The muscles strain, the bass expands, the drum skin stretches, sinews pulse, guitars crash and collide. The diamond-hard focus is on the glistening knifepoint.
So, this is how it goes and grows. IDLES continue their quest to become the most essential and empathetic band on this green planet. Three albums deep by now and the Bristol five-piece still progress, musically and lyrically: sloganeering, class war, relevance, the delicate balance between the ‘I’ and ‘We’, the constant urge and sprint towards UNITY. The riffs are honed, licked to a peak, the necessity of the microphone, the BIG SOUND.
Yeah, this is punk and you know why, friends? It is free to express opinions, lambast, have serious fun, understands how this will project in a live setting, the image of thousands, sweating and smiling and congregated for a communion of soul-welding.
And this is how it starts:
You can judge the quality of an album by its opening trio. You’ll remember the keening essence of ‘Brutalism’ and ‘Joy’, those riffs and pummelling melodies that totally floored you – well, they’re here, again, amplified and heading straight to the white lines that separate the middle from the rest. IDLES do not even think about the middle: they straddle it, tongues furiously wagging, winking furiously, declaiming to the pavement, the doors, blowing them open, cracking the stones apart with the mass of beautiful, crushing noise that they continue to create, every second, every minute.
‘War’ replicates what it sounds and feels, riff pulverising submission on demand. ‘Grounds’ is simply astonishing, beats turned to 11 until the floor of your brain stem vibrates, the stills from that video searing the cortex. Here is progress, proof positive that IDLES are no one or two trick pony but a living, breathing angry human embodiment of multi-cultural self-expression, unafraid to celebrate and rip into other musical genres and incorporate them seamlessly into their urgent collage. More, please.
There is hardly time to keep up, falling head over hairy heels like a demented puppy, smiles alive and goofy, as ‘Mr Motivator’ [‘you’re Joe Cal – fucking – zagi!!!!] and ‘Model Village’ rush by in a blur, the sarcasm and satire indicators at explosive levels. Suddenly, the liquid thrill of ‘Ne Touche Pas Moi’ with its celebratory refrain ‘ THIS IS YOUR DANCE SPACE’ accelerating Joe Talbot’s oft-repeated call for fairness and a grope-free atmosphere at their gigs. This, I love. It speaks to the fan, not the journalist, the misanthropes. It shows care, understanding, the cruel reality of sexual harassment in the world, toxicity and actively seeking to reinvent decency. Remember Glastonbury 2019 – yeah, those moments.
I wasn’t sure initially about ‘Carcinogenic’ but now? It’s hilarious and furious, shrieking for the underdog, providing sustenance to the disenfranchised. Then, good heaven and hell melding, we have ‘Reigns’, the boiling riposte to our self-serving Tory idiot so-called government [the resentment bristles], lyrics about ‘shanking the working classes into dust’ and a pile-driving chorus set to energise and, even, revolutionise thought. ‘How does it feel?’ repeated over, a strangled saxophone, then it’s over, too soon.
Before a new breath can be taken, Joe proclaims his id, his clichés, the unalterable fact that he is a LOVER – ‘don’t it feel good!!’ This anthem – and they are ALL anthems – becomes a riposte to those who would criticise Idles’ for their fullest to the max non-party political slant on everything. You know what, they gush humanity in multi-coloured fountains. So, yes, fuck you.
The genius of this band arrives, now fully-formed, with the slow-build, trembling beauty of ‘A Hymn’ with its entreaty: ‘I wanna be loved / Everybody does’ and the confident murmur of ‘We made it’. Yes, you have. This song reveals just how far this band have come within a few short years. It captures the spirit of The Smiths, Echo and the Bunnymen, The Teardrop Explodes, The Jam, the whole kitchen sink coloured in blues, beating reds and purples, the naked heart, the rawness of experience. Cyclical, ending on a pulse, so much perfection.
Album closer ‘Danke’, previewed at the December 2019 gigs, does another ‘Rottweiler’ but is even more finely executed. The song doesn’t kick in until about 90 seconds have erupted in your cranium. Joe screams – ‘True love will find you in the end /You’ll find out just who was your friend’. Tightly-coiled riffs pile on top of each other, joy in repetition, my headphones are melting. Oh, I need to play this again.
You’ve got it. ‘Ultra Mono’ is monumental, ridiculously essential: it wants to grab you, hug you, ignore social distancing, infect you with its overpowered, limitless love for humanity and the possibilities of advancement from just being alive and amongst.
It already feels like an album of the year and its pure blast, its uncanny ability to capture the prevailing wind and twist it in entertaining directions is nothing short of miraculous and life-affirming. Thank you for existing, IDLES. We are, all of us, grateful for your force, your meaning, your railing against mediocrity, your righteous anger. Keep fucking going and never stop.
ULTRA MONO Is available NOW on Partisan Records
Words by Hugh Ogilvie.