The death of Mark E. Smith created an odd vector of dewy-eyed nostalgia amongst journalists and fellow musicians of a certain age, but whilst much of the eulogies focused on his lack of suitability as an employer and the personality tics which made observing him in later years feel almost perverse, much less attention was paid to the nature of his legacy.
Part of this was because The Fall were such a conjunction of obdurate tensions, a smorgasbord which saw them veer gleefully between the brilliant and the banal, that trad off being the odd Brix-inspired period of chart habitation in the 1980s, to Smith’s constant obsession with always having new/old product to confront us with.
Perhaps a less acknowledged role was that of that of the grubby raconteur as an accidental visionary; The Fall themselves were able to make him an almost begrudged living in spite of their ever tightening niche, but his arrogance, refusal to compromise and legendary peth are now, importantly, beacons for a generation of bands who regard music as more a form of communicated expression than an opportunity to make a few quid and have a bit of a laugh.
A quintet from the Pennine-nestling town of Mossley, Cabbage aren’t related to Smith’s nebulous cloud of unthink in any other way than Fat White Family, Shame or Idles are, but their disparate threads are all united by the goal of taking as much from their audience as they give, being against passivity whilst revelling in the ambiguous and absurd. They’re fun too.
Having released five EPs containing what felt like about ten times that number of ideas over the last couple of years, the erstwhile quintet – co-vocalists Lee Broadbent and Eoghan Clifford (guitar), Joe Martin, bassist Steve Evans and drummer Asa Morley – wisely chose the experience of producers James Skelly and Rich Turvey to turn their jigsaw of thoughts into something more coherent. The ride still isn’t easy; Nihilistic Glamour Shots itself is a reference to the pernicious effects of social media’s creeping narcissism on our personality, and song titles like Obligatory Castration and Reptile’s State Funeral speak to an entry price for potential listeners which is refreshingly high.
Having a conscience doesn’t preclude making great music (as all the previously listed bands have proven) and whilst the rumbling swagger of Arms Of Pleonexia sounds like an unlikely jab for a song about wanton materialism, it’s still full of primal, low foreheaded fun for the rest of us. They can also do full throttle, two-fingers-up punk just as effectively, as demonstrated on Post Modernist Caligula and Molotov Alcopop, the latter probably the moment at which diffidence and passive aggression meet each other in a shoulder-shrugging head on.
If you’re here for that you’ll be fine, but Nihlistic Glamour Shots also has a surprising number of layers. On Exhibit A the band collectively proffer a staggering, perverse strain of country on which to hoist the zero-sum farce of modern politics on its own petard, whilst Perdubaro’s ramshackle post-punk sounds like it might fall apart at any minute, and Disinfect Us dices surf rock, desperation and menace like measures in a polemical cocktail.
Thus is the influence of Mark E. Smith measured from – dum, da, daaah – BEYOND THE GRAVE. What was and remains his gift is that people can see fit to reject everything around them which defines their generation, seek to personify it, ridicule it and make others question their values without ever asking a single question of their own. Closer Subhuman 2.0 reduces the pearl back to grit, a long, slow walk backwards that skews compromise into trivia.
Cabbage have made a record that suits themselves and dons a coat of many messages without a hint of evangelism. It’s thoughtful, tough and not for the fainthearted.
When you spot the parallels, let us know.
