Album Review: Boston Manor - 'Glue'
The third album by Blackpool behemoths Boston Manor is nothing short of incredible. It’s chaotic, ferocious, and really fucking good.
It flits between being heart palpitatingly exhilarating, poignantly powerful, and as tensely cathartic as hell. Moments of emotion and desperation are dropped amongst screamed refrains, distorted and rough drum beats, and dirty hooks. Not to mention a cameo from Australian rocker John Floreani, best known as frontman of punk rock outfit Trophy Eyes, on the massive first single ‘Liquid’. From the start of opener ‘Everything is Ordinary’ — at once incredibly powerful and scarily addictive — to the closing chords of the darkly sinister Monolith, it’s a rollercoaster of raucous, frantic energy that refuses to let up.
The album grapples less with Cox’s mental health and inner demons, as with 2018’s ‘Welcome to the Neighbourhood’ or 2016’s ‘Be Nothing’, and more with the global issues and overbearing, almost destructive worries that haunt our collective minds. “It's about the state of our fucking world right now,” singer Henry Cox elaborates; “It's a lot more abrasive... The aim of the whole record is to make people angry”. In this, the five piece triumphantly succeed. Every single song is like cocaine and caffeine injected straight into your veins, burning you up from the inside. Yet alongside this comes a sense of social and global contextual relevance, with the unease, fear and helplessness that accompanies it.
Take opener ‘Everything is Ordinary’, for instance, a song about how we as a society are so collectively broken by the daily tragedies and abhorrent events occurring around the world that we barely pay attention; so desensitised that it’s all become almost blasé. It’s an electric, exciting rollercoaster of angst; the musical equivalent of screaming at the sky when you can’t see any other way to cope. It’s particularly powerful given current circumstances, acting as an outlet for the global frustration at being caged, although this is perhaps a more unintended poignancy. On the other side of the pounding opener comes the more anthemic, pop-esque and almost soulfully lethargic ‘Plasticine Dreams’. About the artificiality of life in the modern age — both objects, with ‘artificial trees’, and experiences, as Cox joyfully croons about crashing his car for the sake of it — the half-rhyme of ‘Everything is what it seems, forget about the things you’ve seen’ takes on a new relevance as the global lockdown becomes the new normal, and looks set to continue.
This trend, then, acts as the groundwork for the entirety of the thirteen tracks, holding them together in one beautiful collection rather than having any break off on their own. Between the “rallying cry” of the breakneck, post-Brexit raging ‘1’s and 0’s’ and the vocal-chord-rearing beauty of ‘Only1’, the album makes sure it covers its bases with the original punk crowd the band grew from, while the emotive, plaintive ballad of ‘Stuck in the Mud’ and the almost futuristic menace of ‘On a High Ledge’ reflect the band’s evolution into a musical powerhouse. Both of these, interestingly, deal with the unfortunately-still-prevalent culture of Toxic Masculinity; ‘I want to cry but I don’t know how’, he cries, before a monotonous chant of ‘On a High Ledge’ foreshadows a potential snapping point and suicide on the latter, while the former relies on piano hooks and desperately pleading lyrics to create a surprisingly impactful moment in the otherwise brutal album. ‘I’m lost in the dark’ he cries, over auto tuned harmonies which belie the sheer isolation of feeling unable to open yourself up.
It’s on ‘You, Me & the Class War’ that the band really outdo themselves though. Full of rage and unrestrained anger, the vocals let themselves loose as they scream alongside escalating bass riffs and drums to a crashing crescendo, that drops off into an almost accusatory question — ‘what would you say, what would you do to me if I opened my mouth?’ that is delightfully reminiscent of The Neighbourhood’s debut, ‘Afraid’. If, of course, The Neighbourhood were held captive for a week, fed on crack and insults, and thrown into the streets to run rampant and cause havoc. It’s blisteringly furious and it’s all the more beautiful for it.
The only other song to rival the sheer seething vitriol is arguably closer ‘Monolith’; yet it’s ‘Monolith’ which is perhaps the most unique song of the lot. It perfectly captures the band’s frustration, but it’s the chorus (and probably the catchiest chorus on the album) of ‘Hey, you, fuck you too, I’ll do what I want when I want to’ that truly encapsulates the album. The ‘80s style synth in the verses is reminiscent of Welcome to the Neighbourhood, which creates a lovely parallel between the new and the old, while the rest of the track probably composed the heaviest track on the album — that is, until you reach the very end, laden with what could almost be considered an Easter Egg, as Ash and Henry break into a gentle, melancholic and truly haunting piece of piano that echoes in your head for hours after you listen.
The album is perfect, particularly with how the world is now. Do yourself a favour: put this on, scream along, and feel all the better for it.
Words by James O’Sullivan