creative soundscapes at the heart of Night, but lack the emotional contrast and excitement of some earlier numbers. That’s not to say that the understandable sleepiness throughout Night is an inherent weakness. On the contrary, the quiet and brooding Thefear presents Parcels at their most sinister, with eerie strings and a dirty bass guitar seemingly ready to score the next series of Black Mirror. The reversed vocals towards the end do end up sounding a little silly, but atmosphere is quietly restored by a genuinely alarming strings crescendo, growing like a monster until it overpowers the rest of the band completely.

It’s all very pretty, but there’s a niggling sense that the band ought to have gone one step further.

After Thefear‘s drama, there’s a somewhat underwhelming end to the two albums. Once is a slightly bizarre turn towards melancholic country music, but all potential built up during verse one is lost as the melody meanders and wanders, failing to find a compelling chorus along the way. Closer Inside sounds fatally unlike a closer. Instead, it’s a lightly funky yet uninspiring loop that does little to tie up the loose threads of the album. Interestingly, Day closer Outside is a much more impactful ballad about how Crommelin felt abandoned by his wayward father. “Where did you go?”, he heartbreakingly belts at one point, in close two-part harmony that cuts like a knife. It’s a while before the song reaches its climax, and when we get there there’s a niggling sense that the band ought to have gone one step further. It’s all undeniably very pretty, but I’m certain they could have made it all sound a bit bigger and bolder in the end, with more harmonic progression than three tried-and-true pop chords.

Whilst Outside may suffer from homogeny, daring groove changes can be found all other the two albums, to mixed results. The switch to pitch-black jazz funk on Daywalk – especially after such an overtly cheery intro – is inspired, and the playful improvised interplay between rhodes and guitar is a joy to behold. It’s also a great opportunity for Hill to unleash his full potential in the low end of the mix, his basslines growing ever busier and more spectacular as the song builds to a finale. In contrast, the incessant groove changes on LordHenry (apparently a somewhat lazy reproduction of “luxury is a curse” adage popularised by The Picture of Dorian Gray) result in a uniquely messy and shambolic track. Little to no effort is made to somehow make a boring verse and overbearing chorus make sense next to one another, given that they both sound like completely different songs. Switching back and forth between the two is simply jarring and uncomfortable, and any philosophical messages embedded in the chorus are lost in all the musical clutter that surrounds it.

Listened to in its entirety, Day/Night reveals a band willing and able to shrug off the popular assumptions that they are nothing more than specialists in happy and superficial little electropop songs. Whilst there’s plenty of happiness to be found on Day/Night (particularly during its near flawless first 30 minutes), the two albums also offer plenty of depth and introspection, and the great risk of producing not one but two concept albums has – on the most part – paid off. It’s a staggering achievement, with enough complexity and ambition to make you worry how on earth the band plan on building from it on their next release. For now, however, the Crommelin, Hetherington, Hill, Swain and Serret have more than earnt their ensuing world tour, which is already garnering glowing reviews, to the surprise of absolutely no one. It seems like a long wait before I’ll be able to catch them on a visit to Manchester a year from now. It’s just as well that, as my dad would say, Day/Night is an album worth spending plenty of time with.