Boss Keloid - Family The Smiling Thrush
I mean, where do I even start, other than at the beginning. Usually I’m able to write a satisfactory review after a full listen or two, but with Family the Smiling Thrush I’m finding myself going back for more time and time again so I can digest all the music details like Augustus Gloop gobbling up Willy Wonka’s chocolate river. Leaving no stone unturned, you’re getting an in-depth review, so buckle up. Family the Smiling Thrush feels like an older, wiser cousin to Melted on the Inch, and there is so much to digest here. I’m calling it early on - this album is a modern day masterpiece, and I’m going to convince you exactly why.
Since Boss Keloid’s previous release, Melted on the Inch, their change of lineup with their old Bassist Liam Pendlebury-Green re-entering the fray and their Keys player Matthew Milne leaving last year has noticeably affected their sound, as I’m sure you can imagine. I feel they’ve used this to advantage however, as Family the Smiling Thrush feels like an evolution in style rather than a reactive reconsideration, continuing to develop their sound as they pioneer new horizons.
Orang Of Noyn instantly compels your curiosity to indulge in this heavy, hazily psychedelic sound world with an opening statement that demands your attention. This isn’t really anything like the softly swelling invitation heard at the start of Chronosiam from their precursive album Melted on the Inch. Contrastingly, the abundance of heaviness on Melted on the Inch melts away in Family, and it’s really quite beautiful. After a percussive frog-like wood-scrape (try saying that really quickly), the opening riff plunges into a sonic pool of self-discovery, given the triple treatment of repetition reserved only for the best musical ideas (as the phrase goes - “if it’s nice, do it twice. If it’s really nice, do it thrice”). Past this powerful introduction, Paul Swarbrick’s plinky clean tones eerily decorate the underpinning pulse of thick, heavy chugs, like shafts of sun glittering through a dense canopy, meandering through a chromatically embellished I-V-IV progression which guides you through a dense woodland before stumbling upon a clearing of what might be considered to be a bridge section, allowing the music to breath so that the melody’s harmonic content may shine through the texture. No section is ever quite the same: the second “verse” initiates a conversation of steel stringed acoustics and a subdued ensemble, providing an alternative to the first, somewhat sparser, darker verse; also demonstrating a cleaner quality of production heard throughout Family, compared to the slightly noisier wall of sound heard in their preceding albums. Interplay between this verse-like section and a latter chorus form a relationship for a basis of continual development to be built upon, something seemingly achieved throughout with a sense of natural ease for this seasoned four-piece. The tightness of their part writing must be mentioned - just listen to how Stephen Arands punctuates each phrase with his clinical drum playing, stressing every beat that wants to be noticed within the dense foliage of detail packed into just 45 timeless minutes.
It’s almost as though the music conveys an undeniable sense of humanity betwixt the inhuman nature alluded to every now and then, especially when considering the lyrical content (much as the album’s title suggests). The words “see things now how they are” brings the music to give way to a chorus-like section as though it’s unleashing the chaos of the way things truly are, closing the same section with further word painting: the melody sinks as “the sun comes down” is sung by Alex Hurst, demonstrating their flavour for technique, elevating their composition to an advanced level of mastery not often heard. Furthermore, Paul Swarbrick’s variety of clean tones elicits a departure from his typical quasi-Sitar sound (achieved through a blend of his EHX Sitar and EHX POG 2 pedals), letting us even deeper into their worst-kept secret: their sound is always evolving.
If Orang Of Noyn feels like a meatily satisfying introduction, Gentle Clovis is a sweet succession with the catchiest riff of the whole album - I can’t get it out of my head (not that I would want to). The riff itself first establishes itself with a diminished groove, followed with an offset phrase of the same rhythm until it brings itself back round to a conclusive phrase, sticking true to Boss Keloid’s signature offbeat, melodic style, which always manages to lock into a groove regardless. I’d say Family does this better than Melted does - where the latter has heavier, chaotic phrases, the former fits into a groove with a greater sense of ease whilst maintaining its power. Although a breakdown might usually create a space to angrily release pent up emotions in a climactic fashion, this one feels gentle, yet gratefully reassuring, like you want to head bang whilst maniacally grinning from ear to ear. I love that the verse catapults you into a thick, warm texture, like a bubbly hot tub situated in a tropical rainforest. If the rolling hills in the music video is anything to go by, the phrases “I build my home on the greenest mountain”, “I was my hands in the cleanest fountain” and “there’s no need to retreat, just feel the Earth beneath your feet” permeate a feeling of sanctuary, found both in the music and the message of the lyrics. This song paints both paints a picture of mindful peace and delivers a sludgy package of seduction all in one. So many little contrasts buried within the musical fabric just waiting to be discovered, and
it’s simply genius.
Hats The Madrill plunges directly into a realm of chaos, bewildering the senses before easing off a little. The intensity can sometimes feel a little overwhelming, so the fluctuations in textural density massively complement the aesthetic of such a big sound. This track feels more toward the gritty dirt that we’re usually accustomed to with Boss Keloid. Following the chaotic introduction, heard thrice in total, a brief bridge riff leads us into a rolling 6/8 verse which feels like a demented folk tune with its heavy collage of overdriven chords beneath a guitar line that reinforces the vocal melody. One of my favourite things about their style is how they often play one of the guitars in unison with the vocal melody, drawing your ear to the melody so that it never gets washed out amidst the chaos, as can be heard often in Hats The Mandrill. The back and forth conversation between heavy verse sections and Mastodon-style, melody-like riffs offer a plethora of distraction to get lost in, yet none of it feels unintentional by any means. Each detail is considered, as with any band at their standard of polish and restraint, less is more in many respects. It’s just so overdriven, yet clean and equally mind-blowing.
Smiling Thrush feels like a heavy hymn: bursting into a heavy song that’s beautifully balanced with a nostalgic, yet reflective chorus that’s graced with a shimmering sound only the addition of an acoustic can offer. The high slashing chords in the chorus deliver something akin to an angry Thrush in distress, placing it in a difficult situation before we’re sung gently to sleep with a soft lullaby, oozing its message of positivity and personal well-being; juxtaposed to the rest of the track which feels aggressively reassuring, cradling you in its giant arms of an introductory riff before swooning organically into an enchanting twisting and turning melody, let alone the beauty of the following quasi-acoustic chorus. A few breakdown sections and interjectory melodic diversions later, we’re sent out with high fashion, repeating the introductory riff in order to let us down gently, bringing the whole song to and end in a circular fashion as if we’re witnessing the finale of a life’s cycle. “The Thrush told me it would be alright” - what a line to end it on too. This is where Boss Keloid have truly shown their versatility as musicians, or at least, the widest scope of versatility they’ve yet shown - if this is what they can do then I’d be intrigued to hear where they might go next. Will they open up their sonic capabilities even wider? Whichever direction they evolve, this is an album to be savoured and immortalised in the sludge-prog repertoire.
Cecil Succulent might be the juiciest song I’ve digested for a good while. Allowing glimpses of Paul’s signature organ-like tone to pop out of the texture, there’s so many moments of quiet consideration. There’s a handful of odd-rhythmic riffs that lead the exploration for the first minute, before this explodes into a heavy answering riff that might serve as a chorus to a verse. The two sections enter a conversation, as if the lyrics invite us into the inner workings of someone else’s mind. Separated with an economic, yet effective solo, we’re blown away by another mix-mash of chorus and verse. I mean, there’s so many little false starts and melodic diversions that the music almost feels at conflict with itself until it finally calms down about 4 minutes in. This is all until the final chorus kicks up another storm, bringing about a huge outro which I cannot wait to experience live. The heaviness of tone overall provides a really comforting bed of noise upon which these cleaner, slightly psychedelic sounds can play with one another and embellish the oozing magnificence of riffs tumbling forth from speaker to ear drum. On a note of restraint, there’s noticeably less solos throughout Family the Smiling Thrush, further using that old technique of less is more, making the tasteful solo heard at the conclusion of Cecil Succulent only the more succulent.
Grendle feels like I’m stuck in the midst of a Tolkienesque adventure, Sting in hand about to break out of an Elven prison. A solitary fuzzy riff takes our hand down the foreboding path of enlightenment as Alex lets me know that “I cannot be saved by anybody but me”. A genius riff-driven subversion formulates a short 2 bar bridge sandwiched between verse and chorus. It’s difficult to tell where each verse begins, and where each chorus ends, more like a through-composed journey. I think it’s pretty obvious by this point that Family the Smiling Thrush is more than a collection of pretty songs, it’s a bloody voyage. There’s almost an infinite amount of musical detail to unpick here, each phrase oozing with style as one time signature blurs into another. The inherent irony being that it never really strays out of 4/4, or at least not for very long, whilst alluding to something far more complex, juxtaposing the simplicity with which it gracefully falls upon the ears and instills a sense of quiet confidence amidst such chaos.
Flatt Controller: “Every second is sacred” word painting with the change in pace as if the section is becoming of its lyrical content. Even that opening rhythmic idea is infectious. Bluesy double stops over focused riffs feel conflicting, yet it manages to make sense, sounding pleasing at every little corner. A constant argument unfurls, as if the song is struggling to find its way, battling it out with itself until a final, peaceful resolution begins to seep in and take over two thirds of the way into this profound journey of self-discovery. This cutting guitar melody towards the end feels reflective, brilliantly placed at the close of the album as everything fades, succumbing to this riff as it’s embraced by the tingling timbre of a steel stringed acoustic, ready for the world to sleep with a knowing smile of newfound wisdom. Such a mild temperament, like a raging bull in a field of lavender… The words “on my own, find my way, I am home” make me feel at home - the melody using a C major 7 chord feels reflective and perhaps a little solemn, yet against the undercurrent of a contrastingly heavy groove, this outro feels like a reassuring paternal figure holding my hand, reminding me “not all who wander are lost”. I even feel a little teary that this experience is coming to a close… I suppose I can take a breath again now, and maybe apply some of what I’ve learned to the way in which I conduct myself. I know that, by the end, I feel as if I’ve started at home, gone away somewhere, and now I’m back at home - the basis for all the best narratives, however profound.
This album feels like art imitating life - the music moves like a living organism, from the way it breathes to the short phrases that awkwardly resolve as they push and pull within a consistent pulse that makes every odd rhythm feel like easy listening. I admire how economic the writing is too - not a note feels out of place in order to succinctly communicate the lyrical theme of the pursuit of self-betterment that oozes out of the words. The aesthetic feels familiar if you know their previous album, Melted on the Inch, yet the guitar tones throughout purvey this heavy light that bleeds through the texture, shining warmly as though there’s a sun buried deep within the beating heart of the sonic soundscape eager to entrust its positive message to those to whom it speaks.
They’ve elevated every aspect of what they do best: glimmering riffs, thickly layered vocal harmonies and expansive melodies which are every bit as gloriously scenic as they are viscerally evocative. In so many ways, Boss Keloid have refined their style and production with their latest instalment and I feel blessed to have witnessed it.
It’s as if I have to take a break after every track simply to comprehend what I’ve just felt. Their music usually has this profound effect on me, and this album has to be one of the most profound experiences I’ve had since my days of lysergic experimentation. I feel as though I’ve only been able to scrape the surface of what Family the Smiling Thrush has to offer, so do yourself a favour and listen to it start to finish. I can assure you, it might the best 45 minutes you experience this year.
Usually I would introduce the album with a bit of spiel about the band, but as you can tell, these guys require something a bit different. Their brilliance struck me from the first time I heard them at Bloodstock a few years ago, since then I’ve witnessed them grow from strength to strength. Their elevation of style from Melted on the Inch marks a level of finesse to the progressive sludge leaking from their creative minds, and I wasn’t sure that was even possible. Dare I say they might have just done that with this earth shattering masterclass of an LP. Well fucking done. This is bloody astonishing.
10/10 from me.
J.R.
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