black midi—Cavalcade

The second album from Windie-darlings black midi, titled Cavalcade, largely improves upon its predecessor Schlagenheim. Perhaps the band had too much to prove on their self-consciously weird debut, because this sophomore sees them relax a bit and stop foot-pumping smoke up their own arses. Their “experimental” imitation of Scott Walker, Beefheart, and Zappa stays—but it’s now tastefully incorporated into songs which have something of their own to offer too. There’s an exception in closer ‘Ascending Forth’, which sounds so much like Tilt-era Walker it must be a deliberate parody.

None of this really hurts Cavalcade. It’s possible to be derivative without being shit. Zappa’s mania, jazziness and lyrical oddity aren’t things everyone would be able to pull off. And it’s refreshing to hear some actual musicality from BRIT school alumni. Half the time I feel like a post-war dad, waggling a cane around and asking, “what do they teach you at that sad excuse for a school”. I know I’m not alone: BRIT school’s spectre hangs over BM at the Brixton Windmill where, in one of the toilet cubicles, at one point was scribbled a disparaging message about them in marker pen. I don’t remember exactly what it said, but it was something pretty meaningless along the lines of “art school punks”, and was probably left there by someone called Oscar whose dad is a stockbroker.

Cavalcade has a mid-heavy mix that could sound a little tinny if you have Skullcandys, Beats, Marleys or any of those other toy headphones they sell next to the Funko Pops in HMV. It’s a unique counterpoint to lots of modern releases, which are automatically smiley-face-curved to de-emphasise mids. This is so you can rattle your nan’s windows when you roll up in your Citroen Saxo for Scrabble. Cavalcade’s mix reminds me a bit of Death Grips’ Year of the Snitch, which sounded like a computer being sick. Cavalcade is overall the better-engineered album; no individual elements compete for space, and even the bizarrely quiet vocals are easy to pick out.  

Cavalcade is a step forward for black midi. They still have some ways to go, but there’s definitely potential that it’d be great to see fulfilled. Unless it’s baby's first paddle in the experimental, black midi offer few surprises, and aren't quite the earth-shattering God-band that many hail them as. But they're not exactly Ed Sheeran either. black midi occupy the same Goldilocks zone as Radiohead, and will likely hoover up much of the same fanbase. They do scare the hoes, but not all the hoes. Cavalcade is a promising album—but unless black midi step out from the shadow of their influences, they’ll never shake that “buzz band” label. Whether they have it in them or not, it’ll be fun finding out.

Cavalcade is available for purchase and streaming here.

Words: Andrew O’Keefe

Salo Panto—Bait

Salo Panto are from Portland, Oregon—but their sound is such a patchwork of influences that it becomes stateless. But rather than diminish, this bestows them volatility and mystique. Bait stuffs its twenty-five minutes with surprises, never content to settle despite leaning into its repetitious grooves with full force. These divergent sounds rally into an irresistible whole. It's both bright and muggy at the same time; swamp mist ablaze with morning sunlight.

The best illustration of this is ‘Bait’, the EP’s title track. We begin with an unassuming, jangly guitar line which—over the course of seven expertly-executed minutes—transforms into a gargantuan riff. Nothing has changed, yet everything has. It’s reminiscent of post-revival Swans, who use repetition to bludgeon listeners into a trance. And, like Swans, Salo Panto expertly combine styles. ‘Bait’ is a cocktail of Savages-esque post-punk and freewheeling prog which somehow feels natural.

More influences can be felt elsewhere. The chorus of ‘Impatient Machine’ (“You’re so impatient machine”) feels built around Fall-like nonsense poetry which, unlike the work of M.E.S., does resolve into clear meaning. If there is one criticism to be made of Salo Panto, it’s this attachment to meaning. Lyrics can tend to the overt, the rational, even the didactic.

But to say that Salo Panto are nowhere near as radical as the Fall is moot—no band can be. They do exhibit a control and a collaborative spirit, though, which the enormity of M.E.S.’s ego always chased a hundred miles from any Fall release.

And it’s this control which is Salo Panto's ace in the hole. Without it, rock groups can loosen, rattle free of their own concept, and descend into jam-band dick-measuring. But on Bait, solos and meaty drum fills service the listener and the rest of the band—not just the one playing.

Bait is available to purchase and stream here.

Words by Andrew O’Keefe