Review Summary: ctrl + f "rock"
I must have missed the last train. This band formed in Altkirch, France, in 2007, when the members were barely teenagers, and though they have since shared stages on tour with groups such as Muse and Placebo, they have seemingly garnered little fan-fare outside of Europe. Hopefully this record changes that.
While Last Train’s earlier material was more indebted to the classic blues rock of the 70s (perhaps more by proxy of Jack White than anything else), they have been slowly allowing more post-grunge and alternative metal influences to bleed into their music as their personal tastes evolve. Last Train, in their current form, sound just as at home on arena stages as they would on the soundtrack of your favourite millennial-aged action sports video game—right alongside the likes of Queens Of The Stone Age, Rage Against the Machine, and Nine Inch Nails, but with a tasteful modernity and nods to noise and post-rock that might get an eyebrow raise from even the pickiest of subculture dorks. In 2024, the group even dabbled in composing an orchestral film score, and while they don’t consider that album to be part of the Last Train canon, the experience no doubt strengthened their ear for atmosphere and dramatics—two things that play a vital role in the dynamic flow of their third
official full-length.
III is by far the closest the group has come to chiseling out a characteristic identity for themselves. In a way, the simple numerical title juxtaposed over a gaping mouth feels like a purposeful understatement to imply the music on this album should speak for itself. And it does.
“Home” opens the record unassumingly enough, with a quiet kick drum accompanied by Jean-Noël Scherrer’s francophone-accented croon, but the band quickly reveals their ulterior motive with punctuations of granite slate guitars that tease the rhythm into a nervous breakdown. Much to the dismay of my raucous punk upbringing, my aging ears are increasingly fascinated by groups who are able to step back from their amps just far enough to see LOUDNESS as one tool in a roll of tools—a gift to be nurtured and preserved for the right moment, and Last Train knows this well. They have dialed in the tone and texture of said loudness to make sure it justifies any stretch of reflective melody in between, whether it’s the stank-face-inducing bass tone that reveals itself in the snot-nosed and snarling “All To Blame”, or the feedback that wraps itself around the negative closer “I Hate You” like a barbed wire anaconda. I can’t stress enough how effective the production is at bringing a subtle industrial heaviness to this otherwise tried-and-true rock record.
And speaking of reflective melody,
III would be nothing without tracks like “How Does It Feel?”, “This Is Me Trying”, and “Revenge” to balance the equilibrium with tranquil piano keys and glacial tremolos, transforming the album into a brooding rock opera televised from the surface of some lost and frozen exoplanet.
III is haunted by a poltergeist of anger that is very meticulous about when it allows itself to show (often by flipping a table or blowing a gasket), but it is almost always felt bubbling beneath the surface; even these softer songs convey a sense of sorrow that is often the harbinger of rage if left unchecked.
Now, take any song from this record in isolation, and it might not be something you'd rush to write home about, but in the context of a full modern rock album, they are absolutely refreshing and vital to the experience. And though the undulating formula of the tracklist might run a little dry by the end of the record, especially as the closing duo halts our momentum and takes way too long to get back up to speed, Last Train has still managed to create a memorable statement here. It's arena rock for crumbling coliseums in the solemn heart of winter—not a revolution, but it's beautiful… and loud.
