Bombarded by a news cycle that weighs a ton, lied to by everyone who are paid to tell the truth, our natural instincts sometimes are just to go with it.
This apathy of the minor damned bleeds into almost every facet of modern existence, and The Overload revolves around it, juxtaposing doing the right thing with the thing that generates the least amount of grief.
In the words of singer James Smith, this coping mechanism revolves around blotting the guilt out: ‘It kind of crushes them in as many ways as it makes them happy – you sacrifice your beliefs for a life of comfortability, and still have to carry the burden of that decision.’
At times this manifests itself via the blackest-of-the-black humour the Leeds quartet have already become renowned for – especially on Rich, where the subject accidentally reaps the dubious rewards of avaricious capitalism, only to be owned by the fear of losing something they never asked for.
Smith met co-conspirator Ryan Needham years ago, both familiar faces in the city’s small and closely knit scene. Needham moved into his spare room and the pair began an unexpectedly febrile period of songwriting, having been joined by Sam Shjipstone (guitar) and Jay Russell (drums).
As momentum began to build via a clutch of snarky, post-punk influenced early singles, the standout of which was the brilliant inverse pop of Fixer Upper, lockdown drove them back indoors.
For those not really listening Yard Act were quickly bracketed along with Gang Of Four (local heritage) or The Fall (angry northern sociopathy). Whilst the resemblance was there, Smith’s wilting characterisations are as sympathetic as they’re smart, and although The Overload is a political album, it’s also, he says, ‘a messy, complex, knowingly hypocritical snapshot of our current state of play’.
As a display of confidence, Fixer Upper is omitted, although its obnoxious anti-hero Graham returns for a pair of cameos. Lyrically there is also some punching down, as over scuzzy guitar chop Dead Horse spits venom at the nationalist minority which are somehow running – and ruining – everyone’s show.
A tap in for the liberal elite they’d say, waving their flags. But both in words and music the foursome have been smart enough to otherwise avoid getting tribally boxed in. On Payday it’s the urban fetishism that turns grow-your-own into some kind of super heroism on the rack, complemented by the kind of gonzo funk which for lovers of the unexpected is awkwardly danceable.
Needham felt The Overload was a concept album of sorts, a project which even deep in had the working title of Yard Act – The Musical. Although the idea was eventually trashed, a vague outline of it still exists: the final act even includes a predictably complicated happy ending, firstly with the mashed-up vibes of Pour Another – arguably the album’s most complete song – and then with closer 100% Endurance.
Here, despite the dystopian mess, everything comes to a point, and that point is that there is a point, that despite living one day at a time in a state of #beunkind love is made, people hug, smiles are still given up to strangers and that life goes on, regardless of a mean tweet that isn’t true anyway.
A fair amount of the time debut albums sounds exactly like you think they will. Whether this is because that’s what you really want, or that those people writing them do, they’re more often than not a case of wish fulfillment.
The Overload isn’t a dozen Grahams being dickheads twelve times over whilst you look good on the dancefloor; it’s got warmth, heart and pith in equal measure.
Not many bands make their second album their first, but Yard Act have – and like their future, the Rover’s golden.
