All good things must come to an end, or at least they did for the British art-rock quartet Wild Beasts recently, the quartet deciding to call it a day and head in some cases for real jobs and you guess realer people than you bump into working day to day in the music industry.
Commercially more muscular than ‘just’ a jobbing indie band, the Beasts are/were contemporaries of Django Django, at least to the extent that they both make/made records which swim/swum very much against the tide of modern disposability and lowest common denomination.
There, most similarities ended; Django’s eponymous debut album was recorded largely in drummer Dave Maclean’s bedroom and went on to unexpectedly (to them) sell over 100,000 copies in the UK alone, an appeal based, it largely seemed, on word of mouth and an irresistible live show.
The diffident mood that prevailed was then mildly chastened on follow up Born Under Saturn, the grooves lengthened but the band’s fuzzed up quality accidentally surrendering a little mojo in return. You’re only as good as your next record of course, so whilst it’s far from true that their harmony rich brew of electronica and indie would be easy to take back to basics, Maclean & co have been wise enough to understand that the gently psychedelic nuances of Marble Skies’ predecessor worked best as a one-off, diversionary tactic.
Its making was helped by having a newly found advantage of recording in their own studio in North London, and hence bothering less with the clock. It rubs off, a more carefree approach first aired on precursory single Tic Tac Toe, a breezy guitar shuffle that’s a kissing cousin to first album staple Default, whilst the insistent drum chatter and rolled up synth pads of In Your Beat are also clear signals of a return to less eclectic jams.
More directly connected again? Yes, but this isn’t the output of a band making obvious concessions, as the near six-minute techno inspired pulse of Real Gone debunks, whilst both Sun Dials and Champagne have a latent sixties feel, the latter with an added dose of mad professor-ish, end-of-the-pier vibe for good measure.
These contrasts are all part of the Django palette, a world in which they can be experimental but still subtly convert their audience to tricks old and new. The two brightest moments here, though, are possibly the least complicated; on Surface To Air guest vocalist Sarah Taylor – on hire from Slow Club – imparts an earthy tinge of humanity and no little soul, whilst closer Fountains is rich in the sensations of joyful contemplation and ethereal playfulness of The Beta Band at their early, wonderful peak.
As the world of a professional musician becomes an ever more parlous one, it would make sense to give in to any urge to self-limit; whilst Marble Skies is a thoroughly enjoyable return to the more familiar for citizens of it like Django Django, it’s also another step in a journey which could still go and anywhere – and most likely will.
