Blink 182 ‘One More Time’ – Review

A couple of years ago, Blink 182 looked done for. Their ninth album, the imaginatively titled ‘Nine’, was a genuinely hopeless attempt to reconcile the band’s distinctive toilet-humour-branded-punk- rock with modern pop tastes. By that point Tom Delonge had acrimoniously left the band, and Mark Hoppus, the irrevocably cheery bass player, was the only original member left; even he didn’t sound like he wanted to really be there. And then he was diagnosed with stage four cancer. The devastating diagnosis was the catalyst needed to encourage two old friends to bury the hatchet and get back to doing what they loved. Tom called Mark and told him ‘you’re going to get through this and we’re going to dominate.’

Two years later and Mark is in remission, his band are back together (properly back together) and they’ve just put out ‘One More Time’, their finest album in twenty years. In the US this Spring, they became the first punk band to headline Coachella, while in the UK they’ve just scored the first top 40 hits (‘Edging’ and ‘One More Time’) since their heyday. Everything about Blink right now is dowsed in positive energy.

I feel that continually while listening to ‘One More Time’, a record that sometimes reckons head on with Blink 182’s complicated recent past and sometimes reverts to telling mum jokes. Across an action packed 17 tracks, Blink present a survey of their past. There’s a welcome smattering of juvenile pop-punk and an almost equal number of introspective ballads. A thrashy flip-off like ‘Fuck Face’ reminds me of Blink’s earliest pre-Travis Barker material while a Post Hardcore throwback like ‘Terrified’ calls back to the Box Car Racer days. Occasionally the band incorporate new influences as well. ‘Blink Wave’ has a distinct synth-pop sound while ‘Hurt’ has a spacey, widescreen vision that may remind fans of Tom’s work in Angels and Airewaves. My favourite song on the album, ‘More Than You Know’, is the heaviest they’ve ever sounded; Travis Barker beats the hell out of the double kick drum in tribute to Motörhead. All these styles cohere remarkably well thanks to Barker’s slick (too slick, truthfully) production that compresses ambitious material down into tightly packed, radio ready nuggets. 

The ingredients are all there: the catchy hooks, relentless energy, Goofy lyrics, M. V. P Travis Barker’s insane drum fills (this time getting admittedly ridiculous prominence in the mix). But despite the sense of familiarity, ‘One More Time’ never feels like nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. Rather, the band sound inspired. Energised. Excited to be playing in the same room together again. The record twinkles with the often repeated but newly actualised knowledge that life is short and could be over before you know it. Every guitar lick, every hook, every lyric is imbued with understanding that it might be the last. The album is called ‘One More Time’ for a reason.

Reflection is the main through line of the record. Most of the songs look to the past: nostalgically (‘Fell In Love’, ‘When We Were Young’), apologetically (‘One More Time’), regretfully (‘You Don’t Know’) or with a sense of wonder (‘Childhood’). Tom and Mark are no poets, far from it, but it’s hard not to get the feels when they say things like ‘do I have to die to hear you say you miss me.’ Then there are songs like ‘Edging’ and ‘Turn This Off’ which yank the trousers down and moon you. It’s a slightly jarring mix, being thrown from a song about cancer to one about masturbation but anyone who thinks that darkness and comedy are incompatible probably haven’t been through hard times. Blink use humour as a release valve. On a song like ‘Turpentine’, mum jokes are the expression of a 15 year old boy trapped inside an adult’s body, struggling to cope with anxiety. ‘Slide your mum on top of me’ reads as an authentic attempt to deflect from the pain alluded to a few lines later. ‘A broken man, a Frankenstein. What if my heart won’t recover?’

If at points it’s all a tad too familiar (‘You Don’t Know’s verse is almost identical to ‘Adam’s song’ in both melody and feeling; the title track is basically a rewrite of ‘I Miss You’ – I could go on) then that might be a worthwhile price to pay for hearing one of your favourite bands sounding so animated. Besides which, Blink 182 are operating in the tradition of The Ramones and Descendents, for whom uniformity and consistency were points of pride. Nobody’s looking for Blink 182 to sound like anyone other than Blink 182, surely?

But then there have always been haters. Even in their heyday, Blink 182 were divisive. Their garish style, sarcastic tone and misogynistic antics encompassed a grossly Californian attitude that seemed to sweep the UK in the late 90s / early 00s. At the time, even as a child, I was engrossed and grossed out in equal measure. I’d quite understand somebody in 2023 wanting to resign Blink to the dustbin with their DC skate shoes and American Pie DVDs. It’s a complicated legacy and one they don’t seem interested in engaging with on more than a superficial level. Because while this record is obsessed with the past, that never really extends beyond asking rhetorical questions like ‘what happened?’ Or trotting out tired cliches like ‘you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s almost gone.’

On ‘Childhood’, the record’s closing song, they ask ‘2023, who the fuck are we? Remember when we were young?’ Its a question they ask, both explicitly and implicitly, elsewhere on the album. By the time they’ve reached this point, Blink have already explored every permutation and wrinkle of their journey, revisiting ideas and styles that have made them one of the most beloved bands on the planet. But there is still a sense, in the end, of a group who don’t particularly have a direction forward. ‘One More Time’ is a wonderfully nostalgic capstone to a very successful career and it’s very existence gives cause for celebration. It’s almost always fun and, occasionally, surprisingly moving. But there is the sense that if Blink 182 are to continue beyond this, and I hope they do, then they need to work out who they want to be from this moment on. 

7.5/10

The Rolling Stones ‘Hackney Diamonds’ – Review

‘Hackney Diamonds’ is being lauded as the best Rolling Stones album since ‘Tattoo You’, a “late period” release that came out forty years ago. Which tells you just how long The Rolling Stones have been going. I can’t confirm the validity of that statement, having not heard all eight Stones album released since 1981, but I can say with confidence that ‘Hackney Diamonds’ is about as good as anyone had any right to expect. 

I’m no expert on Rolling Stones lore but I recognise that ‘Hackney Diamonds’ tight grooves, glam riffs and catchy top lines put it in the lineage of ‘Start Me Up’ and ‘Only Rock N Roll’ rather than, say, the lose and unpredictable ‘Exile on Main Street’ or bluesy ‘Let It Bleed.’ Here we find surprising levels of energy for a band of octogenarians and the record particularly leans into Jagger’s still impressive dexterity. Mick – unlike his contemporaries Paul McCartney and Elton John, both of whom make an appearance on the album – can still really sing. Whether he’s channeling heartbreak or embodying a sort of feral animosity, he sells it.

As in his pomp (‘Brown Sugar’, ‘Honkey Tonk Women’, ‘Under my Thumb’) Mick Jagger seems motivated by a vaguely mysoginistic impulse to put a woman firmly in her place. This is expressed most explicitly on lead single ‘Angry’ where he demands to know why they haven’t made love in a while. ‘Bite My Head Off’ asks exactly the same question in slightly more antagonistic ways. ‘Why’d you bite my head off, why are you so pissed off, acting such a jerk off?!’ Its petulant but admirably animated. Later he compares his beloved to a despot and tells her she’s ‘twisted my sanity’. The girl is gone for good (and who can blame her) on ‘Depending on You’ where Jagger finds her ‘giving loving to somebody new’. This is  a classic Jagger mood; either you dig it by now or you never will.

The production, handled by Andrew Watt (whose credits stretch from Justin Beiber to Ozzy Ozbourne), is bright and contemporary without making any embarrassing concessions to modernity. It’s shiny without being shallow. Clean without being bloodless. If at points it veers into AOR territory – think late Aerosmith or AC/DC – then that might be the least bad of all potential outcomes. The riffs are kept crunchy and the vocal melodies know exactly when to stay out of the way. For my money it works well enough.

There is a lot to like about ‘Hackney Diamonds.’ It doesn’t have the gravitas of a late era Dylan, Bowie or Cash record but then it doesn’t want to. It’s a collection of big, dumb rock songs made by a band behind some of the all time great big, dumb rock songs. If there are any concessions to experience then they’re lost somewhere in the mix. ‘Hackney Diamonds’ goes out of its way to reject any signs of ageing, and while it’s botoxed production won’t truly fool anyone, they are able to keep up the pretence remarkably well. The one or two times they go for something more serious it ends up feeling a little too treacly and on the nose any way (‘Sweet Sounds of Heaven’). ‘Tell Me Straight’ is the exception – Keith Richards takes the lead vocals and instantly sounds a lifetime more grizzled and world weary than his best mate. ‘Is my future all in the past?’ He asks knowingly. It’s the album’s one convincing moment of vulnerability from a band determined not to face their own mortality (despite the sad passing of Charlie Watts in 2021).

Apparently producer Andrew Watt turned up to the studio every day in a different Rolling Stones T Shirt. It was an attempt to remind the band of their past. Perhaps that’s the best way to think about ‘Hackney Diamonds’ as well – listen to it and more than anything you’ll be reminded of Rolling Stones’ many achievements. And like the flood of distressed, pretend-vintage Rolling Stones T-shirts you’ll find in your local department store, ‘Hackney Diamomds’ is an over-commercialised fake. An impression, albeit a decent one, of the thing fans love. But there Is a reason the people still lap it up. Like the lips on the T-shirt, the songs on ‘Hackney Diamonds’ are instantly recognisable as the product of one band and one band only.

6.5/10

The Drums ‘Jonny’ – Review

The title of The Drums sixth album, ‘Jonny’,  makes explicit what fans have known for a while. These days, the Drums is the sole project of one man: Jonny Pierce. The group who called their debut album ‘The Drums’ and slouched handsomely in press photos were never more than hired hands. It was a deception; a throwback to the classic four-piece indie pop that Pierce grew up on. Behind the highly stylised image, it was Jonny writing, performing and producing the songs. Over the years he dropped band members one by one until the pretence disappeared entirely. Now he’s putting his own name front and centre and signifying his independence to the world.

‘Jonny’ will consequently be read as his most autobiographical statement to date. And perhaps it is. But a sort of provocative openness has been at the centre of The Drums work as far back as ‘Portamento’ in 2011. His last record, 2019’s ‘Brutalism’ was particularly successful at mixing escapist pop with serious self examination. In that sense ‘Jonny’ doesn’t do anything radically different; It simply does it more.

‘Quite a bit more, as it happens. Jonny’ is a baggy album. There are 16 tracks here which feels like a handful too many. Drums songs have always been as differentiated as skittles, which has been part of the appeal, but across 55 minutes the similarities are amplified more than usual, to the extent that they all start to blur into one. The brief, experimental interludes that attempt to break up the monotony (‘I’m Still Scared’ features a house beat and samples, ‘Harms’ features abstract choral harmonies) are largely forgettable. ‘Jonny’ is nearly twice as long as its brilliant predecessor and never quite justifies the indulgence.

Which is not to say that it’s all hopeless. Jonny Pierce remains one of the most exacting songwriters in indie-pop and there are some great tunes buried in the track listing. ‘I Want It All’ is a wonderfully catchy album opener that exudes a characteristically childlike longing for things perpetually out of reach. Singles ‘Obvious’ and ‘Plastic Envelope’ are even better. The latter makes me feel like I’ve been caught in drizzle on a Summer’s day; It will sit comfortably in the set list alongside gems like ‘Days’ and ‘Money.’ ‘Green Grass’ strips things back entirely which serves as a great reminder of Jonny’s talents as a singer. He stretches the melody to find subtle high notes that chime like handbells. ‘Be Gentle’ is another lovely ballad that calls back to the melodrama of ‘Down by the water’ and ‘Instruct Me’. The sweet doo-wop chords and jangly guitar sound cut through the noise created by less successful experiments like the glitchy ‘Dying’, a baffling duet with rapper Rico Nasty.

There is a romantic impulse to The Drums best songs; a sense of feelings being blown up to cinematic proportions. Jonny has been a master at using melodramatic metaphors to illustrate the most universally crushing emotions. His tendency towards distinctly American imagery always lent a layer of 1950s chic. On ‘Best Friend’ Jonny lay on the hood of a car and dreamt of the ocean dripping away. On their biggest hit, he used surfing to symbolise the hope ushered in by President Obama. But across ‘Jonny’ there is the sense of him taking emotions and making them feel smaller and pettier. At best this makes the record feel insular – almost vacuum sealed – at worst it feels positively petulant.

Past Drums records have occasionally veered into this territory. 2014’s ‘Encyclopedia’ featured reductive and mean-spirited attacks on ex-lovers as well as bigger targets such as organised religion. The sense of bitterness curdled what might otherwise have been catchy pop songs. That criticism rings true here. ‘I wanna give you all of my body but my loneliness fucks me better than you’ Jonny sings on the continually crude ‘Better’ where he feels very sorry for himself. When talking about his mother (‘she didn’t give me love’) or a partner (‘got that fucking smile back on your face’) or himself (‘I’m so alone’) he’s mopey and borderlines narcissistic. Vulnerability is a trait I’ve long admired in Jonny’s writing but here it is used like a weapon. Anger and resentment and self pity are valid feelings but the tone of constant victimhood makes for oppressive pop music.

The album sweetens as it progresses and the mood in the final stretch of songs is far more buoyant. ‘The Flowers’, ‘Obvious’ and ‘Teach My Body’ focus on the life affirming potential of new love. The upbeat melodies and simple indie-pop arrangements play to The Drums strengths. The record ends with Jonny repeating ‘I used to want to die/But now I don’t want to die!’ Which is an admirably blunt way of articulating the itch being scratched across the whole record. If this is a journey from darkness to light, from self loathing to self love, from pessimism to optimism then it’s a worthy one. Let’s hope it’s a springboard for something more positive next time.

6/10

Sufjan Stevens ‘Javelin’ – Review

‘Javelin’ is being billed as Sufjan Steven’s first singer/songwriter album since 2015’s ‘Carrie and Lowell.’ In the years since then, Stevens has released an orchestral collaboration with Bryce Dessner, a New Age instrumental album, a five volume ambient collection, two ballet soundtracks and an acoustic collaboration with Angelo De Augustine that was partly inspired by the film Hellraiser 3. This is all speaks to how busy Sufjan Stevens keeps himself between the major tentpole albums that he tends to put out every half decade. His last record of that ilk was 2020’s ‘The Ascension, an epic (and flawed) electro-pop album that diluted Stevens’ signature style into something more contemporary. It was an ambitious release but not one that was warmly recieved. It’s no coincidence that the PR guys at Asthmatic Kitty are directly drawing a line between ‘Javelin’ and ‘Carrie and Lowell’, a record that remains the most acclaimed album of Sufjan’s long career.

But that comparison is a slightly misleading one. In many ways, ‘Javalin’ is a culmination of everything Sufjan Stevens has done so far. Yes, It has a vulnerable tone, and first person perspective, that fans of ‘Carrie and Lowell’ will fondly recognise but It also retains some of the electronic sounds of ‘The Ascension’ (while placing them in a more accessible framework). It shares thematic concerns (and cover art style) with 2010’s ‘All Delighted People’ E.P and reinstates some of the bells and whistles (literally) that made 2006’s ‘Illinoise’ a twee classic. It even recaptures some of the beatific exuberance of his Christmas records!

At the same time, ‘Javelin’ doesn’t exactly sound like anything else Sufjan has made either. Not exactly. ‘Javelin’ is tight and intimate at the same time as being grandiose. It’s experimental but emotive. It has a deep floor and high ceiling. He’s somehow packed the same abundance of ideas that went into ‘Age of Adz’ 80 minutes in half the time. Crucially he keeps an emotional centre of gravity that counteracts the record’s heady ambitions. Fans of ‘Carrie and Lowell’, and the songs he wrote for Call Me by Your Name, will still feel in familiar territory. Mostly, you’re reminded what a low-key genius Sufjan Stevens really is. His melodies and vocal arrangements, in particular, bare the hallmarks of someone still operating at the very peak of his game.

‘Javelin’ plays confidently with structure. Each song begins quietly, often with nothing more than Sufjan and a guitar. Gradually, or sometimes suddenly, elements are introduced that feel surprising. A distorted beat, choral harmonises, droning synths. Sentiments initially presented at the start of songs are often repeated in new contexts, their meanings altered slightly to create a sense of uncanniness. ‘I was a man born in invisible’ later becomes ‘I was a man indivisible’. The ‘light upon the lake’ becomes the ‘light beneath the frozen lake.’ ‘I kiss the floor’ transforms into ‘I kiss no more.’ Angles are always being shifted like this, in a way that suggests how life’s routines can subtly upend us over extended periods of time. Songs that feel small and solitary at their root, ultimately flower into bombastic masterpieces.

It’s been a trying year for Sufjan Stevens. He’s been receiving treatment for Guillain-Barré syndrome, a rare auto-immune disorder that has confined him to a wheelchair. He is currently undergoing acute rehabilitation. Then, on the day before the album’s launch, Sufjan revealed that his partner Evans Richardson passed away earlier this year. It’s difficult to say if any of these songs were written in the aftermath of these immense struggles but the theme of loss, or impending loss, certainly hangs over the record from the start. The opening words are ‘goodbye evergreen, you know I love you’ and most songs contemplate endings of some kind. 

The unexpectedly blunt ‘Shit Talk’ stares down the collapse of a relationship with unflinching honesty. ‘I will always love you but I can’t live with you / No more fighting, I’ve got nothing more to give.’ This from an artist who’s dealt in metaphors and symbolism for most of his career. His previous pivot into direct simplicity, 2020’s ‘The Ascension’ was unsuccessful largely becomes the sentiments felt cliched and phoned in. The same cannot be said here; the emotion feels red raw. Highlight ‘Will Anybody Ever Loves Me?’ asks one of the most heartfelt questions it’s possible to ask. On ‘So You Are Tired’ he concludes by saying ‘I return to death.’ Sufjan Stevens has never sounded this unguarded.

The album ends in relative lightness; a cover of Neil Young’s ‘There’s a World.’ This is perhaps the most maligned song in Young’s extensive back catalogue. Initially a blustering, heavy handed ballad from the classic ‘Harvest’, Stevens strips it down into something far more simple. The lyrics retain that treacly quality that some will find off-putting but in this context (following an avalanche of dread) they scan as endearingly optimistic. Sufjan debuted his cover in 2015 at Toronto’s Massey Hall, where Young himself had first performed the song forty years previously. On the night, Stevens said it was ‘better than anything I’ll ever write.’ He was being decidedly modest. This is an example of Sufjan taking something familiar and tired, and reshaping it into something new; which is essentially what he’s doing across the whole album. ‘Javelin’ feels refreshing and rejuvenating – even in its sadness. 20 years into his career, Sufjan Stevens is still surprising us.

8.5/10

Review Roundup

DJ Sabrina the Teenage DJ – ‘Destiny’

Almost every song on DJ Sabrina the Teenage DJ’s intimidatingly ambitious new album ‘Destiny’ sounds like an outro. You know that part of a pop song where all the instruments collide together as the track fades, with the singer improvising dramatically over the top? Press play at any point here and you’ll be immersed in that feeling. Like one of those illusions where the edges appear to be infinitely closing in, this feels positively disorientating. Some of the songs collected on ‘Destiny’ last seven or eight minutes yet they feel like they’re constantly on the brink of climaxing. ‘Destiny’ is a complete trip; a four hour fever dream of 80s and 90s reference points folded in to a weird, Deep-House groove. ‘It’s a giddy, uncanny dose of pop music that – dispute clear nods to The Avalanches, Daft Punk, M83 and The 1975 – doesn’t sound like anything else I’ve heard. This is one you’ll be dipping in and out of for months.

8.5/10

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The National – ‘Laugh Track’

Earlier this year The National released ‘The First Two Pages of Frankenstein’ which capitalised on the good will that guitarist Aaron Desner generated through his collaborations with pop stars like Ed Sheeran and Taylor Swift. The record was strong if a little baggy which should have been indication enough that a second album of songs from those same sessions wasn’t strictly necessary. But that’s exactly what ‘Laugh Track’ is. More or the same… but less so. If there is a point of difference it would be that the songs on here get a little weirder (‘Space Invader’) a little looser (‘Smoke Detector’) and, frankly, a little sleepier (‘Tour Manager’). In general, the same grey, introspective mood prevails only this time it feels more oppressive. ‘Laugh Track’ isn’t bad but it could easily be the very definition of ‘diminishing returns.’

6/10

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Slaughter Beach Dog – ‘Smiling, Laughing, Waving, Crying’

Jake Ewald has never quite fulfilled the promise he showed in Modern Baseball where he wrote some of the funniest and catchiest rock songs of the era. His work with Slaughter Dog Beach has gone in a more severe direction and on ‘Crying, Laughing, Waving, Smiling’ he enters full on Dylan mode to tackle subjects as heavy as faith and regret with something of a heavy hand. Thankfully, the laidback tone, fluid arrangements and boeuynt melodies somewhat defuse the self-seriousness of the lyrics. A highlight is ‘My Sister in Christ’ which is filled with Honky Tonk piano rolls and glimpses of the vivid lyricism that made Ewald’s work with Modern Baseball so memorable. I have to quote this one verse in full: ‘I got a girlfriend; she’s got a snakeskin purse and a walk in closet chocked full of My Chemical Romance shirts / Told me about BDSM, now I think I might burn in hell / We’re staying up all night, writing dirty emails on AOL.’ 

7/10