by Matty McPherson (@ghostplanetmatt)
In November 2019, Speedy Wunderground released a compilation LP of their 7” singles from their fourth year as a label. The acts on the comp—including Squid, Black Country, New Road, and Black Midi—had been taking the British punk playbook and twisting it towards esoteric and magpie tendencies; no one was quite making songs per se, but long form vignettes, quick witted dance escapades, or something in between. Now in 2021, this framework of British punk to come documented on that compilation has been making the rounds on British indies throughout the last half year. While Matthew Perpetua’s guide to this “new wave” featured many of the Wunderground artists alongside other parallel travelers, Black Midi and their new eight song Cavalcade was notably omitted. “It’s kind of a different thing,” Perpetua clarified in a twitter comment.
Cavalcade has been out for nearly a month now, and I still find myself oozing over how they managed to rip it up and start once more in their own orbit. The change to producer John “Spud” Murphy and significant increase in the size of their backing arrangements did not betray their adherence to any of the critical Wunderground tenants (perhaps most importantly numbers eight and ten, which involve working quickly and without being slow, respectively). Last year’s Bandcamp exclusive Tales of Suspense and Revenge suggested the lads were becoming enamored with theatricality. When they went into the studio with intentions for an extravagant EP and left with a full album's worth instead, it was not just confirmed, but assured that Black Midi’s newfound embrace of theatrics has helped them to drop Schlagenheim’s improvisational wonkery.
Thus, the trio of singles—”John L,” “Slow,” and “Chromadicalla Patullima”—outright transformed Black Midi into a progressive act fit for Editions EG. Paralleling the anti-charisma of Lounge Lizards (Geordie Greep’s outfit at the KEXP performance and the track name John L seem too coincidental) and a sound crossed between said no-wavers and King Crimson, each track became their own bonkers world of start-stop motion. The trio treated these three tracks as meticulous stage scenes, taking that technical wizardry Schalgenheim had and terraforming it further. Thus, the kinds of compositional synthesis that thrived on Tortoise’s TNT as much as ECM era David Torn LPs are in play on these tracks; taking these kick-punch epics (that seem like deadlock festival favorites to come) and mending them with electronic overrides and seamless transitions that make this a full album listen.
Anyways, I bring up ECM, as Greep had cited the label’s audiophile “sound” as an influence in a status update for The Quietus. It’s an inspired, welcome nod to a label that despite sneaking into the sounds of Radiohead to Black Country, New Road, is often relegated to the overlooked, bargain corner of a record store. The band excels in recasting the technical end of those ECM albums, by seizing upon a more patient, sullen corner of their sound previously shrouded in mystery. The lush lap steel guitar and flutes of “Marlene Dietrich,” and (the first half of) “Ascending Forth,'' along with the Zither and Irish/Greek bouzoukis of “Diamond Stuff” embrace candlelight acoustics, pushing the middle of the album into astral territories beyond the prog, no-wave, and technicality that already made Black Midi a favorite to watch.
These tracks are dizzying odysseys that blur a line between autofiction and balladry for both Greep and Cameron Picton. Before, the two were compelling in their own anti-charismatic ways. The former had perfected the mannerisms of a gremlin, for better or worse, as the latter had become a singular truth bearer—after all it was Picton who conveyed Black Midi’s essential promise on “Speedway” (“Honey we won’t build to this code”) while also delivering a potent, yet unexpected reminder of “lead in the water” on “Near Dt, MI”. Here though, Picton coos with restraint and internal resignation, contemplating monotonous routines leading nowhere (“Slow”) and or entertains the idea of being “a husk made of diamond stuff” (“Diamond Stuff”), while sounding like he’s bleeding out from this dimension, unhurriedly waiting to be carried down to the other side by those synthesizers and pianos.
Picton is an equally imaginative, reverent foil that complements Greep. Beyond the scowls and howls, Greep entertains a focus on figures--whether real, fictitious, or a temerous recollection. All conveyed via a newfound vocal range that depending on its firmness or looseness, he can shift the tone into the playful backwoods farce of “John L'' or “Hogwash and Balderdash” (an inspired twang ditty whose only mistake is not sticking around for just another few glorious seconds before the prank highlight of the album) or highbrow tragedy. “Marlene Dietrich” is one such case of this latter emphasis, a ghostly recollection of “the girl that once was” to play “the song we all know,” delicately imparted with the taste of a most splendid velvety pinot noir. His greater emphasis on somberness in these moments parallel the lyrical splendor and wallow of David Slyvian’s characters within Secrets of the Beehive, a welcome flavor in their omnibus-yet-not-crushing influence matrix.
At the center of the album is “Dethroned,” the tour-de-force for Greep’s lyricism as much as the band’s depthless sound synthesis. Greep studiously interrogates the thought patterns of an unkempt outcast, once revered yet now vagabond, forever haunted and secretive. The ethereal, floating intro is a red herring though, catapulting into a future-funk groove-driven odyssey. Mended by Morgan Simpson’s ecstatic, perfect percussion, Picton’s relentless bass, and Greep’s noise guitar trickery, they propulsively repel back any of the lyrical dismay while delivering a bonafide sonic successor to early 00s dance punk freakouts. Wholly unexpected, yet completely welcome, I can only hope that Black Midi continues to uncover such uncanny crevices to explore and return with capers of great suspense and revenge as this cunning.