Review Summary: 'Now you know better, why can't you fucking do better?' - Well... we can.
If your last record is a concept over two discs, gives you your first national #1 and headline slots across the world, where do you go? Set the sights even higher and throw all caution to the wind? Or go back to your roots and try and perfect the promise that you built on? Well, if you’re Biffy Clyro, the answer is apparently a bit of both but a lot of neither.
Ellipsis is a return to basics in some ways, as it displays a familiar, yet uncanny ability to create anthemic pop-rock at the drop of a hat - but it also presents a number of sidesteps and curveballs that show a lot of guts and heart.
It would be easy at this stage to fall into a track-by-track review, but while resisting the temptation, this is because the album has no real flow, is so chaotic and disjointed that there’s almost no point in giving it any structure. Lyrically we tread the paths of depression, loss, rage, the Scottish independence referendum (might need a part II in the future), and while these are not fresh topics - with the exception of the latter - the noise that Biffy Clyro make is far more than the sum of their parts. Every song is a singalong in it’s own way - from the frustrated aggression of ‘On A Bang’, to the jaunty-yet-cynical swing of ‘Small Wishes’ and the almost Bastille-esque pomp of ‘Friends and Enemies’. The main draw of this record is in versatility, and these three are masters of the art. They breeze through genres with consummate ease, and dress them up in an immaculate package - some of the ideas are surprising, but even in unchartered territories every track on
Ellipsis sounds unmistakably Biffy - on a record that displays elements of country (‘Small Wishes’), funk (‘Flammable’), post-hardcore (‘On A Bang’), stadium rock (‘Howl’) and twee electronica (‘Re-arrange’), the fact that every song could be a single is testament to just how convincingly they pull it off.
If there is criticism to be found here, it’s that there is an undeniable sterility in the sheen of the production. This is no reflection on the songs themselves, as they are inventive and flowing enough to survive any engineering shortcomings, but for those who have felt that since
Puzzle, the Biff’ have taken a negative turn away from their progressive roots, this record will only serve to alienate. The fragility of Neil’s emotive register is somewhat censored and the foggy claustrophobia of depression that shapes a large amount of the lyrics is left somewhat absent for the sake of accessible clarity.
For the rest of us, however, there is a fun, challenging, rewarding, and downright spazzy pop record on offer. Lap it up. ‘Mon the Biffy.
