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| image: wikipedia.org |
Ascending from the depths of obscurity, otherwise known as Llandudno’s non-existent music scene, Catfish and the Bottlemen have been catapulted into the land of commercial success, winning the hearts of Zane Lowe and the like with their hard-hitting, arena-ready anthems. Listening to their debut effort, The Balcony, this sudden surge of attention comes as no surprise.
It’s taken six years for the mop-haired four-piece to break out of their small seaside setting of Llandudno; six years of hard graft and an extensive touring schedule, desperately in search of their place in the ever-changing music industry. Now, in 2014, their retrospective early-noughties reminiscent sound has managed to nestle its way into our hearts, providing the perfect dosage of nostalgia to the soon to be extinct ‘indie’ genre.
You only have to listen to the LP’s opener, 2013’s ‘Homesick,’ to be enlightened to Catfish and the Bottlemen’s undeniable instrumental intensity. Starting off slow with frontman Van McCann’s quietly confident vocal tone, channelling the grit of a young Kelly Jones after a late night and a few too many Jaeger bombs, and exploding into densely packed guitars and brash percussion, ‘Homesick’ is the perfect introduction to the band’s sound; perhaps why it was their first release since signing to Communion Records almost twelve months ago. With an infectious chorus that was made to be sang along to by thousands of festival goers frolicking in the glorious sunshine (or the more likely scenario of mud encumbered revellers shivering in the pouring rain), ‘Homesick’ is one of the biggest tracks The Balcony has to offer.
Although the North Wales-based quartet are still emerging, it’s almost impossible to believe you are listening to a debut record as soon as the opening chords of ‘Kathleen’ hit you right where it hurts. Reiterating their knack for anthemic crowd-pleasers, ‘Kathleen’ packs a meaner punch than Tyson in ’86. Combining angst-ridden lyrics of heartache with hard-edged instrumentals, the song makes the majority of critically acclaimed guitar bands sound like a bunch of beginners practicing in their grandparents’ garage.
The simplicity with which Catfish and the Bottlemen approach the undisputable emotion that seeps into every chord of theirs is a true reflection of the band’s solid ability to win their listeners over. ‘Cocoon’ and ‘Fallout’ are two prime examples of their unmistakable charm; the former, a crude love letter incorporating the line “fuck it if they talk, fuck it if they try and get to us” amidst screeching guitars and aggressive drums. Van McCann may not be Prince Charming, but he’s certainly got a gift when it comes to honest and sincere lyricism with the capacity to hit a nerve with any teenager experiencing unrequited love. ‘Fallout,’ on the other hand, sees frontman Van vent in an angsty ode to a consistently irritating ex-lover whilst making the odd reference to his unconventional childhood; “I was a test tube baby that’s why nobody gets me,” referring to the 22 year old’s IVF birth. Catfish and the Bottlemen aren’t concerned with elaborate metaphors or fancy, intricate wordplay but it’s their authentic, and arguably generic, method of song writing that almost sets them apart from every other band dominating airwaves today.
The most memorable four minutes of the record comes in the form of the almighty ‘Pacifier.’ Is it the bold and infectious riff that oscillates confidently throughout? Or Van’s gritty and assured vocals, making for the most emotionally raw chorus on the entire LP? It’s hard to tell, but one thing’s for sure, Catfish and the Bottlemen are about to set the world record for the highest number of anthems on a debut album to ever hit the shelves of your local record shop. However, they are not just a one trick pony. ‘Hourglass’ provides a wonderful yet brief measure of respite if the imminent guitars, protruding drums and soaring choruses were proving too much for you. With a predominantly acoustic sound, led by a simple guitar line, Van’s unusually clean-cut vocals are left to shine through whilst he recites love-infused lyrics (“I’m craving your calls like a soldier’s wife”). With enough “ooooh ooooh’s” to have a sixties girl band out of a job, the four piece aren’t venturing too far out from the anthemic territory they already have on lock.
Reverting back to their hard-hitting anthemic roots, ‘Business’ opens immediately with the kind of randy, lustful lyrics you would expect from a pent-up 22-year-old finally breaking out of his small-town environment after years of trying. Charming as ever, McCann quips “I’ve no time for your friends, they can fucking do one,” before conjuring up the romantic proposal, “let’s get drunk in your bedroom and have a smoke in your window” to his lover. Instrumentally, you could say the band have taken a much more garage/post-punk sounding stance on this track, but their uncanny ability to grapple their way into your subconscious mind, causing you to endeavour in an inevitable toe-tap and utterance of lyrics, still remains. ’26,’ however, adds a slightly more bluesy dimension to the band’s repertoire. It’s focal introductory guitar line that picks up again after the chorus, alongside even more “ooooh’s,” sounds impressive. This track embodies everything the Kooks could have been back in 2005, had Luke Pritchard ditched his faux northern accent and swapped his suit jacket for a leather one.
‘Rango,’ the next track on the album- a track that the longest-serving Catfish and the Bottlemen fans will be all too familiar with, picks up the pace with yet more saturated guitars. This is perhaps the only track where Van’s tortured vocals are almost drowned out by the intensity of the relentless guitars and equally as prominent percussion, although, this is more of a production fault than a crack in the foundations of the band’s incredible song writing capabilities. However, any credibility lost within the production of ‘Rango’ is well and truly made up for on the epic penultimate track, ‘Sidewinder.’ With a single, piercing riff separating the scratchy and restrained introductory guitar from a rampant blowout of audacious drums and an unforgettable rhythmic guitar line, this track possesses a substantial amount of grit, perhaps the most hard-hitting and vivacious track on the LP. The infectious choric line, “whoever you’re mixing your drinks with is dying to go to town on you,” goes down harder than an expensive prostitute. If you listen closely, you may even hear the rowdy, intoxicated crowd slurring along. ‘Sidewinder’ assuredly pays homage to the band’s incredible live reputation, encapsulating the intensity of their live performance in a mere three and a half minutes.
If the ridiculous number of ready-made anthems you’ve already been bombarded with weren’t enough, ‘Tyrants’ brings the album to a close in the same colossal fashion. Fast paced drums and frequent outbursts of screeching Editors-esque guitars add to the sizzling suspense of the track. It’s almost as if every riff, every crash of drums, every seedy lyric on the entire record has been building up to its raging climactic section four minutes in.
The Balcony isn’t by any means ground breaking. Catfish and the Bottlemen haven’t brought anything particularly new or innovative to the table. But they have, in fact, produced one of the most energetic and confident debuts of the past decade, giving a nod to our favourite guitar bands of the early 2000’s (a la The Strokes and The Libertines) and highlighting the need for big, nostalgic, indie anthems in an otherwise drab and samey era for music.
Written for Altmusicbox and also as part of my A2 English Language Coursework.
