The band have stepped up their storytelling chops to a considerable degree, and their formerly stale instrumental ambitions finally have something worthwhile to play against. “Sugar/Tzu”, for instance, dips its toes into a similar brand of prog whirlwind, but it incorporates this in support of a back-and-forth boxing match commentary with clear direction, rounded out by successive fleet-footed changes of pace. The upshot is far and away their most consistently focused record to date: unlike past narrations, which frequently scanned as background noise amidst overcalculated ‘chaos’, “Hellfire”’s subject matter is forthright enough to subjugate the instrumental romps that once stifled entire songs. No longer is Black Midi strictly synonymous with lab-grown semblances of chaos Hellfire steps right into its titular brimstone, affording the band’s postmodern fables newfound stakes and dynamism.
They have apparently found it in the least likely place imaginable: full-on gonzo carnage.
Abruptly, the flashlight went out.įollowing last year’s avant-snooze Cavalcade, Black Midi were on top of an abundance of ideas, an abundance of irritating ways of contorting them, and an unusually dire need of a redemption arc for such a young hype-shaped band-vehicle. Blood began to seep out amoeba-like to form shifting patterns with the weak glow of the water. The alligator jerked, did a backflip, thrashed briefly, was still.
Review Summary: “I’m sorry," he told the alligator.
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