Now here's an album I've been looking forward to for some time. While fellow McMiserablists Glasvegas have been getting all of the attention, The (infinitely better) Twilight Sad have been busy working on the follow-up to their 2007 debut, 'Fourteen Autumns And Fifteen Winters.' I'm pleased to report that it was worth the wait - and then some. If 'Fourteen Autumns' sounded pissed off, then 'Forget the Night Ahead' has more than just a few hints of real anger, and it's all distilled into a dense sonic assault.
'Reflection of the Television' begins with a squall of dissonant noise, before industrial-strength percussion kicks in at a snail's pace, and by the end, the vocals are buried beneath a deluge of warped drone guitar that wouldn't sound out of place on My Bloody Valentine's 'Loveless.' As such, it's clear from the outset that this isn't going to be a pop record, or an easy listen for that matter, and sitting at track two, the single 'I Became a Prostitute' might lift the tempo but doesn't lift the mood or the density.
There are more driving guitars on latest single 'Seven Years of Letters,' which is bleak and exhilarating in equal measure as James Graham delivers the line 'we're on a hiding to nowhere' against a barrage of guitar noise.
The closest to respite from the relentless weight comes in the form of 'Scissors,' an unsettling and discordant instrumental forged from static, distortion and howling winds that finally relents, tapering away to quiet strains of feedback.
The tension mounts once more with the insistent 'The Room,' which begins with a persistent piano and gradually builds to monolithic proportions with the addition of storm-force percussion and surging, soaring guitars, before things get really noisy on 'That Birthday Present.' It's a blur of noise, littered with images of ropes and bruises. I'm not even sure 'another skin full' will do much to bring cheer to the proceedings.
|
'The Floorboards Under the Bed' and 'Interrupted' may be less ferocious than the preceding tracks, but the lyrical content remains unremittingly bleak, with a focus on damaged domestic affairs and the darker sides of the human condition. 'At the Burnside' builds to a fitting climax to close, and leaves the listener feeling battered and beaten.
Executed any other way, this collection of songs could be dreary and monotonous, or, as in the case of Glasvegas, maudlin and moaney. But when delivered with this much power and passion, not to mention volume, the material becomes more than a purely sonic experience. Those who dislike the band and criticise their dourness and overt 'Scottishness,' will find little on 'Forget the Night Ahead' to convince otherwise. For existing fans and those willing to listen with an open mind, it's probably not an album to play when hosting a dinner party, but could be one of the most impressive albums all year. Scorching.
|
