Black Country, New Road’s debut record, For the first time, leaves you wanting more, not because it’s lacking in splendor, but because its track-listing is so devastatingly short.
Looking at pictures of the seven-piece — composed of members Isaac Wood (vocals, guitar), Tyler Hyde (bass), Lewis Evans (saxophone), Georgia Ellery (violin), May Kershaw (keys), Charlie Wayne (drums), and Luke Mark (guitar) — one might be reminded of the cheesy portraits that often decorate college brochures, wherein a ragtag group of aesthetically-pleasing strangers poses for the sake of their institution. Unlike those slightly uncomfortable muses, however, Black Country, New Road is but another outstanding musical cohort from London that exists within the city’s innovative Windmill art-punk crevice.
photo by El Hardwick
Like many of their peers, Black Country, New Road brandish a lack for convention and a knack for genre-blending, exhibited through their excellent utilization of the standards of rock’n’roll — such as epic drum solos and quick-paced riffery — in addition to swelling strings and calculated, but chaotic, brass sections. But what sets this particular group apart from the rest in their category is their utterly enchanting charm and the camaraderie that seems to exist among their members. Though the seven members of Black Country, New Road can barely fit on one stage at the same time, they manage to merge their individual efforts in a way that’s ultimately impressive; amidst the brotherhood, those seven voices, seven talents, find their way to be heard, making for a band-wide chemistry that’s palpable in their musical output. That said, though this is their first full-length release (hammered home, too, by the album’s title), it’s clear that this isn’t their first rodeo.
For the first time leads with a monster instrumental track (called “Instrumental”), letting you know exactly what you’re getting into — a no-holds-barred, clusterfuck with zero regards for expectation — right as it begins. Said opener is a mess, but an organized one, combining spine-tingling rapid-fire keys with an entrancing horn section. Over the four minutes and some seconds it spans, the sonic avalanche it unleashes (mostly supplied by May on the keys) simulates the feeling of being strapped into a slowly ascending roller coaster car, waiting for the forthcoming drop to inevitably arrive, and feeling just as anxious despite the knowledge of what is to come.
“Instrumental” then transitions into the first of the album’s two reworked singles, “Athens, France,” one of the band’s very first releases that, along with “Sunglasses,” composed their presence on streaming platforms for months on end. Though the pair of rudimentary, but astounding demos found their place on the album, each is slightly altered this time around, perhaps as a sign of the group’s evolution, or simply so that they could exist in harmony with the rest of the release. The album version of “Athens, France,” for example, finds the track following a mature makeover, having shed (along with the title’s apostrophe) Isaac’s guttural moans and having opted for soft, steady, and sweet brass-based instrumentation toward the back half of the track. While the strong backbone of the track remains intact, lines such as “too soft to fuck” were given a PG-appropriate update, which is slightly disappointing as the crass nature of the original was part of what gave the song its charm.
Similarly, “Sunglasses” retains many of its snappy quips and ridiculous storytelling while, stylistically, its instrumentation has seen a slight change. The track chimes in with a distorted guitar solo before its classic melody, fit with smooth as silk saxophone playing, arrives. At first, Isaac’s typically commandeering vocality is drawn slightly back on this version (take the line, “I am so ignorant now, with all that I have learned,” which is much more elongated and controlled here, as opposed to the delivery on the original). Even with these changes considered, the second half of the track on this updated edition can still make one feel absolutely feral as it breaks down, welcoming static moments of bizarre brass concoctions and booming bass. As its kazoo-like horns blare and are joined by rapid-fire cymbal hits, one can’t help but feel a burst of euphoria.
Personally, “Sunglasses” is a track that makes me feel incredibly nostalgic for pre-COVID days; for a time when I sat in the back of my friend Monica’s car, screaming along to lyrics such as, “Fuck me like you mean it this time, Isaac,” as we waited for a show to begin at the now permanently closed ONCE Ballroom in Boston. Though that vulgar line is missing in the album ideation of the track, listening to it still heightens my longing for the return of live shows, if only so I can finally get the chance to sing the line, “I’m more than adequate / Leave Kanye out of this,” among a crowd in a packed venue.
Another of the record’s highlights is “Track X,” which finds the group at their most tender as they recall a fairytale-esque love story. From the gate, it gives off an air of heartfelt romance that leaves one practically swooning at how sweet it is. Lines such as, “Dancing to Jerskin [Fendrix], I got down on my knees / I told you I loved you in front of black midi,” might be some the most romantic words ever writ on paper (and draw upon a satisfying feeling of knowing, noting its reference to wonderful acts in BCNR’s wheelhouse).
While being outstanding on its own, “Track X” also offers a softer moment amid the album’s overwhelmingly high-intensity 40 minutes, right before the band pulls you back into the screaming abyss with the record’s closer, “Opus.” Calling back to the ferocity of the opening track, “Opus” is a gargantuan concoction of sound, with much of its energy coming from its jazz-infused breakdown, which turns the amplitude up to warp speed. As it closes, Isaac screams as though he’s in utter agony; like he’s using the very last of the energy he has left to bring the record to a close with a bang.
Listening to For the first time at midnight on the morning of February 5th, it felt as though my heart was about to burst out of my chest, only settling once the last few seconds of that final track came to a close. Then, I could finally breathe and once more acknowledge the world outside of the black hills the group had created. While Pitchfork calls it cringe, I call it, honestly, in a league of its own.
