Written by Spike Sidor

FOR THE FIRST TIME

Black Country New Road For the first time Review Album Cover

BLACK COUNTRY, NEW ROAD

2021 ART-ROCK/NOISE-ROCK/POST-PUNK/POST-ROCK

For the first time is the debut album by the artsy rock ensemble Black Country, New Road. The band’s been sporadically dropping tracks for over a year now, of which I listened to zero prior to this record’s release. Went in cold, going off of “art-rock” as a listed genre and a degree of relation to established noise makers black midi; plenty to justify a listen or two. And one encounter is all you need to fall in love with this record, for me it was about three fourths the way through the third track which may as well be at first sight with the sounds they are working with. Experimental rock can be a highfalutin world of meandering compositions, impenetrable poetry yelped by what some call a singer, and layers of abrasive effects, it’s common for most releases to be slow burns, enjoyable on first listen but revealing their deeper pleasures on repeat visits. And even more common are the supposed fans, drawn in by the ravings of overly verbose critics and a desire to be artfully obtuse will often feign gratification

. That’s where For the first time comes in, you don’t need to feign shit, its every twist a memorable one, its towering climaxes captivating, its goodness is so obvious. Their style is of controlled chaos, a base of rock mixed with heavy post-hardcore and jazz influences slathered with a constant stream of enthralling anxiety. Think a twenty-first century Slint but where everyone in the band got an expensive education, maybe with a sprinkling of Tortoise if we want to get really referential. The tension is being laid on by our singer with his deep emotive tones, he captures charm as beautifully as confusion but where he truly shines is desperation, trembling rants grab the listener by the throat as we stand together at the precipice.

Naturally the first track has no singing, instead wailing away with its escalating take of amped up jazz fusion. Synths oscillate in hypnotic repetition, saxophone builds to a blaring peak with good use of quiet to loud dynamics. Then comes Athens, France, with its dour guitar riff and quivering delivery. It’s like an internal dialogue over an overcast day’s walk, going over your past failings and insecurities, some trust fund kid fling but hey, you’re learning from all this right.

It’s a one-size-fits-all, hardcore, cyber-fetish, early-noughties zine
She sells matcha shots to pay for printing costs and a PR team

That all goes out the window for the paranoia of Science Fair, erratic bursts of distorted guitars stir the pot to start while tip-toeing percussion thicken the atmosphere. The lyrics read like a revenge story, anxious personality, embarrassing incident, and reunion of actors, but with weird anecdotes like the subject serial dating micro-influencers and being part of a hip tribute band; this same person being a anti-social headcase is not convincing in the slightest. Still, the performances are phenomenal with one of the best crescendos in recent memory, the horns shriek amongst the clangor and our singer breaks down spectacularly. Yet it’s not even the best track, that title belongs to the near ten minute long Sunglasses, a manic trip in two movements. It has everything you could want, loads of quotable lyrics, addictive guitar licks, and sax as unhinged as the vocals. The first section is more low key with our singer visiting the aforementioned trust fund girlfriend’s parents, transforming into her typical boomer Father and yet this brief aside I find the most oddly touching. 

Mother is juicing watermelons on the breakfast island
And with frail hands she grips the NutriBullet
And the bite of its blades reminds me of a future that I am in no way part of

It ascends till eruption as you’ve come to expect and without so much as a breath it fades and part two begins. The instrumentation pounds in unison and wild horns rattle the mind, it even gets, dare I say, catchy but that’s a disservice, the whole head spinning ride is unforgettable.

I’m more than adequate
Leave Kanye out of this
Leave your Sertraline in the cabinet
And burn what’s left of all the cards you kept

In a shocking turn of events Track X is a bunch of adjectives yet used, cute and ethereal with its soft riffing hanging low in the mix with slicing violin strings. Stirring lyrics about insecurity and self-torment rear their head once again along with a looming cloud of lost love. The closer Opus brings us back into line, forgoing the tension building formula for a riot that takes the occasional break, well, that’s not entirely true, there is a dollop of crescendo-core theatrics in the second half. The hectic sprints and sorrowful lows are both very satisfying but it goes on for a bit too long, it feels as though they could have cut a couple minutes, as is, it’s got a serious unrefined jam feel and not in a positive way. This brings to light some of the record’s short falls. The tonal content is largely of the angsty young adult variety and, as you can likely tell from my comments thus far, its reliance on swelling rock with brass assistance, it feels one note when we reach its last hurrah, but in the grander whole these issues are minor at best.

For the first time is terrifyingly great, cutting edge and still accessible with appeal to all corners of the underground from post-hardcore to post-rock and every sea between. What’s most exciting about this album is that this is Black Country, New Road’s first album with the band being so very young, one can only imagine what they will be like as their sound matures. They are set forth onto a musical horizon in which they can travel in any direction, and all their future mutations bring the keenest anticipation. 

8-9/10

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