The Strange Death Of Liberal England (named for the book published by George Dangerfield in 1935 to explain the decline of the Liberal Party in England at the start of the century) are an intriguing prospect on paper, a rag-tag collective of musicians playing thematically complex and emotionally mature songs led by a singer with all the doomy gravitas of Nick Cave. The band's moniker is apt as the natural, organic sound of their second album 'Drown Your Heart Again' adopts a classic and stately sound which (if you forger the electric guitars at least) might sound more at home in 1935 than in 2010. This is their first full record since their critically lauded mini album 'Forward March!' was released nearly 2 years ago and is very much a labour of love for the collective who have spent 18 months out in the wilds of Portsmouth crafting an album worthy of their (admittedly pretentious) name-sake.
The widescreen indie pop of the opening 'Flickering Lights' is a real instant kick to the gut with all the dynamic pull of the Pixies with the homespun charm of recent folk revivalists Mumford and Sons. The following 'Flagships' is where the album really starts ticking though as the first of many songs which sound like they could have quite easily have been written by Nebraskan prodigy Conor Oberst and covered by Joy Division. Of course this is hardly a negative comparison and despite the bands roots in Americana there is still a defiant British streak to many of the songs here. 'Shadows' for example displays the lyrical whimsey and easy melodic instincts of Ray Davies or Syd Barrett.
Musically it's a very consistent affair with the swirling atmospherics and eclectic instrumentation often proving a thrilling foil to frontman Adam Wollway's mournful, aggressive croon and emotionally direct lyrics. It's a dynamic record too which manages to explore subtle, quiet pastures on tracks such as the dainty 'Autumn' and the sparse, haunting misery of 'Yellow Flowers', as well as the more anthemic fare such as 'Curtain Falling' which boasts an infectious synth-pop energy The Killers have spent half a decade trying to recapture. Star of the show however is the albums graceful closing number 'Dog Barking At The Moon' which adopts a defeatist tone (as Wollway tells an unnamed friend/lover to "get drunk and drown your heart again") but sounds anything but as it's carried away on a bed of salient strings and mournful mariachi brass. The closing plea "I'm never coming home" is repeated over a carnival of sound supplied by the Richard P Horne Youth Orchestra who help lend the track (and the album) a sense of real drama, it's a suitably emotional climax to the record.
Elsewhere there are let downs with 'Come On You Young Philosophers' making up for it's lack of a definable melody with a blitz of sound in the middle 8 which sounds frankly out of place and the record could have done with a few more subtle, quiet songs. Overall though the record is a success which highlights the talents of a exciting young band who deserve exposure.
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