Nine Black Alps - Locked Out From The Inside
They've taken their sound back to the murky, primeval depths of their inception, making their debut sound polished and poppy.
Prequels are common in spheres of film and literature (well, not as common as sequels), with the likes of George Lucas and Dan Brown using them as a convenient method of explaining away character origins, motivations, and just where the whole story began. Yet instead of this idea infiltrating music, there is an almost obsessional focus on the idea that artists have to constantly evolve and push boundaries, and stay ahead of the musical curve. That's not to say all changes in a band's direction are insincere pandering to the fickleness of trends or the public, but the fact that it's more or less expected that they will eventually modify or even abandon the sound that made them who they are, all in the name of progression, makes you realise that those who can resist the sweep of this current must have some mighty strong self-belief. Enter Nine Black Alps.
By all rights, 'Locked Out From The Inside' should have been the prequel to their heavy, relentless debut. At least that's how it sounds. 'Everything Is' was thunderous and ground-shaking, with a combination of heaviness and melody that hadn't been heard since the mid-90s and saw the Manchester natives understandably compared to - though with unfair emphasis - those favourite sons of grunge, Nirvana. Two records later, and they've taken their sound back, way back, to the dirty, murky, primeval depths of their inception, and in the process manage to make their first album sound polished and poppy in comparison.
There's all the archetypal components we've come to expect from the 'Alps by now: the abrasive angst, the massive riffs, the resonant, wailing guitars, and Sam Forrest's grainy, combative vocals. 'Vampire In The Sun' has some seriously meaty and melodic riffage to get your teeth stuck into, and makes you want to sway your hips as well as rock out. It builds to what should be an epic chorus - and melodically it is - but is let down lyrically by "I'm a vampire / Just a vampire / I'm a vampire in the sun", which comes across as being a little weak. Still, a strong track, and the brief but brilliant solo at the two minutes or so mark redeems any shortcomings. 'Every Photograph Steals Your Soul' sounds like it should be in a Brit comedy-horror flick, with its grinding intro and spooky guitar bends that leads into a faux-sinister verse filled with watery bass, and Forrest's breathy, mocking vocals, before leading into a powerful chorus that doesn't so much slam you against the wall as it does tear it down. 'Cold Star' continues the assault on the eardrums, and is far and away the most frenzied, frantic scramble of a song, that hits its apex at the chorus and then spirals into a thrilling, gratifying breakdown before going at the verses again. Definitely one of the highlights. 'Bay Of Angels' slows the pace down, a mid-tempo number with a semi-anthemic feel that lets go, in a sweeping, panoramic gesture, of all the pent-up tension that precedes it. It's no 'Unsatisfied', or even a 'Burn Faster', but it's easy to imagine this being a 'lighters in the air' moment during gigs.
After this, it's back on the offensive with 'Porcupine', a mercilessly heavy, droning beast of a song, that's the aural equivalent to being run over repeatedly by a bulldozer. On this song, Forrest's voice is utter, sneering apathy, that brings out its inherent grit to perfection. His vocals overall are subtly different to how they've sounded on previous outings: this time his naturally disaffected and disenchanted mien is stressed more than ever, leading him to either sound almost spectral, like a disembodied voice from beyond.
It is more or less a concept album (the clue's in the title, kids), saturated with a unifying theme of being abandoned, unwanted, disregarded. With 'Ghost In The City' the notion of disembodiment becomes literal; a subdued, softly-sung testament to isolation, exploring the feeling of being disconnected from your hometown and everything in it. Logically, this should all make for an overwhelmingly pessimistic listening experience, yet strangely it doesn't. There is a stubborn, strong streak of defiance running through the entire record, a snarling 'fuck you' to all those that would like to see them down and out for not conforming. Nowhere is this heard better than on 'Buy Nothing', a furiously clever, venomous diatribe against the rampant commericialisation of society that advocates revenge against the system, and boasts the most unbelievably filthy, grinding bassline you're likely to hear until their next record. 'Along For The Ride' is proper hard, melodic rock, without being too much of one or the other, and is undoubtedly one of the most solid - and best - songs on the album, sharing a similar rhythm and tone to 'Hey! Johnny Park' by Foo Fighters, except harder, better (faster, stronger).
Where 'Locked Out From The Inside' stumbles is in the lack of differentiation between the songs. No doubt, it all sounds great, but it all kind of sounds the same. But what it loses in originality, it makes up in spades with sheer brute force. The production on here is raw, ragged, messy around the edges, unhinged, and just plain uncompromising. Producer Dave Eringa has done what the band's last two producers failed to do - he's made them sound like they're playing live (which incidentally, is what they did), successfully capturing the sound and feel of their visceral live shows, exactly how they're meant to be experienced. This is where this album has a major advantage over its predeccessors, and why it's important.
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