Review Summary: I will spend my last breath singing
The Lounge Society are British (from West Yorkshire, to be precise) and play music broadly considered to be post-punk. Therefore, here’s the near-obligatory disclaimer: this album has relatively little in common with the so-called “windmill scene”, that trendy movement composed of groups like Black Country, New Road and Black Midi, despite sharing a nationality and a genre descriptor with such collectives. While those bands trend toward the avant-garde, The Lounge Society prove, if not really traditionalist, much easier to trace back in lineage to the likes of Echo and the Bunnymen.
Indeed, as far as comparisons to prominent 2022 post-punk releases go,
Tired Of Liberty perhaps stands closer to Interpol’s
The Other Side Of Make-Believe than Black Midi’s
Hellfire. Don’t let that scare you, though. The vibrancy of The Lounge Society’s debut’s album artwork has translated to the music, and this record is far more lively and raucous (and, frankly, just
better) than Interpol’s latest (and I say that as a
The Other Side Of Make-Believe apologist). Instrumentally and vocally, these songs are both ferocious and frenetic, terms I’d use more frequently to describe works in various extreme metal genres, but quite appropriate here nonetheless.
Misanthropic opener “People Are Scary” sees The Lounge Society at their most psyched-out. It’s a solid first glimpse, but not the most representative of what’s on offer with this release. Instead, follow-up “Blood Money” fulfills that function. It’s a biting takedown of modern capitalist society which doesn’t use a lot of words but leaves nothing unscathed. In some respects, its message has all been said before, but the bitterness and rage is palpable and feels awfully genuine. You’ll find a lot of the same incandescent feeling throughout the rest of the album, even if there’s a fair share of sonic diversity, from the roaring chorus of “Last Breath” to the downcast melodicisms of “Upheaval”. Closer “Generation Game” sees the band at their most ambitious, and arguably also their most successful. It’s one of those songs which aspires to walk the necessary tightrope to become an anthem for the disillusioned, in the same way as many of the best tunes on
London Calling, and (like them) it actually succeeds. The opening stanza of “There’s a generation staring down the barrel of a gun, but you won’t ever find them on the cover of The Sun” set over an ominous musical backdrop might prompt cynicism from jaded souls who recognize that, through the decades, it’s been pretty common for bands to pose as avatars of pissed-off youth, but while I would generally count myself among that rather cynical crowd, it’s pretty damn hard not to call myself a believer after hearing the song a dozen times or so.
As a four-piece, The Lounge Society function as a tight unit. Drummer Archie Dewis deserves special mention, with his impassioned performance playing a crucial role in giving this album its sense of boundless energy. Bassist Cameron Davey’s vocals also play the perfect part, snarling and seething in all directions. Meanwhile, the guitarist duo of Herbie May and Hani Paskin-Hussain provide a diverse range within this collection of eleven tracks, from the skittering solos of “People Are Scary” to the driving crunch of “Remains”.
I’ve seen enough artists release an inspired debut before withering on the vine to be extremely wary of dubbing The Lounge Society as the “next big thing”, but there are plenty of tantalizing hints of just that gigantic potential presented here. The band doesn’t quite manage to fire on all cylinders for the entirety of their debut LP (with a few mid-album tracks seeing the quality level slip a bit), but a good chunk of this record is absolutely fantastic, blending grit and melody with an undeniable intensity, both musically and atmospherically. All told, warts and all, this is a record which absolutely merits inclusion among the year’s finest. Even if the world is completely fucked, as The Lounge Society appear to believe, there are still some glimmers of joy to be found amid the ruins. Listening to
Tired Of Liberty is undoubtedly one of those little pleasures.
