It’s that time of year again. Actually, like the swallows, Mr Falkous is a a bit later this year with a christian fitness album. But, also like the swallows, it’s a joy to have back. Those insects won’t eat themselves. Probably.
For all that his records have some fairly clear musical antecedents, Falkous has found his own distinct spot in the less crowded reaches of the musical landscape. His oblique satires have a distinctly literary and theatrical edge. The tracks here are sketches in the best sense. Economically and deftly drawn from quotable soundbites and darkly humurous absurdities, they are performed with real relish and an often malevolent glee.
It’s writing that fits its form perfectly. You can’t imagine it making any sense shorn of the carefully crafted music – which is at times a familiarly melodic and rhythmic North American hardcore, but at others just as unafraid to embrace absurdity and theatrical pomp as the lyrics. With all the parts working together it makes perfect sense as a document of worrying, ridiculous, but still grimly and bizarrely amusing times. Get it.
