Culture goes around in circles. Anywhere you look you can see repeating patterns. In politics, fashion, art. Nothing stays the same but the important thing is that each time a circle repeats, the context changes. Nothing is exactly the same. Everything is a reaction to a reaction to a reaction. That’s where Prodigal come in. After years of metal bands constructing and polishing their music, they’re doing something different. They’re getting in a room together and capturing the magic. Obviously, it’s not just that, but it is key to understanding what ‘The Floating World’ is, and why it works.

The EP has one distinctive feature; it was recorded live. The guitar strings squeak and squeal, the drums thud and thump, you can feel the cymbals ringing out and the distinctive thwack of the snare. It’s a sound that might leave you digging through your 30-year-old music collection trying to find the indie label nu-metal bands it reminds you of, and it’s not a bad thing. It’s the same impulse behind the garage rock revival. Something old swaggering in dressed as something new. In that vein, the best way to describe their sound is if early Deftones were fronted by Korn’s Jonathan Davies.

While their influences aren’t subtle, there’s something different here; the combination of sounds feels exciting, and it’s due to the shifting guitars. As they shift gear between low bassy riffs and high stabs, it results in a thrilling mix of drive and panic. On ‘Drowned’, that switch is so extreme the notes seem to be bent by a whammy pedal creating a massive sound. When combined with droning, druggy, moaning on ‘The Door’ or indeed the rapid-fire verses on ‘Drowned’, these guitar tricks create a sense of purpose. It’s a trick that also holds together the delightfully messy ‘Pulling Apart’.

When you make a recording, it’s difficult to separate the song from its presentation, like blowing on the edges of a paper napkin. Here, the combination of nu-metal style riffs, yelled vocals and swirling effect pedals are blended in a way that renders the vocals sounding like cries for help in a sea of filth.

At the EP’s midpoint ‘Opium-12’ provides the highlight. It’s built around a massive repeating riff that stops and starts with such a huge punch it’ll smash a grin onto your face. On ‘Undue’ the lead and strummed guitars offer a greater sense of breadth. But as it descends into an abyss of heavy, sludgy detuned riffs and squeals, it leaves a mess of sweaty catharsis.

Having used up all his glittering riches, the prodigal son returned poor, and was embraced. Prodigal have shed all the trappings of modern production. They arrive wanting to be loved. ‘The Floating World’ makes that very easy.

IAN KENWORTHY

One of the evening’s many idiosyncrasies – and we’re not including the fact that Troxy insist on keeping half the house lights on – is the fact that ‘I Built You A Tower’ doesn’t feature that heavily in their setlist. ‘Riptides’ makes for an elegantly lo-fi ease in to the evening, and the catchy moodiness of ‘Punching Flowers’  reveals the darkness that was lurking in the background of their latest releases, but ‘I Built You A Tower (a)’ shows exactly why they’re not solely focusing on the new record. With its swift, candy floss-light bridges, it fits satisfyingly in between the dismissed omens of ‘Black Sun’ and the nostalgic crash of ‘Company Calls’s like a Jenga block. That’s the whole point of tonight: we’re celebrating the coming together of the puzzle pieces that Death Cab For Cutie have been crafting for decades.

“We don’t have hits, but we do have classics,” jokes frontman Ben Gibbard, and these are the songs where the magic lies. Acoustic, with each note like a candle lit in memory, ‘I Will Follow You Into The Dark’, is breathtaking. “How do you guys feel about audience participation?” he giggles halfway through, but the song’s spell never breaks and as we chorus, the warmth of familiarity and friendships that cross oceans sweep over us. Each bitter line of ‘Pep Talk’ feels like its preserved in amber as we sway and reverently hum along, and the tender storytelling of ‘Stone Over Water’ weaves and flows through disaster and rebuilding. The devotion in the air during ‘Soul Meets Body’ is tangibly magnetic, and carries so much individual meaning to so many in the crowd. As a band, they’re incredibly aware of themselves and how each single chord shift can affect us, and they carry that weight like its a privilege. When they dip a toe into improvisation, such as the post punk breakdown that boosts ‘Grapevine Fires’, they do so with glee, like they’re presenting us with a treat as much as they are revealing an ambitious and experimental side to themselves which we rarely see on record. 

When Death Cab go happy, they do so with style and aplomb. The squeals of excitement that accompany ‘Cath…’ make for a fairground atmosphere that complements the rock angle they accentuate live, and ‘Crooked Teeth’ sparkles with festival revival energy. ‘Here To Forever’ is all vibrancy and dynamism on the home stretch, elastic hope and dreams stretched taut that we bounce along. This is a show with so many moments where you want to break the illusion for a second, to look around the room and really focus on the band, just to preserve each memory in your mind to carry it with you like a photograph in your wallet. The upbeat songs fly past, but carry just as much emotional resonance as the songs of longing and despair, and it’s testament to how much Death Cab For Cutie refuse to be pigeonholed as “that band that writes sad songs”.

Tonight flows quickly, and Death Cab For Cutie manage to stack up decades of songs with no distractions from their mission to present the best of themselves in the order that they’ve possibly been building to since day one. Most of the crowd will be back tomorrow for their second show, but there’s a beauty in knowing that you can only experience an arrangement of songs laden with emotion that glow like molten gold once. Maybe tonight isn’t unique, but a band like Death Cab For Cutie who can inspire so much faith and love across wastelands of emotion surely must be.

Kate Allvey

Photo: Shervin Lainez

Let’s take a step back. Once upon a time there was an alt-metal band called Butcher Babies. They built their name with an intense live show. It was all about attitude, an absolutely terrifying assault based on Heidi Shepherd and Carla Harvey screaming at each other over grinding guitar riffs. Years passed, their music evolved and then in 2024 Harvey left. Everything had to change.

Having Shepherd as the sole vocalist redefines the band, and ‘NIGHTBLOOM’ is a different kind of record. The established “Butcher Baby” attitude is channeled into more traditional song structures, featuring less screaming, more clean singing and fewer chugging guitars. It’s the direction 2023’s ‘Eye For An Eye…’ pointed towards but this pushes those features further, and there is an obvious reason for this; the record was produced by Howard Benson. The difference this makes is so stark you’d be shocked if he didn’t have a songwriting credit on every track. Basically, he lends the record the high level of craft and construction that the band have often struggled to maintain. Every song feels like a quality piece of work. Each feels distinctive. Each is simply great.

Wisely, the album opens with ‘Lost In Your Touch’, the most Butcher Babies song here. It’s basically built around a thick guitar riff and aggressive screaming but it is also built around a big, clean chorus, designed to establish what their sound means now. Between this and the similarly styled closing track ‘Black Dove’, the band explore different aspects of their new sound, pushing themselves in different ways but retaining the same sense of propulsive energy.

The music is modern metal, comparable to recent Architects records. This is heard most clearly on ‘Broken & Beautiful’ where the verses are electronic pulses but guitar riffs underscore the choruses. Each song is a variation on this idea and some are heavier than others. At one end of the scale ‘Fever In My Neck’ is filled with vicious metal riffs while ‘Black Clouds Over Georgia’ borders on soft rock. Stripping out the repetitive thrash-style grind that defined 2015’s ‘Take It Like A Man’ makes the sound much more accessible and results in a tonality that might be less distinctive but is far more consistent.

This isn’t the first time the band has worked with outside songwriters (you can easily tell which songs on 2017’s ‘Lilith’ were written by Atreyu’s Brandon Saller) but here the whole album feels like a collaboration. Again, this isn’t a bad thing; it’s all about quality. Each song is carefully constructed and the spaces are filled in different ways to add flavour. There are thoughtful keyboard melodies on ‘Leaving California’, ripping guitar licks on ‘Black Clouds Over Georgia’ and whirling synths on ‘Are You Waiting Up?’ But none of them feel cluttered in a way that detracts from the song’s emotional arc. The overall effect is a record with subtle character despite being made up of straightforward songs that all feel like singles.

Without a secondary vocalist, and with a much heavier emphasis on singing, the band’s whole dynamic has changed. Luckily, Shepherd is a great singer. Her style leans on phrases in unusual or varied ways which is strong enough to match her biting screams. For comparison, it’s a similar style to In This Moment’s Maria Brink. In fact, the record’s biggest strength is Shepherd’s strong approach to melodies. They’re delightfully weird on ‘Sincerity’ where she sings the title in a counterintuitive way yet packs hooks around it so the song doesn’t lose its momentum. Or on a ‘Fever In My Neck’ where she over-pronounces the words and leans on each syllable making it feel thrillingly nasty. For someone so skilled at death growls she also makes great use of higher registers. The best example is the single ‘Blame It On The Wind’ where the massive chorus switches between a forceful statement and a high denouement. It’s catchy, straightforward and genuinely great. Indeed, every song could be described like this, making for a record that feels easy when obviously it’s not. It’s the kind of record that’s ideal for a gym session; consistent and energetic.

Shepherd has an intriguing approach to lyrics. Change is on her mind. The choices she makes here contrast and intertwine with her previous work in unusual ways. Although there are the references to destruction and ‘gasoline’ found on previous records, here the theme of change is explored using different bird metaphors. You can hear this most directly on ‘Black Dove’ and ‘Songbird’ but the idea of growth and leaving permeates the album. In effect, it’s about regret. Although sorrow defines ‘Black Clouds Over Georgia’ and ‘Lost In Your Touch’, it contrasts with the ideas of change found on the more aggressive songs to create a sense of depth. However, it is the penultimate track ‘Leaving California’ that proves to be the highlight. The chorus has a mournful edge and the sadness in the way Shepherd sings ‘Shudda known better’ provides a strong emotional hook. Positioned towards the end, it feels like the record is building toward it, creating a gentle arc.

With a new lineup, change was inevitable. The dynamic is completely different but the trade-off proves worthwhile. Butcher Babies have shed their feathers, grown into something graceful and become a fully-fledged member of the flock. By surrendering some of their uniqueness they’ve made their strongest and most consistent record.

IAN KENWORTHY

As an initial salvo, ‘Suffer’ set the bar high. It’s clear from the opening chords that they’re setting their sights a lot higher than before and manifesting their next big venue. This is a band ready to ‘Be Somebody’, and their opener feels like a Stonesy call to arms. There’s so much big riff energy sparking through this record, whether it’s turbo-charged earworm ‘Breaker’ or the so-simple-it-burns garage hooks of ‘Speed Demon’. We love this side of Harry Martinez’s vocals too; when she really gets to wail like there’s a smoke machine behind her and a big fan in front blowing her hair back. It’s when she gets her punk sneer on that we really get hooked. She can do a Johnny Rotten impression like no other (sorry, Frank Carter!) and when we get the full force of her condescension and snap on a track like ‘Born Too Loose’, the hype surrounding Split Dogs suddenly makes more sense. 

It’s the ultimate “complisult” to say “every song sounds the same.” That’s the sign of a band with a distinct sound, and we could all rattle off a list of bands who’ve made their mark by doing just that. Luckily, while yes, every single song does sound really similar, ‘Nice N’ Rough’ is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it release. Unless you’re really tracking each song, the whole thing speeds past like a flaming tourbus and you’re left with a distinct aural crater after it lands. We don’t really need to be focusing on the homogeneity of their sound, we just need to let the whole thing smack into us at force and enjoy the sensation. Think of it as a half hour experience rather than a tracklist to pour over: that’s the spirit that they’re channelling. In fact, they’ve captured the live experience so well, that we can see it as a show in the headphones that you can just lose yourself in and come out feeling awesome about yourself.

“Sparks are flying out, there’s gonna be a power out,” Martinez screams on closer ‘Power Out’, and that’s the perfect summary of ‘Nice N’ Rough’. It’s got so much power that it could practically blow up a stereo, and the lights are going to be switching off on anyone who doubted the flightpath that Split Dogs are zooming through. Turn ‘Nice N’ Rough’ up seriously loud and load yourself up with the feeling that you’re going to ‘Be Somebody’ by the end of an album that practically crackles with garage electricity.

Kate Allvey

Lead single ‘Sick Bastards’ acts as a mission statement for the album as a whole. It’s extremely nineties in tone and style during the verses with vocals and sampled record scratches are layered into back of the mix. Meanwhile the rhythm alternates between a bouncing, groovy riff and surprisingly tender guitars. The chorus, introduced with the spoken title of the song, is massive, dropping the nineties production effects for a full dunk in the sonic fuzz, while Barry Dolan’s vocals wax lyrical about close calls with Glasgow’s police fuzz.

‘MK Des (Miss Out)’ pulses with a similar energy. An off-kilter lead line accents the driving chorus and presages the verse’s syncopated rhythms. The vocals here sing, often soaringly, of social faux pas and self-deprecation. The result is playful and makes you want to move; to bounce, to dance, to sing along. 

At the same time, the lyrics are ironically bittersweet for an album called ‘Life Is Bliss’ – catchy poems about working class life in Glasgow, filled with a thousand personal mistakes and haunted by the alienation of neoliberal austerity. Dolan yearns for “something” in ‘Alert Alert’; in ‘Something There’, he keeps on “getting nowhere, getting nowhere.” He’s “never good at working it out” on ‘MK Des’, he’s lost his mind in ‘Sick Bastard’, and as the album ends, on ‘M8’, he just has a feeling “we forgot what made this place.”

That dark lyrical tone contrasts with the prevailing high octane music on ‘Life Is Bliss’. Opening track ‘Au Contraire’ is a rollicking ride, Dolan equally catchy when hitting high notes as when yelling his heart out. That energy persists, never letting up, until at least after ‘Donnie Murdo’, by which point most of the album has blasted through, fuelled by petrol fumes. The groove never lets up. Sometimes it’s riffier – as in ‘Better Than Nothing’, ‘Stupid Dog’, and ‘Just A Man’ – sometimes more relentless, but the rhythm is consistently upbeat.

Even when Gallus let the energy drop in the back end of the album, it’s with intent – ‘Something There’ is as close as they get to a ballad, with a driving chorus that brings Dinosaur Pile-Up to mind. It’s followed by ‘Jesus Wept’ which picks the pace up but still allows the lead guitar to float above the merciless beat of the rhythm section. 

And then there’s ‘M8’, the closing song, with a chugging bluesy rhythm underneath echoing, dissonant lead lines. The effect is one of unease, as restless as it is haunting. That haunting element picks up in the final moments of the album, as a voiceover talks over distorted feedback and street sounds about the deindustrialisation of Glasgow and its impact on the local community and economy: ghosts of the past and lost futures all that remain.

WILL BRIGHT

Arriving at the end of summer, the EP captures the sense of fading sunlight and days closing in. In keeping with their 2018 ‘Borrowed Time’ EP and their biggest song ‘End Of An Era’, these four tracks are about looking back. While the lyrics explore seasons, endings and literally seeing things in ‘The rearview’ what gives them this feel is the tone.

Close your eyes and listen to the music. There’s something familiar about the sound, perhaps a little too familiar. It’s not just the comfort of memory, it’s also the curse of genre. Ultimately though, it’s about choices. Imagine making that paper plane. Each carefully chosen line and fold makes changes its trajectory of flight. The band knows this, they know how to make their songs fly, yet everything, from the melodies, to the drum beats, to the guitar licks driving ‘Stuck In This Moment’ is recognisably pop-punk. This leads to a sound consistent with bands like The Story So Far, State Champs, Roam and so many others. You can even hear it in the genre-specific production choices like the slow, echoy drum fades on ‘Long Gone’, which you’ll recognise as those on the opening of Blink 182’s ‘Feeling This’ – those kinds of choices. It sounds ‘good’ rather than inspired.

Singer, Tripp Rowe has a distinctive style but, amusingly, it’s distinctive in the same way as many other pop punk singers, for example the ‘Oo’ sounds pronounced as ‘ew’ or how ‘gun’ becomes ‘gone’ on ‘Victim Of The Suburbs’. This gives it the comfort of familiarity. Indeed, it’s amusing that ‘Blink Of An Eye’ contains the refrain ‘I’ve got new ideas’ when the presentation harks backward. However, the EP is about the past and nostalgia, and with that, it fits.

Despite looking backwards, what they’re selling is confidence and competence, and the EP bristles with both. The music is energetic, without being too rowdy, and brushed with the honesty of emo. It’s hard not to get caught up in the delightful swing and sway of ‘Stuck In This Moment’ or stop/start singing parts of  ‘Blink Of An Eye’ but the final song ‘Long Gone’ is striking. It becomes a gallop during its second half, changing the tone entirely. It’s like they’re actively moving on, and that’s a great place to leave it.

‘Closer Than It Seems’ is carefully crafted but weighted by the past. It’s a solid, enjoyable slice of pop-punk that captures the sound of a fading summer.

IAN KENWORTHY

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