Playlouder - Music is the Network

In the beautifully paced first track, with its characteristically fluid guitar and bass and the introductory yodel of Hayden Thorpe‘s much-lauded falsetto, there’s already a sense of artistic purpose and eccentric character to Wild Beasts: things which may sound commonplace, because they are often misidentified in other bands – either due to false optimism or lazy critique – but things which, nonetheless, well suit these Cumbrian wonders, whose debut ‘Limbo, Panto’ does well to stand out amongst Domino’s often-interesting output.

Wild Beasts’ twin formidabilities lie in

a) the vocal prowess of both (not just one) of their main singers: Hayden Thorpe reaches Kate Bush highs and still growls like a boar, and Tom Fleming sounds like a better-trained Edwyn Collins.

b) the tightness of the band, whose twists and turns in weight and pace belie their traditional setup and speak of a great quivering creativity that one couldn't usually hope for from an English four-piece.

‘Assembly’, one of two fine singles I’d heard, is absent, as is another I haven’t yet heard; apparently there’s plenty of thought gone into the arrangement of the album. Or perhaps it’s to prove Wild Beasts are a band already well established?

Of that there’s no question. Tracks like ‘The Club of Fathomless Love’ and ‘Brave Bulging Buoyant Clairvoyants’ show a band well into the swing of things. If it wasn’t so peculiar it would be hard to believe this was a debut.

I’ve often wondered whether one could get rich by transporting a modern rock band through time to the earlier part of the twentieth century, and I’ve usually come to the conclusion that the poor unsuspecting folk of the past would hate it. 

With Wild Beasts, you can almost imagine it working; fools in old-style coats and hats making merry to the tunes of ‘Limbo, Panto’ paints a fine picture. The thing is, one can as easily imagine it working the other way around, (say, 2099!) which would be no mean feat – it’s hard to make music sound timeless.

And their storytelling shines throughout; ‘Please, Sir’ is a flash-fiction lullaby of an errant lad beginning for mercy: “I only winded that lad before he bolted… I only fumbled that lass, besides, I was revolted”. Meanwhile ‘His Grinning Skull’, whose music is more brooding than most on display here, is an Iris Murdoch novel or a Hitchcock film within the space of a song. Though less of a stand-out at first, it will return to haunt you.

Even their take on the greatest rock ‘n’ roll cliché of all is entirely unique, with the seductive outpourings of ‘She Purred While I Grrred’ being to ‘Whole Lotta Love’ what John Donne is to Lee Child.

There’s more than just an instant intrigue and appeal to these songs; there’s layers of work, with each excavation relinquishing new riches. 

By the time you’re waltzing to the dying strains of ‘Cheerio, Chaps, Cheerio Goodbye’ you’ll need no further convincing that Wild Beasts are worth shouting about.