Gather round everybody, this isn’t a happy tale. The Men have returned with an album of terror, paranoia, passion and power.
Drift is a quirky record to say the least. Taken as a whole it feels like a story in reverse; instead of building up to a thrilling end, it starts with a tumultuous climax. This insanely inventive first half is then spent with the musical equivalent of Prozac as The Men attempt to calm things down and allow their listeners out alive.
The claustrophobic opener Maybe I’m Crazy is a sweaty, heaving, paranoid episode bottled. It’s uncomfortable, unhinged and unbelievably good. It constantly threatens to do something unexpected. But it’s not all madness and mayhem; Drift is a much more considered roller-coaster ride than that.
Even before the second half’s come down there are moments of real brooding power. When I Held You In My Arms is an atmospheric, tragic and wonderfully visceral track; Secret Light, on the other hand, is a fuzzed out slice of evil psychedelia, funkily dark and groovily dirty, shaking as hard as it’s possible to do in such pitch-black tones. Hypnotic and unrelenting, this is possibly the record’s standout moment.
Drift then begins its descent with Rose On Top Of The World, like finding a serial killer’s journal and that sandwiched in-between the utter horror is a page listing his 10 favourite carebears and why they’re so adorable. The change in tone is quite stark. This track’s mood and tempo initially feels awkwardly upbeat, but that seems to be the point.
So High takes this shift further. The Men wallow in deep country tones, it’s rootsy with a Brian Jonestown Massacre doing their twee British chummy style to it. Killed Someone is the angry half of the record’s dying gasp. Straight punk. Brutal. Like some kind of ancient, blunt instrument. Compared to all the textured paranoia and charm
surrounding it, it’s a deafening wake-up call with nowhere to hide. When it then shifts into the instrumental Sleep, all bets are off. It’s creepy, intriguing and full of malice. And devilishly good.
Final Prayer is a sprawling poetic piece, like Jim Morrison’s American Prayer sung by Leonard Cohen with the Black Angels as backing band. Drift bows out with Come To Me, the musical equivalent of the “and it was all a dream ending”. However, in this context, it works. Even though this is the most tender, quiet moment on the record, even though Drift has some truly guttural hits scattered throughout, it somehow all feels like it was building up to this.
Drift is one hell of a ride through a very messed up mind. But it’s also cathartic, bowing out with a moment of what feels like utter redemption. Which is what makes this often paranoid, dark album so joyous; the fear and the confrontation are not simply to shock, they’re an attempt at salvation. It’s records like this that could save us all.
Drift is insane but also, more than that, it’s beautiful in a truly unusual way.
