Certain albums take on a character of their own. Something intangible. Something beyond the cover sleeve or the promotional photoshoots and music videos. ‘Lifeline‘ is one of those certain albums. Rather than a mere collection of sound-a-like songs, this music is intelligently insubordinate, self-aware, and possessed of an old-fashioned romantic streak. At its simplest, most categorical level, yes, it’s indie pop, but since when do we connect with a music’s genre label?
These are songs of desperation; memories of hopeful promises made long ago, put aside for undreamt-of excuses and trivialities. All those plans made on sunny days fall apart in album opener ‘My Little Navy‘, somehow both light as a feather and weightier than a pregnant albatross. Later on, ‘3 Miles‘ plays out long-distance heartaches, stretching the gaps between two people until the “heart breaks a little more with every beat”.
Each song adds another layer to this feeling of love almost found, of happiness interrupted. The title track leads where others must follow, ripping it up in true heartbreaking style. ‘Animals‘ lives up to these expectations, as realities of adult relationships come crashing down: “we spent our time according to dreams/it would sometimes freak me out.”
To make an album as personal and eclectic as ‘Lifeline‘, The Answering Machine went solo. They consciously shut themselves off in their underground practice room, away from the globe-trotting lifestyle and the big name producers of this world. And it worked. First-time producer and longtime frontman Martin Colclough grounds the songs with sparse instrumentation to support his youthful Mancunian burr. Gemma Evans thumps the bass end and puts her own pipes to good use. Patrick Fogarty’s guitars provide that extra texture you never knew you needed so much. Ben Perry drums with taste and extraordinary discipline.
It’s that discipline in the band that lends ‘Lifeline‘ such scope and promise. These sonic thrills from an inner-city basement manage to be wistful and stoic at the same time. The range is incredible; from the pared down power of ‘Rules‘ to ‘Video 8’s anthemic retro charm, this album is all about surprises and dimensions.
The band’s taste for meticulous arrangements and lo-fi instrumentation give the lyrics space to breathe, an essential consideration on something as ambitious as ‘The End‘. Gemma Evans lends the refrain a laconic bitterness: “you said I’d always be the one”, closing the album with a feeling of tender force and crushing denial.
‘Romantic and Square‘ strikes the listener as a bit too on the nose – something of a pink, kitten-shaped signpost to love’s cutesier tendencies. This and the oddly unimaginative ‘Hospital Lung‘ see ‘Lifeline‘ sag a little in the middle of its otherwise remarkable 45 minute run-time.
If there are low points on the album, then the high points stand all the taller. The title track, for instance, does delightful and probably illegal things to the human body; ‘3 Miles‘ is tense and yearning and impossible to skip. And then there’s ‘Video 8‘. Already a helpless victim of the vicious ‘replay’ button, ‘Video 8‘ shamelessly steals all the best bits of ‘Lifeline‘ for itself.
Favourites aside, the lasting impression of ‘Lifeline‘ is akin to that of recent documentary The Promise. There, we watched The Boss shaping his musical vision for ‘Darkness on the Edge of Town‘, affording painstaking attention to every little choice. Every song had to fight for a place on the track listing. ‘Lifeline‘ boasts that same precision; that distinct sound searched for so long , more or less sustaining a freshness and flexibility from song to song.
The Answering Machine have been ambitious, and it’s paid off nicely. Please leave your pre-orders after the beep.
Beep.
(Simon Moore)
