THE DUKE LISTENS TO
THE LOST RIOTS
BY HOPE OF THE STATES
THE LOST RIOTS
BY HOPE OF THE STATES
Cinematic is, I believe, the first word what sprung to The Mind De
Duke when first attempting to fling an adjective or two in the
direction of the debut release by Hope Of The States. Cinematic.
Sprawling. Like it was probably recorded in Widescreen. Or IMAX,
even.
It’s an odd description, and yet one what gets flung at expansive,
sweeping records any time there’s the merest hint of a cello.
Cinematic as in Spielberg? Cinematic as in Coppola? As in Rabid
Grannies? Just what in the hell are we saying here?
What The Duke would suggest, is that The Lost Riots, being the
name of said debut album, is cinematic as in some epic litany
etched on the screen by Sergio Leone at his cinematographic apex.
Opening track, The Black Amnesias, is like a mini-concept album in
its own right, albeit an instrumental one, the most wretched of
all conceptual “works”. It starts with nothing more adventurous
than a delicately plucked acoustic guitar, but four and a half
minutes worth of ever-expanding orchestral constructions later,
you’re thinking about shit, man, these fella’s better not be
flinging any more damn violins or whatever on there, since most
likely the stereo will be blown asunder under the weight of it all.
This colossal level of ambition carries on throughout much of the
record’s running time, and yet, for some mysterious reason, the
whole affair feels incredibly intimate.
Following the bombast of The Black Amnesias, we get our first
chance to revel in Sam Herlihy’s endearingly raw vocals. A
pleasant melding of a young Lou Reed, Richard Ashcroft, a dash of
Ian Brown and a hint of prime Gallagher sneer, Herlihy’s is one of
those bizarre yelps what sounds curiously American and yet
distinctly British at the same time. Like Tony Blair, in fact.
There have been comparisons to both Radiohead and The Verve, and
at certain moments The Lost Riots does indeed sound like the folks
in charge were having a good old listen to The Bends or Urban
Hymns during the recording. It doesn’t sound derivative, though.
It’s also rather hard to categorise. The single The Red, The
White, The Black, The Blue is four minutes of perfect indie
poppery, but 66 Sleepers To Summer is a haunting, almost Americana-
esque moment of mournful contemplation.
There’s also, alas, a sense of tragedy hanging loosely over much
of the albums first half, at least. James Lawrence, the band’s
guitarist, committed suicide earlier this year, prior to the UK
release of this record. As such, it’s hard to not to feel a little
lumpy around the throat during, say, the achingly-beautiful piano
ballad, Don’t Go To Pieces.
“Don’t you go to pieces now”, Herlihy implores, “I need you all
the time.”
If there’s an unbearable poignancy at work on occasion, though, it
is more than balanced by the uplifting, rousing nature of much of
what surrounds it.
George Washington, for instance, has a pop hook and also a bit of
the bluegrass fiddles and so on running throughout. Enemies /
Friends is built upon a roaring chorus what sees fit to inspire
the whole sing-a-long capers and also subvert that famous line
from The Godfather.
“Keep your friends close”, it suggests, “And your enemies won’t
matter.”
So, then, whilst you could be forgiven for thinking that some kind
of punishing dirge was on offer, on account of the pitch-black
cover, the real-life tragedies and the tracks called things like
Sadness On My Back, a few spins will reveal that what initially
seemed claustrophobically melancholic, is actually quite a
valedictory affair.
There are very, very few missteps, and most of them can be found
in the cloying Me Ves Y Sufres, what sounds like Thom Yorke at his
most tediously self-pitying. By the five minute mark, though,
stabbing orchestral flourishes have been incorporated what lend
the adolescent miserablism something of a defiant grandeur.
The Lost Riots incorporates traditional rock n’ roll stylings, but
also refuses to be confined by them. At times it sounds like the
soundtrack to some schizophrenic sci-fi opus Richard Kelly might
envision.
Tellingly, the band’s Website offers a link to the very similarly
fashioned Donnie Darko slab of web-net.
Other albums released just prior to or just after the loss of a
key member, stuff like Closer by Joy Division, or The Holy Bible
by The Manic Street Preachers, prove to be relentlessly bleak, if,
in the cases in point, strikingly brilliant experiences. The Lost
Riots, though, sounds defiant, like the work of a group of
individuals who could very well have been beaten feckless by
tragedy, and who have instead produced a remarkably ambitious,
consistently impressive testament.
It evokes the spirits of The Velvet Underground, The Verve, and
Radiohead when they still thought pop music wasn’t something 50’
000 fathoms beneath them. Best of all though, it’s a contemporary
rock album what features extensive usage of piano and yet, thank
blessed Jehovah, sounds not one iota like Coldplay.
Thanks folks.
Drop The Duke A Line
Duke when first attempting to fling an adjective or two in the
direction of the debut release by Hope Of The States. Cinematic.
Sprawling. Like it was probably recorded in Widescreen. Or IMAX,
even.
It’s an odd description, and yet one what gets flung at expansive,
sweeping records any time there’s the merest hint of a cello.
Cinematic as in Spielberg? Cinematic as in Coppola? As in Rabid
Grannies? Just what in the hell are we saying here?
What The Duke would suggest, is that The Lost Riots, being the
name of said debut album, is cinematic as in some epic litany
etched on the screen by Sergio Leone at his cinematographic apex.
Opening track, The Black Amnesias, is like a mini-concept album in
its own right, albeit an instrumental one, the most wretched of
all conceptual “works”. It starts with nothing more adventurous
than a delicately plucked acoustic guitar, but four and a half
minutes worth of ever-expanding orchestral constructions later,
you’re thinking about shit, man, these fella’s better not be
flinging any more damn violins or whatever on there, since most
likely the stereo will be blown asunder under the weight of it all.
This colossal level of ambition carries on throughout much of the
record’s running time, and yet, for some mysterious reason, the
whole affair feels incredibly intimate.
Following the bombast of The Black Amnesias, we get our first
chance to revel in Sam Herlihy’s endearingly raw vocals. A
pleasant melding of a young Lou Reed, Richard Ashcroft, a dash of
Ian Brown and a hint of prime Gallagher sneer, Herlihy’s is one of
those bizarre yelps what sounds curiously American and yet
distinctly British at the same time. Like Tony Blair, in fact.
There have been comparisons to both Radiohead and The Verve, and
at certain moments The Lost Riots does indeed sound like the folks
in charge were having a good old listen to The Bends or Urban
Hymns during the recording. It doesn’t sound derivative, though.
It’s also rather hard to categorise. The single The Red, The
White, The Black, The Blue is four minutes of perfect indie
poppery, but 66 Sleepers To Summer is a haunting, almost Americana-
esque moment of mournful contemplation.
There’s also, alas, a sense of tragedy hanging loosely over much
of the albums first half, at least. James Lawrence, the band’s
guitarist, committed suicide earlier this year, prior to the UK
release of this record. As such, it’s hard to not to feel a little
lumpy around the throat during, say, the achingly-beautiful piano
ballad, Don’t Go To Pieces.
“Don’t you go to pieces now”, Herlihy implores, “I need you all
the time.”
If there’s an unbearable poignancy at work on occasion, though, it
is more than balanced by the uplifting, rousing nature of much of
what surrounds it.
George Washington, for instance, has a pop hook and also a bit of
the bluegrass fiddles and so on running throughout. Enemies /
Friends is built upon a roaring chorus what sees fit to inspire
the whole sing-a-long capers and also subvert that famous line
from The Godfather.
“Keep your friends close”, it suggests, “And your enemies won’t
matter.”
So, then, whilst you could be forgiven for thinking that some kind
of punishing dirge was on offer, on account of the pitch-black
cover, the real-life tragedies and the tracks called things like
Sadness On My Back, a few spins will reveal that what initially
seemed claustrophobically melancholic, is actually quite a
valedictory affair.
There are very, very few missteps, and most of them can be found
in the cloying Me Ves Y Sufres, what sounds like Thom Yorke at his
most tediously self-pitying. By the five minute mark, though,
stabbing orchestral flourishes have been incorporated what lend
the adolescent miserablism something of a defiant grandeur.
The Lost Riots incorporates traditional rock n’ roll stylings, but
also refuses to be confined by them. At times it sounds like the
soundtrack to some schizophrenic sci-fi opus Richard Kelly might
envision.
Tellingly, the band’s Website offers a link to the very similarly
fashioned Donnie Darko slab of web-net.
Other albums released just prior to or just after the loss of a
key member, stuff like Closer by Joy Division, or The Holy Bible
by The Manic Street Preachers, prove to be relentlessly bleak, if,
in the cases in point, strikingly brilliant experiences. The Lost
Riots, though, sounds defiant, like the work of a group of
individuals who could very well have been beaten feckless by
tragedy, and who have instead produced a remarkably ambitious,
consistently impressive testament.
It evokes the spirits of The Velvet Underground, The Verve, and
Radiohead when they still thought pop music wasn’t something 50’
000 fathoms beneath them. Best of all though, it’s a contemporary
rock album what features extensive usage of piano and yet, thank
blessed Jehovah, sounds not one iota like Coldplay.
Thanks folks.
Drop The Duke A Line
