You should not allow the fact that the opening bars of London After Midnight’s new album Violent Acts of Beauty sound eerily like Ian Brown, King Monkey himself, distract you.
Nor should you allow yourself to be too convinced by the band’s assertion that they are ‘genre-less.’ This album is goth rock. Actually, this album is fairly satisfying goth rock for aficionados of the genre.
From the devastating electronic bass of the opening burst on “The Beginning Of The End” -- which nearly blew the knackered speakers in my car -- this is recognizable stompy, sneery fare. The majority of the album is pretty rousing, particularly the adrenalising “Feeling Fascist,” “Fear” and “The Kids Are All Wrong.” “Republic” has a lovely scuzzy guitar break which rescues a track which almost ran out of ideas – and then didn’t.
Aside from the opening track, the other standout is “America’s a Fucking Disease” which features a little tootle on the flute as an unexpected treat. The song is amusingly reprised at the end with the sweary words taken out; sanitised for the radio play it surely craves.
Even where it starts quietly, you are rarely left to languish, soon the bass kicks in and froths your blood up, so don’t let “Nothing Sacred,” “Love You To Death” and “The Pain Looks Good On You” fool you with their gentle intros. However, the album is less convincing on the quieter tracks. “Heaven Now” builds slowly, all plinky-plonky piano and a hint of menace, but though you’re ready for the song to really take off, it never really does -- a kind of thwarted orgasm of a song.
When you consider that it’s been nine years since Sean Brennan, the creative tour de force behind the eyeliner that is London After Midnight last released an album Violent Acts Of Beauty could be described as somewhat overdue.
Primarily this album is intended to stand as a rousing vehicle for Brennan’s passionately held socio-political views; his lyrics weave a web of commentary about the human condition around the electro-pulse. But lofty aims aside, this is an album for those high-energy, punch-out-the-stars nights; an album for sticky floors and long purple wool falls. This is an album listen to while having fun, even if you allow the message to slip past you.
Article comments