Biffy Clyro - 'The Vertigo Of Bliss' (Beggars Banquet)
3/5
By: Toby L
Following the hap-dash rancidity of their, in parts, compelling debut-LP, 'Blackened Sky', Scots trio Biffy Clyro are once again back, this time with a brave, bold, second album - strident and gleaming with their potent, visceral (and not entirely quiet) blend of strings-inflected, angst-ridden post-hardcore.
Admirably, the threesome's album no. 2 wasn't an over-produced, ten-week folly in a residential farm-studio. Actually, the 13-track predecessor to their indie-benchmark of last year was recorded and produced in an inspired, if presumably knackering, 24-hour spell of non-stop instrument-canoodling. The rest of the week booked in the studio, if the press-release be followed, was spent on the far more prioritised of studio-rituals - whooping each other's asses on the designated Sony Playstation.
So, whilst convention may escape them in their recording-space, at least there's solace to be found amidst the depths of their often daring sense of melody. So, 'The Vertigo Of Bliss' is a pop-record - well, for 21st Century drug-addicts of all kinds, what with its delusional, paranoid, schizophrenic, diverse, frenetic, and guitar-sprawling leaps into all manifestations under the sun achievable from the 'rock' platter. It's adventurous to the extent of gratuitousness. But, with ideas as realised as these, who's to quibble?
Though hardly an easy ride, 'The Vertigo...' sure shoots out the occasional radio-smash - whether the recent top-30, Idlewild-evoking grace of a growling 'Questions & Answers' or tinny racket of 'The Ideal Height'. And otherwise spends the rest of its lifespan aiming to innovate rather than plagiarise; these guys sound as if they mean it, oh yes, the closing echo of 'Now The Action Is On Fire!' (note the exclamation-mark - it's there for a reason, kids), complete with armies of violins, serving as simply monumental in both its execution and sheer ambition.
Where the work may fall down, however, is the fact that it is such a work. This isn't effortless stuff - it's the equivalent of falling down stairs, rolling out of your open front-door, smashing your head on the stone-cold gravel, then discovering it's pissing it down and you have no key to get back in again - i.e. a bit of a trip. Subtlety eludes the project too often, and although the searing, manic textures of crashing drums, yelpy vox and repugnant bass are no doubt effective (the gyrating pulse of 'Toys...' or 'Liberate The Illiterate...', for example), but they become a touch wearisome after a full hour. Only when the formula is broken up via an Elbow-endowed ambience such as the provided bonus-track or a mid-pace 'Diary Of Always' does the Clyro formula ease past without too much of a head-injury to speak of.
Yet, for a band so fresh at this lark, such pulverising franticness documented in a single day is commendable as much for its exuberant, exerted uniqueness as its restless unwillingness to sit still and become a part of the derivative mainstream. Thank f**k for Biffy Clyro - they're slowly but surely mastering this niche.
Artists in this article: Biffy Clyro
Your Feedback
Login to post your comment