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It's difficult to know what to expect when one is presented with a band as controversially named as this lot. One might not, for example, expect a pastoral-sounding flute, which is what the listener is faced with on the opening song "Son The Father". Is this going to be an album of mediaeval madrigals? If so, the band need to have their marketing manager shot immediately. Thankfully there will be no bloodshed today as – hark! – what is that I hear? Is it thunderous guitar, accompanied by squeal of feedback? Is there also a scream? We suddenly in the realm of furious punk. Not normally my favourite genre, but I can't help but feel swept along. I don't know if I can cope with a whole album of this though. "Son The Father" is hi-octane rage. With a band that has a manifesto to publish it seems churlish to point out that I cannot understand the words; bar a brief prayer in the form of 'Oh God!' Fucked Up may be punk in name and attitude, but not in brevity. This is a good thing as the extended running time gives these songs the opportunity to build a fine head of steam.
"Magic Word" keeps up the intensity. The singer is angry, the richness of the music legitimises his rage, making him more Martin Luther King than crazy-man-on-the-bus. This song has the focused fury of System Of A Down. "Golden Seal" disabuses me of the notion that this album will be one pell mell rush to the end. Fucked Up know the benefits of slowing the pace. A Vangelis-esque synth swoops across the sky, a piano keeps us tethered to the ground with melancholy brass plays a sad tune in the background. Whatever my expectations of the band were, it wasn't this, for which they deserve kudos. "Days Of Last" has prowling guitars out to hook the unwary. I'm reminded of Henry Rollins' intensity and righteous anger. "Crooked Head" – like the majority of songs on this album – is stuffed full of raucous guitar. It slightly outstays its welcome, bar the attractive strain of Beatles-style psychedelia. "No Epiphany" has trippy flourishes from the keyboards, which works surprisingly well with the screamed and shouted vocals – and the trademark torrents of guitar. "Black Albino Bones" features some 'clean' vocals, which I can't help wish featured more on this album. "Royal Swan" sees some let up in the unrelenting fury. Nico-esque female vocals join the fray, providing powerful counterpoint to the demonic throat clearing going on elsewhere. On this song Fucked Up are the heavy metal Velvet Underground. Military drumming adds further confusion to the melee. "Twice Born" is more of the same; admirable rather than enjoyable. 'Hands up if you're the only one' is a good line though. "Looking For God" starts promisingly, with echoing distorted guitar, similar in tone to New Model Army's "A Liberal Education". It's unexpected to have an obscure instrumental song – props for that – I just don't think it goes anywhere. Given the title, maybe that was the point. "The Chemistry Of Common Life" brings the album to a close. Many of the songs have a heroic feel, this is no exception. At seven minutes plus it has the size as well as feeling of an epic. Then we must bid 10,000 Marbles, Mustard Gas, Pink Eyes, Mr Jo, Concentration Camp and Young Governer goodbye. They are angry, inventive and original, but they are also exhausting company. |
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