Back in October 2007, with Harry McVeigh, Charles Cave and Jack Lawrence at the core of the band, White Lies reinvented themselves as post-punk doom-laden rockers in the mould of the visibly influential Joy Division and Interpol, rising from the ashes of the more pop inspired Fear Of Flying.
Channelling profound musings with admirable lyrical dexterity and grandiose frenetic tension, 2009’s debut album ‘To Lose My Life‘ skilfully captured strong emotional feelings of young men grappling with the contemplation of fragile mortality.
Ambitious recordings such as the orchestral based tragedy epic ‘The Price of Love‘ were indications of what was to come on follow-up record ‘Ritual‘. That album saw the band take on a stadium-friendly, soaring chorus approach, creating a more uplifting listen which endeared them to a rapidly growing following, culminating in a headlining Wembley Arena show and Kings Of Leon arena support dates back in 2011.
While contemporary doom-mongers Glasvegas have endured label difficulties and a fall from the limelight back into unchartered depths, White Lies have been able to spin perceived foreboding in stage imagery and songwriting, and evolved into a sound altogether more marketable.
That’s not to say they have become a diluted version of esteemed gloomy past musical geniuses, although there is a sense on third album ‘BIG TV‘ that a diversion into a bold and brash power chord heavy arena sound may be slowly masking an altogether more nuanced and chillingly intriguing resonance harboured by their forbearers that they once seemed destined to replicate.
The Joy Division genetic strands are still apparent however in the album opener and title track, as McVeigh’s reverberating baritone sifts through a slow paced, cutting instrumental, before shifting midway into a New Order-evoking new wave electronic pulse. This builds to a recognisable electric guitar surge for the chorus as the volume’s cranked up around McVeigh’s socially detached cries of, “Why can’t anything be real? Emotions like the movie screen”.
Recent single ‘There Goes Our Love Again‘ is an uncomplicated love song by all accounts, indicative of an occasional problem on the album whereby lyrically vacant rhyme gives way to a predictable, repetitious chorus – only frustrating because there’s enough past and present evidence that their sound can be expanded beyond such formulaic song patterns.
A violin intro, also used to good effect throughout ‘First Time Caller‘, sees a welcome return to orchestral influenced territory; a common feature of the band’s finest moments of innovation and exhilaration to date. McVeigh’s earnest vocal expression feeds off the violin’s unpredictable nervous energy, creating an atmosphere of grand apprehension for a staple White Lies sound which often feels plucked from a psychological thriller film score.
‘Mother Tongue‘ is a largely pounding, power-chord weighted track, offset with quieter verses reflecting an example of a well paced song not always pinpointed on the remainder of the album.
Around the midway stage arrives ‘Getting Even‘, a splendid return to the aforementioned brooding and deft musical concepts, building steadily to a multi-layered chorus evoking a post break-up scene, wrangling for emotional freedom in the lines, “Even after all this wrestling of conscience, I can forgive, and we can forget”, acting as defiant opposing reasoning towards the other conflicted party.
‘Change‘ provides a hauntingly affecting interlude, with McVeigh pining for a past romantic life having descended into the cerebral depths of loneliness, claiming that he’s ‘never been too good at change’. This segues into an awaking initial burst of adrenaline fuelled energy in spiky, palm-muted chord playing in the form of ‘Be Your Man‘, tinged with energetic urgency and a satisfying, imagery filled chorus.
The final section is unfortunately the weakest, with ‘Heaven Wait‘ in particular seeing a plodding instrumental with repeated cries of ‘Wait for me, wait for me’ that is overstretched at just under the 5-minute mark. Closer ‘Goldmine‘ sounds like a lost Killers B-side, even featuring McVeigh adopt an unnecessary faux-Brandon Flowers accent to the point of a quivering vocal mannerism during the chorus.
With ‘BIG TV’, the ramped up stadium-filling audacity feels misplaced at times, although this is certainly an album that will likely come into its own in a live setting.