Anticipation is a terrible thing. Anticipation breeds disappointment. So, when Sick Joy announced their first album in three years, it would make sense not to be excited. It would be a bad idea to listen to their incredible ‘Them Days’ EP – or to their debut album ‘We’re All Going To F**king Die’ – and to imagine just what they may concoct next. You might be inclined to feel excited upon the release of ‘More Forever’, but this could be a problem. Alongside the album are a set of accompanying press shots. You might notice something wrong. You might panic. One thing stands out. One thing that is stark. One thing. The photos feature Mykl Barton and no one else; this is a solo project.
Surely that means something different, perhaps a change of style. You were looking forward to this. You’ve set yourself up for disappointment. All you wanted was a little more, but it appears you have been denied. So, when you press play, relief bleeds from your pores. As the first proper track ‘All Damage’ roars to life with a thunder of drums, it becomes clear that despite what has happened in the three years between then and now, Sick Joy are leaning into their established sound. This still sounds like a rock band. Indeed, the song tells you exactly what this record is going to do. It’s grubbier, rougher and less refined. It’s also worth every bit of that anticipation.
If you haven’t been eagerly awaiting this release, Nirvana are the obvious point of comparison. Sick Joy’s sound is that of a power trio; guitar, drums and bass. The songs have a certain slacker energy too; there’s an alt-rock approach. Barton’s voice also has a dusky edge that echoes Kurt Cobain; there’s a delightful warmth to his singing. The way he leans on hard and soft sounds, whether it’s the heartbroken croon of ‘Nothing Good’ or the grittier approach he uses on ‘All Damage’, it remains deeply affecting. Even though this style is defined, it’s clear he’s also pushing himself. ‘Strawberries Cigarettes’ feels looser, allowing him to play (albeit briefly) into his higher registers, adding a different flavour. It’s not just the vocals that explore new ground either, as each song is distinctive. For example, ‘Video Game’ uses repetition to create a smart, hallucinogenic musing on failure, while the underscoring of ‘Gone Missing’ with eerie taps and clicks gives a sense of loss.
Darkness stalks the record and the overall sound is closer to Sick than Joy. Given the creative shift and line-up changes, it has similarities to the work of Black Foxxes, especially in how it presents mental struggles through dark melodies and wounded guitar sounds. The more unusual cuts – ‘Here We Are, Somewhere Liminal’ and ‘Anything Goes’ – bask in that darkness, while ‘Cinnamon Burn’ uses it to create an anthem, making it one of the most striking songs here.
Despite experimenting with the band’s core sound, the album is cleverly structured so that it doesn’t lose momentum. This means making wise choices like placing the rumbling bass-driven ‘Stockholm Flavour’ after an interlude, or by positioning the drifting ‘Anything Goes’ between two straightforward rockers. Basically, every second song is a big alt-rock banger, which keeps the record flowing and means you’re never far from a great hook. This has the unintentional effect of being a little disorientating, at least when compared to their previous work. Nonetheless, it’s a worthwhile trade-off.
Part of the band’s appeal is in how understated their music feels. It means that it may take a few listens to get caught up in their intoxicating energy. Their debut album used this to great effect, with longer-form hazy tracks. Here, however, that magic works differently. By pulling harder on his little songwriting levers, Barton has crafted songs that feel looser, yet more immediate. They’re easier to like but harder to love. The real genius lurks in every shadow. This, combined with Alain Johannes’ production and the mix by Josh “Hoagie” Harrison, gives the album the same dark, winking sparkle as a chandelier in a funeral parlour.
The album’s final two tracks are less focused, noisier, and bring the record to a splintering climax. Neither is as grand as you might expect, but again, expectations are a complicated thing. The closing song in particular plays with the grim irony of making art, of anticipation, and of being expected to make ‘More Forever’ – it’s no wonder that dark clouds hang over this record.
Messier and less consistent than their debut – but every bit as intoxicating – the music is a little harsher and the hooks a little more barbed. But if you’ve been looking forward to their new record, it doesn’t disappoint. Sick Joy respond to the curse of being expected to make ‘More Forever’ by trading consistency for something rawer and more heartfelt.
IAN KENWORTHY