Squid - 'Crispy Skin'
Photo by Harrison Fishman
With cannibalistic tastes in tow, Squid dabble with gourmet prospects of sonic panic in their brand-spanking new single.
We now find ourselves existing in an age where the term – ‘squidesque,’ can be confidently expressed and received as a logical adjective. The latest entry from Bristol-based, Brighton-raised, post-punk quintet Squid is a fitting place for such an adjective as ‘squidesque,’ to be applied with confidence. Reeling from the success of their dam-busting debut album, Bright Green Field and their promising sophomore record, O Monolith, the band are raring to continue their streak. With the announcement that a third album, Cowards, will release in the coming year, the band sugared the interests of their fans with a tasty single that is courageous in nature, and ultimately ‘squidesque,’ in both character and sound.
Titled, Crispy Skin, the new single is stitched together with menagerie of sounds that are both immersive and alienating. Stirring up a maelstrom, the band impishly cultivate a maddening fever that waxes and wanes with unsettling tendencies. Beginning with a synth-led intro akin to the opening of Baba O’ Riley (or perhaps the spritely soundtrack of many Nintendo games), the song is very promptly swarmed by a delicate web of dazzling guitar riffs that are ever fleeting. Distorted vocalisations haunt in the background, contorting and casting a charming culture of calmness that soon becomes panic. Drums soon fumble, quickening the haste and the emergence of a bass-line loudens, clearing a path for lead-singer Ollie Judge to terrorise with his misaligned, mysterious and muddled narrative. Like previous tracks, Judge’s voice is sinisterly expressive, ebbing with esoterica, edging with anxious pants of despair. The continuous instrumentation flows like clockwork, cradling the lyrics with pendular, scratchy rhythms. Soon, the track sheds its pandemonium for chiaroscuro-like enchantment. Stripped down, Judge’s lyrics are staged in a mercurial fashion, hosting the narrative voice of a man whose reflections rage against him.
Sonically, like earlier Squid tracks, the stillness is not given much time to settle as the band return to knitting together a space-age wave of noise. Both brittle and brash, Squid juggle heightened emotions with a liberal grasp. It has been reflected by Judge that the inspiration for the song was his reading of the dystopian novel, Tender Is The Flesh. In the novel, cannibalism is a societal norm, a practice without an afterthought. On the lyrical front, Judge looks to deconstruct this fictional environment with the paling doubts of a narrator unable to exist in a world where such gory, inhumane actions are acceptable. With mirroring comments such as “Am I the bad one?” Judge isolates his narrator in a corridor of mirrors where morality is given close, claustrophobic clarity. The unsettling title of the song itself ‘Crispy Skin,’ stabs throughout the lyrics at moments, crafting a marvellous sense of unease where our own carnivorous habits are bound to the habits of those in the world Judge’s narrator inhabits. Existential and gowned in a maddening panic, the song boasts the better elements of the band. It is a song that I truly adore, not solely for its musicality, but also for its world-building aspirations that appear to be limitless and at the same time confined to the mundane, human experience. Ending with the same, fairy-dust frailty where remaining synths clot up the silence, the track is cyclical, ending in tandem with the same elements that birth it.
It’s okay to start believing that the phrase ‘squidesque,’ might one day make it into a variation of an online dictionary one day. It may evade the hard-back variant, but at this rate the band are grappling with a legacy of becoming avant-garde without the cliched baggage of that phrase being a concern. Tantalisingly talented, Squid joust with great moral questions once again, albeit with a tightly-knitted instrumentation and a hook that bleeds into repeated encounters with the song. Helped along by the unparalleled production of long-time collaborator Dan Carey, the sterile ambience loosens up space and gifts every individual instrument, sample or loop a tremendously expensive dominion where they can push the limits without restriction. It is a song at the tip of the spear, a song that encompasses a vast catalogue of sounds and inspirations, without slacking or appearing messy. Squid are definitive and dangerously tipping the balance of what art-rock or post-punk music is capable of. Forever shall I enjoy what they have to offer, especially if it’s as delicious as ‘Crispy Skin.’
Words by Josh Mabutt
