Catfish & The Bottlemen’s meteoric rise from bleary eyed rock and roll hopefuls, relentlessly traversing the north west in the pursuit of the Oasis-ian dream, is one of an increasingly rarefied yet endearing tale in contemporary music folklore.
The Llandudno-based band has seen their hard work pay off in droves since initial formation in 2007. A series of independent EP releases eventually culminated with the rapturously received debut album ‘The Balcony‘ in the latter half of 2014. The next 18-months have seen sell-out headline tours on both sides of the pond and certified gold album sales, while a Breakthrough Band award at the Brits ensured lead singer Van McCann et al were tapping into a mainstream audience that few have managed to crack in the everyman’s clarion call, post ‘Definitely Maybe‘-era release of the Arctic Monkeys’ ‘Whatever People Say I Am That’s What I’m Not‘.
It almost seems fitting that this swift follow-up was recorded in New York with former Oasis producer Dave Sardy, providing all the necessary ingredients for utilising the band’s penchant for raucous singalong anthems with the aim to produce an LP which would unlock undoubted potential for the band to thrive on the biggest of stages.
Opener ‘7’ sees ‘The Ride‘ pick up where the debut left off, a thundering bassline and drum combination leading into McCann’s uniquely dulcet yet commanding vocals; arguably the band’s most distinctive asset. The crescendo-laden track, complete with a tempo altering acoustic faux-chorus, sets the tone for the chameleonic changes in lyrical themes on the remainder of the album, a topical focus moving away from the early throws of unadulterated romance on the debut into the bittersweet entanglement of long-distance relationships associated with lengthy touring – most poignantly stated in the lines, “I beg you, but you know I’m never home, and I love you but I need another year alone”.
This anguished, emotional tug-of-war leads into the palm-muted guitar heavy ‘Twice’, with escapist notions seeing McCann desperate to leave feelings of guilt in the past, interspersed with a solo from guitarist Johnny Bond going some way to a compromising song structure, despite McCann stating that he wouldn’t usually have room for such overblown indulgence.
Sardy’s polished production brings the pounding basslines of Benjamin Blakeway to the fore on The Strokes influenced ‘Soundcheck’, where garage-rock assaults are offset by arena filling solo bursts and a reflecting bridge section, with the chorus cries of, “I wanted everything at once, until you blew me out my mind, and now I don’t need nothing”, chiming with a general sense of battling priorities between work and play.
There is a continuation of the crescendo-laden-verse-to-amped-chorus theme until the perceived follow up to the popular acoustic interlude of ‘Hourglass’ on the debut arrives with a similarly introspective tale of tour romance on ‘Glasgow’. An unusually downbeat single choice is transformed into a welcome mid-album stop gap, a namedrop of the Sauchiehall Street sure to play on the nostalgic heartstrings of many a Glaswegian.
Catfish & The Bottlemen wear their Oasis influences firmly on their sleeves for a ‘Don’t Believe The Truth‘-era sound on ‘Oxygen’, complete with spritely arpeggiated riffs drenched in treble tone, complementing the playful lyrics seemingly plucked from the chronicles of classic Weezer-style pop-punk.
If ever there was an argument for the three-chord structure song format, then the incongruously explorative freedom found in ‘Red‘ would form the basis. McCann melodiously swoons over the reverberating chord progression with rhetorical questions of frustration at a love rival’s mistreatment of the woman of his affections, seeing a fervently delivered chorus and solo interspersions creating a cacophonous whirl of moving desperation.
Any indications of closing with a whimper are quickly dispersed with the majestically sprawling ‘Outside’, showcasing a five-minute long extract in optimistic potential for more complex deviation from the rousing three-minute verse-chorus-verse template. McCann’s vocal range fluctuates in the initial moments of quiet contemplation over cantering guitar before increasingly audible rhythms build to memorably spacious chorus lyrics of confused affection, a fitting closing sentiment for an album encapsulating the frustrations of relationship strife in the way that ‘The Balcony’ was a tribute to the wide-eyed infatuation encompassing our youth.
The band’s steadfast decision to stick to their roots of uncomplicated rock should be applauded in an industry which often demands variation in order to hold attention, their legions of fans unlikely to be deterred from a bolstered collection of ready-made live singalongs so relatable in their simplicity.
If the band truly wish to reach the peak of their powers however, their third release may benefit from a lengthier period of downtime so as to construct a record aiming further out of their comfort zone in order to cement their longevity, although they have done more than enough to ensure that, for now, they fill the gap left by Oasis as the go to band for late-night chorus cries of reckless abandon.
Something which every generation necessitates.
I have literally never heard anyone belting out their songs in ‘late-night chorus cries of reckless abandon’.