Tag: Album of the month

We all love new music, don’t we? I mean we love all sorts of music, but there’s something vital about discovering a new band, or getting into a new band, and when you do that, nothing more so than a new album coming out. And the biggest rush of all is when you get into a band and you claim a first full album as yours.

And that’s Yard Act for me. I’ve been into them since the dismal, outerworld days of lockdown. But not quite from the beginning. I wasn’t a ground zero, I didn’t (like my friend David) see them upstairs at the Lexi being boisterous and lairy to 40 Londoners in 2021, as we were all emerging from all that. No, I got into The Overload in 2022, after it was out, like the man that arrives at a house party at 4am when all the best fun’s been had. I wasn’t deterred though, and made it my own that year. I delighted at its rawness, its very English, very northern wit, its ability to project the best and worst of this country into the open: all the wit and humour, the have-to-laugh-or-you’ll-cry bleakness of its songs, Brexit overtones, con-men, kitchen-sink scenes and booze, boredom, and moments of enlightenment, all delivered in a mostly-spoken, part-sung laconic drawl of lead singer James Smith over a boisterous jangle of guitars, bass, keyboards and drums.

Of course this sort of thing’s been done before, not least by other Mancunians (if those from Warrington would be ok with that label), but this felt fresh, and most of all, unlike much else that was coming out of that strange two years. There was a ‘one last chance’ narrative – the members of the band all having been relative failures in other outfits – that felt like it was an all-or-nothing record. Forget the focus groups, the second-guessing of what the public wants, just make this music you want, cobbled together in lockdown recordings, and then watch it mushroom out in a world of no gigs, no parties and no in-store performances. It’s a very modern tale, but I couldn’t stop coming back to it, from early singles Fixer Upper and Dark Days, through the bleak, booze-filled world of The Overload and Dead Horse, Rich’s biting humour, Witness’ shouty post-punk whizz and softer, more thoughtful tracks such as Tall Poppies, and the closer, my track of the year on the pod, 100% Endurance. All of these tracks weren’t just audio delights, but there were a succession of clever, funny and though-provoking videos, that provided a visual narrative that lifted things further. Its’ like a ready-made band falling out of the sky into your living room.

And I was hooked. It was brilliant coming into something so fresh and new and that felt like yours. That’s the holy grail. So once 2023 rolled around, I sat around desperately hoping for new music to emerge. And finally, in July, we got it. A hell of a new single: an 8-minute banger, The Trenchcoat Museum, that leant much further towards things like LCD Soundsystem, and now things got interesting. Talk about announcing your next move in a way that’s memorable. Add an Arthur Baker remix (of course I bought it on vinyl) and hopes were high.

But what would the album sound like? When would it arrive? Early 2024 was the news, as new singles arrived with Dream Job’s unashamed pop and a sound that stepped up more than a few gears and I was on for the ride. I could see how it may have pissed off the Yard Act OGs and purists, but what band should stay in their lane for the sake of their first music? That always feels like a slippery slope. I’m here for the next steps. Find me a Radiohead fan that thinks everything after The Bends was shit, and I’ll show you someone that needs to move on with their life.

The singles came thick and fast ahead of 1st March. The growling, Beck-like Petroleum, telling its tale of Smith’s onstage semi-meltdown after touring burnout. Then We Make Hits, harking back to the genesis of the band between Smith and bassist Ryan Needham, poking fun at going for the mainstream while unapologetically wanting to be a hit. And finally, before the album landed, When The Laughter Stops, with the band lining up with Katy J Pearson to riff once more on the challenge of giving art all you can, gleefully suggesting you then know ‘my chance was fully blown’.

The album is more than just a single narrative, but the looming expectation of fame and hits brought by a surprise debut success is a seam running through it. Smith’s wrestling of a career of relative failures with unexpected success and the pressure to follow it up, deal with the industry (We Make Hits) while balancing a family and new fatherhood (The Undertow, An Illusion). The wry, bleak humour that underpins his lyrics – balanced between semi-truthful autobiography (Down By The Stream, and the whimsical, kitchen-sink Blackpool Illuminations), surrealist idealism (A Vineyard For The North) and biting self-criticism and state-of-the-nation observations (Grifter’s Grief, Fizzy Fish) – may feel by some to disarm some of the bleaker narratives, but humour is at the core of Smith and Yard Act’s modus operandi. Speaking to NPR’s World Cafe in March, Smith stated their music “always starts with us trying to make each other laugh. Humour is the only thing that matters in life. It’s a universal thing, finding humour in situations. Seems very strange not having that in music.“

There’s an interesting debate to be had about humour in music – especially when it comes from a working-class source – and snobbery over how its’ received, perhaps not nearly as worthy as ‘serious music’. I think there’s a place for it all and I Yard Act’s voice in this is very refreshing to me. Yes, there’s a layer of self-deprecation at play, but that’s also a very English trait, and so much of the biggest reflections on British society and all its issues comes from satire, in particular. It really hits a nerve, the confluence – for me – between music, politics, comedy, art and culture.

The album’s production is far more maximal than its predecessor. It’s good to see the band develop, and in enlisting the talent of Remi Kabaka Jr., sometime member and producer with the Gorillaz, there’s a lovely synchronicity at play, too. Smith talked to DIY’s Before They Knew Better podcast and how he was a fan of the band in the post-Blur period, so working with Remi was a lovely way the circle closed. There’s a real freedom to the record, something band have openly acknowledged, and it’s a melting pot of influences and styles – in a Fanzine the members quote everyone form Glen Campbell and Electric Six, to Congolese drum music and Korn to the White Stripes and Rick James – where I hear a lot of Beck, 90s hip-hop (especially prevalent in some of the skit-style samples and intro-outros across the album), Pulp (on Undertow), Phoenix, and of course a big dollop of LCD.

It definitely enjoys a lack of categorisation, and to me it’s much more of a vibe than a sound. I like how it dips in and out of changes of pace, feel, style, and while there’s a lot more layers to the music – strings, extra percussion, backing and guest vocals – Needham’s distinctive basslines and Sam Shipstone’s growling licks still sit very much at the core of what the band’s sound is. I think lyrically, thematically and musically it’s a big leap forward. The programming works for me too: while it took a while to get my head into the album, having been so familiar with the singles, it wasn’t a case of front-loading the big records, and I like how the pace or energy never really settles. I find myself going straight to the next track in my head, a TINH Guy ™ trope but always a good sign.

I find it a very much complete album, and one that sounds absolutely outstanding live. Like Young Fathers, I was blessed with a live experience before writing this, and unfortunately I did it without any of the other podcast crew. At the Manchester Apollo – where Smith touchingly explained he’d been dozens of times to see bands that he loved himself, but never in his dreams or Yard Act’s plan did they ever expect to be on the stage themselves – they tore through much of Where’s My Utopia with glee and the energy of a band coming home. While they reside in Leeds, Smith grew up in Manchester, so it was a lovely extra level to what was one of the best gigs of the last year for me. All the songs are faster, more energetic and more urgent live, but with a keyboard and sax and two backing singers – one of whom, Daisy Smith, is the striped-topped and black-bobbed star of the new album’s videos – the sound is more elastic, more ambitious and the band feel like they’ve grown into their expanded universe with ease. The new tracks sounded amazing, and closing with an onstage rave to Trenchcoat Museum felt a fitting end to the night.

What will everyone else make of it? I am honestly not sure. I’m sure there’ll be highlights but after voting it my top album and track of 2022 on my tod, I don’t have hopes they’ll feel the same way as me. I know David will love some of the tracks – there’s too much crossover with artists he loves not to – but I’m less solid on Nolan and Joey.

There’s only one way to find out though….. Brothers, do your worst!