On Jan. 31, just four days prior to the release of their sophomore album, Ants From Up There, London-based experimental rock band Black Country, New Road (BC,NR) left their fans with a haunting sense of gravity. They announced the departure of their lead vocalist, Isaac Wood, and canceled their US tour set to follow the release. In a joint statement with the six remaining band members, Wood said, “I have bad news. Which is I have been feeling sad and afraid too.” This sentiment quickly gave way to, “We…hope you enjoy [Ants From Up There] nonetheless.”
There it was: an avant-rock collective left without its head; fans left in contention with their own demons, knowing that whatever strength they might find in Black Country, New Road’s words and melodies would demand to be heard alongside their real-life sorrow.
And they hadn’t even heard the album yet.
Black Country, New Road, a seven-member alternative group consisting of Tyler Hyde (bass), Lewis Evans (saxophone), Georgia Ellery (violin), May Kershaw (keys), Charlie Wayne (drums), Luke Mark (guitar), and Isaac Wood (vocals) entered 2022 having amassed significant critical acclaim. Their debut album For the First Time, released almost exactly one year earlier, catapulted them into a unique caliber of celebrated contemporary post-punk acts, among the likes of Squid, black midi, and Dry Cleaning.
Since their debut, BC,NR has never been described as stagnant. Their combination of orchestral arrangements, experimental song structures, rock conventions, and talk-singing vocals created a sound both visceral and dynamic. Ants From Up There is an exercise in movement. It epitomizes the band’s shift over the past year. Their sound becomes more refined––more accessible––but is still unreservedly offbeat. On For the First Time, BC, NR executed their genre with utmost finesse; on Ants From Up There, they completely redefine the scope of their own sound. But they never sacrifice the technical and emotional prowess that first drew the world’s attention.
The first track, “Intro,” is eerily upbeat, opening the album with a flurry of violins and saxophones. The melody stops abruptly to make space for “Chaos Space Marine,” and then immediately picks up where it left off. The instrumental is clean, almost comically so, yet Wood’s vocals bring the listener back down to earth. His first line is, “And though England is mine. / I must leave it all behind,” a reference to a Morrissey lyric on the Smith’s track “Still Ill.” “Chaos Space Marine” is an example of the sheer diversity in BC,NR’s influence, at times resembling a 90s Pulp track more than anything in the post-punk genre.
It becomes clear that there is not much immediately appealing to listen to about Wood’s voice. He has Eddie Vedder’s grit coupled with Brian McMahan’s edge, but with a quality that is so distinctly his own. Without much range in delivery, he relies on a disquieted warble. His subversion is subtle, yet with every wail, whine, and whisper, Wood creates something novel.
The band continues to lean into contrasts on a following track entitled “Bread Song.” “Bread Song” opens tenderly, experiments dramatically, expanding with each new facet and soundscape. Some parts lack coherent time signatures and others barely seem to be keeping time at all. Around the midway point, there is an intentional minor progression raising you to a place that is equal parts eerie and comforting. With each layer and step of sound you become comfortable with, something changes—until all of a sudden it drops out, your soul returns to your body, and you begin to realize the absurdity of a song about having crumbs in your bed sheet. Here, their subtle genius becomes clear: for as seriously as they want us to take them, they certainly aren’t afraid to joke with us. Their music speaks to larger-scale trials that life affords, yes, but isn’t afraid to mention “particles of bread” or dedicate itself to a girl with “Billie Eilish style.”
The album plods its way to a close. The final three tracks last upwards of seven, nine, and twelve minutes respectively. “The Place Where He Inserted the Blade” is a definitive high point, with an array of influences from klezmer to slowcore. It is softer than much of what the album accustomed us to. It follows the thoughts of a man who sliced his hand while following a cooking tutorial, but through that, is able to tackle themes of love, heartbreak and codependency. With lyrics oscillating between dramatic and mundane and even a reference to Kanye West’s “Bound 2,” “The Place Where He Inserted The Blade” serves as another example of BC,NR’s masterful ability to take something pedestrian and turn it into an epic. “Snow Globes” showcases the band’s percussion at its strongest. As punchy, erratic drums build atop Wood’s vocalizations, a listener almost feels like they are being shaken up in the center of a snow globe. The album finishes straddling enormity and mundanity. Basketball Shoes creates a new sprawling soundscape, both in length and grandiosity, and finally ends with a full crescendo into an erratic iteration of the “Intro” melody. And then, everything stops, leaving you with nothing but the seven seconds of white noise left on the track and your own thoughts.
The cover art of Ants From Up Here depicts a small metal airplane—hearkening back to their Concorde—inside of what looks like a small plastic bag. Ants From Up Here mimics a disastrous flight a lot of the time—sounds race through the air at hundreds of miles per hour—yet everything is perfectly orchestrated and controlled. By the end, you find yourself exactly where you started; the outro of Basketball Shoes is just a slower take of the wild Intro instrumentals. You start inside of a plastic bag and end up back inside of your plastic bag.
But for just a moment, you were able to transcend. You soared through the confines of the rock and pop and alternative and post punk and chamber genres, beyond the three-and-a-half minute song, and out of your earthly troubles. Before you started the journey, you knew it was doomed to futility. Four days before, you stood face to face with this futility. Yet, the experience was like no other. Isaac Wood was undoubtedly a centerpiece of this journey, yet, if Black Country, New Road have taught us anything through their albums, it is this: no matter what, they will never stop moving.
On Jan. 31, just four days prior to the release of their sophomore album, Ants From Up There, London-based experimental rock band Black Country, New Road (BC,NR) left their fans with a haunting sense of gravity. They announced the departure of their lead vocalist, Isaac Wood, and canceled their US tour set to follow the release. In a joint statement with the six remaining band members, Wood said, “I have bad news. Which is I have been feeling sad and afraid too.” This sentiment quickly gave way to, “We…hope you enjoy [Ants From Up There] nonetheless.”
There it was: an avant-rock collective left without its head; fans left in contention with their own demons, knowing that whatever strength they might find in Black Country, New Road’s words and melodies would demand to be heard alongside their real-life sorrow.
And they hadn’t even heard the album yet.
Black Country, New Road, a seven-member alternative group consisting of Tyler Hyde (bass), Lewis Evans (saxophone), Georgia Ellery (violin), May Kershaw (keys), Charlie Wayne (drums), Luke Mark (guitar), and Isaac Wood (vocals) entered 2022 having amassed significant critical acclaim. Their debut album For the First Time, released almost exactly one year earlier, catapulted them into a unique caliber of celebrated contemporary post-punk acts, among the likes of Squid, black midi, and Dry Cleaning.
Since their debut, BC,NR has never been described as stagnant. Their combination of orchestral arrangements, experimental song structures, rock conventions, and talk-singing vocals created a sound both visceral and dynamic. Ants From Up There is an exercise in movement. It epitomizes the band’s shift over the past year. Their sound becomes more refined––more accessible––but is still unreservedly offbeat. On For the First Time, BC, NR executed their genre with utmost finesse; on Ants From Up There, they completely redefine the scope of their own sound. But they never sacrifice the technical and emotional prowess that first drew the world’s attention.
The first track, “Intro,” is eerily upbeat, opening the album with a flurry of violins and saxophones. The melody stops abruptly to make space for “Chaos Space Marine,” and then immediately picks up where it left off. The instrumental is clean, almost comically so, yet Wood’s vocals bring the listener back down to earth. His first line is, “And though England is mine. / I must leave it all behind,” a reference to a Morrissey lyric on the Smith’s track “Still Ill.” “Chaos Space Marine” is an example of the sheer diversity in BC,NR’s influence, at times resembling a 90s Pulp track more than anything in the post-punk genre.
It becomes clear that there is not much immediately appealing to listen to about Wood’s voice. He has Eddie Vedder’s grit coupled with Brian McMahan’s edge, but with a quality that is so distinctly his own. Without much range in delivery, he relies on a disquieted warble. His subversion is subtle, yet with every wail, whine, and whisper, Wood creates something novel.
The band continues to lean into contrasts on a following track entitled “Bread Song.” “Bread Song” opens tenderly, experiments dramatically, expanding with each new facet and soundscape. Some parts lack coherent time signatures and others barely seem to be keeping time at all. Around the midway point, there is an intentional minor progression raising you to a place that is equal parts eerie and comforting. With each layer and step of sound you become comfortable with, something changes—until all of a sudden it drops out, your soul returns to your body, and you begin to realize the absurdity of a song about having crumbs in your bed sheet. Here, their subtle genius becomes clear: for as seriously as they want us to take them, they certainly aren’t afraid to joke with us. Their music speaks to larger-scale trials that life affords, yes, but isn’t afraid to mention “particles of bread” or dedicate itself to a girl with “Billie Eilish style.”
The album plods its way to a close. The final three tracks last upwards of seven, nine, and twelve minutes respectively. “The Place Where He Inserted the Blade” is a definitive high point, with an array of influences from klezmer to slowcore. It is softer than much of what the album accustomed us to. It follows the thoughts of a man who sliced his hand while following a cooking tutorial, but through that, is able to tackle themes of love, heartbreak and codependency. With lyrics oscillating between dramatic and mundane and even a reference to Kanye West’s “Bound 2,” “The Place Where He Inserted The Blade” serves as another example of BC,NR’s masterful ability to take something pedestrian and turn it into an epic. “Snow Globes” showcases the band’s percussion at its strongest. As punchy, erratic drums build atop Wood’s vocalizations, a listener almost feels like they are being shaken up in the center of a snow globe. The album finishes straddling enormity and mundanity. Basketball Shoes creates a new sprawling soundscape, both in length and grandiosity, and finally ends with a full crescendo into an erratic iteration of the “Intro” melody. And then, everything stops, leaving you with nothing but the seven seconds of white noise left on the track and your own thoughts.
The cover art of Ants From Up Here depicts a small metal airplane—hearkening back to their Concorde—inside of what looks like a small plastic bag. Ants From Up Here mimics a disastrous flight a lot of the time—sounds race through the air at hundreds of miles per hour—yet everything is perfectly orchestrated and controlled. By the end, you find yourself exactly where you started; the outro of Basketball Shoes is just a slower take of the wild Intro instrumentals. You start inside of a plastic bag and end up back inside of your plastic bag.
But for just a moment, you were able to transcend. You soared through the confines of the rock and pop and alternative and post punk and chamber genres, beyond the three-and-a-half minute song, and out of your earthly troubles. Before you started the journey, you knew it was doomed to futility. Four days before, you stood face to face with this futility. Yet, the experience was like no other. Isaac Wood was undoubtedly a centerpiece of this journey, yet, if Black Country, New Road have taught us anything through their albums, it is this: no matter what, they will never stop moving.
