We need to share a similar state of mind to touch their impressive, extensive body of details below the surface and beyond the bass and drums and perennial, pestilential cloud of chords but reach in deep and drive us to confront our innermost questions. We need a similar state of mind – like the Manic Street Preachers had when they were touring The Holy Bible, like Ian Curtis in May 1980, to really get to grips and equip ourselves with the purpose of the whole exploding corpus of intellectual work and antagonistic magnitude. An ideological noise with a noose around its neck that punctures and ruptures the ribbon it often rumbles as making it a genuine feast of contemporary, creative credit that will get the recognition it deserves. A noise neatly organised and clicking prolifically to the max. It requires a similar state of mind to jump into and enjoy their chaotic noise. This is an example of the band moving on. All ours to extract.Īs much as they have always reveled in their intense impression on people as an operative conflation of rage in the face of monstrous rock pomposity and sleazy, industry expertise and as much as they have always succeeded in exposing the political sleight-of-hand by splintering its fingertips with their mangled, fractured racket their new album excels in every possible way because it expands in every possible way. A long player for the casualties of the human condition and its crippling tricks. They are the elements that exist in a state of creative comorbidity, of intense interdependence. It’s a whole worldview, a way of living, presented to us as one that cannot be confused or refused, confuted nor separated, from each other. An d by unveiling the evil lurking under every floorboard and breathing around every corner like a cockroach found rummaging around in the cornflakes put to bed a bad headwound that sees the band tackling some seriously bleak subjects. Released via their Own It imprint, featuring familiar friends funkcutter, Stanley Bad on violin and horns plus some keyboards provided by ex-Fall recruit Eleni Paulou the new album rights all wrongs, corrects certain errors, picks up and pushes against where the last laugh left off. It is the sonic embodiment of all that heart, head, and hostility are pitted against it in the daily idiot-pits. It’s about finding some much-needed respite from the ravages of the intense doctrines of the modern globe in a way that retaliates, rather than recoils, as an act of mental defense. It’s a war waged in the name of the labour of love instilled into them via Brainiac, Buzzcocks, anarcho-punk, and the self-financed iconoclasm of a melting, experimental Sheffield that used the streets as its very own stage. It’s a deeply ingrained work ethic that wants nothing more than to make their point of view a spearhead sharpened on both political and emotional non-compliance, clear for all to see. The Rest Is Distraction.Īs always with a Girls In Synthesis (GIS) record there is the unavoidable, unadulterated appreciation for the band as being built bigger than the intricate sum of its parts. Ryan Walker takes up the baton: Aggressive isn’t the word. Said Ged Babey in 2019 reviewing the first Girls In Synthesis album for LTW. This isn’t entertainment, it’s exorcism. This isn’t rock’n’roll, it’s a matter of life and death.
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