Fatcat Records

Having been introduced by Jeremy Snyder of Pure Adult, FatCat Records have signed “Caviar”, Heavy Lungs’ 11-song sophomore set. Recorded in their hometown, at Humm Studios, over the course of ten days, the album opens with “Yes Chef”. A brief burst of static, cut up like automatic weapon fire and we’re off. The song is an ode to the joys of working in a restaurant kitchen, which is how Danny and James met, and the music is deliberately stripped back. Intended to have a live and immediate impact, it was written and recorded super quickly. Danny in call-and-response with George and Oliver, and everyone, racing, tight, tight, tight. The rhythm section packing a pile-driver punch and Oliver, again, throwing out flashes of feedback. In some ways, it’s their combined stop / start funk riffing that defines not just this track but the whole record.

“Cushion The Blow” is one of two pieces influenced by California. Not The Beach Boys, sunshine or surfing, but rather the righteous racket of outfits like Black Flag. Noisy squalls and big metal chords accompany bellowed lyrics, that bemoan being burnt out. There’s a tribal tom tom breakdown, and then a frenzied finale. The speed careering somewhere between Motorhead and hardcore.

The album’s title track, “Caviar”, is also, in part, inspired by legendary punk bands from The Golden State. It also pays homage to John Dahl’s movie, “Rounders”, which some folks figure to be the best film about poker ever made. Here, Danny tells the tale of a fictional high-roller, hanging out at James Bond’s favourite haunt, Casino Royale, while his bandmates raise a runaway train rumble from razor sharp guitar, dirty fuzz, snare rolls and wild scattershot syncopation. Squeezing in a short, but manic mind-bending space rock solo. Acting with irresistible gusto, shit, they just go for it. The tones splutter and spit as if coughing up Caviar itself at a Catalina wine mixer. Fuck what anybody else thinks.

The band named the long-player after sturgeon roe, since the iconic delicacy seemed to suggest, summed up in a few words, status, riches and excess. “Caviar” came to symbolise a better life, that for now was out of reach, and also strengthened their commitment / resolve to achieve success. The belief that they’ll get there one day.

“Get Out” features furious fretwork and drumming that would blow the cobwebs off your Nutribullet and the sand into everyone’s Pina Colada. Repetitive and rhythmic they generate incredible energy, and it’s hard to imagine four walls containing a frustrated Danny and his desire to escape whatever forces are attempting to contain him. The others echo him in a group, gang, terrace-like chant. Rather than a straight flashback to The Sex Pistols and 1977, this is amped-up, revved-up UK punk. Rather than local predecessors, like The Cortinas, it’s a Cortinas 45 pitched way past plus 8… and the B-line’s far groovier. There’s a wigged-out theremin in there too, emitting weird wah-wah licks.

Given the velocity of what’s gone before, “Into The Fire” comes as a curveball. James’ strummed distorted bass strings summoning a slow grungy funk peppered with percussive clacks of wooden blocks. Where some have likened Danny’s impassioned delivery to that of Fugazi’s Ian MacKaye, for this tune he growls low and moody, a ringer for Ministry’s Al Jourgensen. Oliver’s axe is serrated and angular, slashing at the track while digital delay adds extravagant dubwise effects. The band themselves say they were aiming for “Nick Cave meets Nine Inch Nails meets Carl Orff.”

“Self Portrait” is powerful pondering on procrastination, and also a tongue-in-cheek tribute to an unnamed group of “well dressed Swedes”. After climbing to a peak, it pauses for a fraction of a second, then peaks again. Twin peaks. Kyle Maclachlan would be proud.

“Ballerina” sounds like Big Black attempting a waltz, as it jumps between juxtaposed time signatures. Moving, like lighting, back and forth from marching to moshing. From a disciplined dynamo to a freakout free-for-all. Within this dense sonic wall, the words reflect on a painful break-up, the things that both sides should have said.

Similarly, “Call It In” remembers a solace sadly sought in the bottle. Moments when you invoke your monsters and demons to shield you from the storm. Its relentless pace and attack are so solid that the band could pass for a machine. There are no gaps for light to get in. The guitar used to shape strange, mutant Morse Code signals. The tape eventually tiring, it can’t keep up, breaking down and unspooling.

An atmospheric “ambient” short of distant shouts, 6-string screams, tumbling timpani and steam brewing, “Put Thy Kettle On” provides a brief breather. A momentary, calming hot beverage from within the eye of the storm.

“Mr. Famous” is a great garage nugget, that the four piece describe as “Ty Segall leading 1000 peeved geese into battle". Putting their sense of humour to the fore, this is the group at their most pop. Lyrically trading dead end jobs for fame and fortune, and then pressing lift off, igniting a rocket, racket of transcendental psych thrash. “I want to be famous already. This is boring!”, is Danny’s rallying cry.

“Life’s A Buffet” was the last song to be written. Danny explains that he wanted it to be like “the end of a `60s concept album, but without the concept”, and finish with the same energy and power unleashed at the start. Rocking, rigid, like The Fall, but jacked, juiced and much, much more muscular, plus it’s peppered with weird proggy fills. The phrase actually began as an in-joke, while on tour with IDLES, but has since been elevated to the level of band dogma. “I had my fill and I’m still starving”, they shout. As Mark E. Smith once said, “It’s not repetition, it’s discipline.”

Definitively demonstrating their amazing ability to not only lock into, but also jump violently out of a groove, the band have boisterously filled their trolley to the brim with the Beluga high grade ready to triumphantly administer to the world once more It is, without a doubt, “The most Heavy Lungs record there is.”