Not that long ago, early-2010s Britrock looked to be gearing up for its postmortem. It had certainly died a death by then, with many of its proprietors having hit the skids or being gone entirely. It was also a scene bestowed with an unwitting divisiveness that warranted its discussion. The shameless commerciality would rub ‘proper’ rock fans the wrong way, as would the perceived lack of passion showcased beyond its own marketable wrapping paper. At the same time, as a movement, it was the most successful that rock had been in the mainstream for ages. It could’ve been more interesting, sure, but it felt important enough while it was there. Important enough to generate discussion, in any case, positive or negative.
So let’s take a look at the current state of things, where a lot of the departed are coming back. In just the last couple of years, both The Blackout and Mallory Knox have waged full-on comebacks, and it wouldn’t be at all surprising to see B-teamers like We Are The Ocean or Canterbury following suit. (Keep those eyes on any future Slam Dunk announcements—calling it now.) Even right down the line, moves are being made. Take a look at You Me At Six’s expansive undercard for the UK leg of their farewell tour and you’ll spy Not Advised, who released their last EP in the salad days of 2010 before rebranding as Natives, though appear to be going back on themselves to wring out what few nostalgia pennies they can.
In some of these cases, there’s almost a correlation (if not outright causation) with You Me At Six’s inclement breakup. Perhaps it’s empowering others to make a second play for the top, now that the scene kingpins are about to abdicate. Except You Me At Six have always been the exception rather than the rule, a band buoyed on size and inertia to end up where they did to conveniently ignore a glut of mediocre work in their later years. They aren’t leaving that much of a power vacuum behind, in any form.
Maybe that’s why the conversation around Kids In Glass Houses recently has felt so restrained, despite them being the first to broker a state of Britrock revivalism, and, once upon a time, being the clearest second fiddles to the entire scene. Even if they’re the only returning sons to justify it beyond tightening purse strings by making new music, there’s almost an understanding that this is a big nostalgia exercise. The band themselves haven’t exactly pushed back on that, with the initial promise of this comeback being a celebration of their debut Smart Casual. To be fair, that’s still a great album, quick and smart in ways that hold up ridiculously well for pop-rock from 2008. It’s just that it—along with the ‘member-value that every single one of these has wielded as their primary weapon of choice—has singlehandedly shrouded the importance of anything else, much less new music. The people just ask to be given what they want, so to speak.
But apparently, amid all of that, Pink Flamingo is a brand new start, the album that Kids In Glass Houses really wanted to make. Apparently. Not to poo-poo on the fruits of a band making their first creative endeavour in over a decade right out of the gate, but that’s the kind of copy that’s had more and more meaning and validity scooped out of it with every subsequent use. Plus, even from listening to Pink Flamingo, it’s not that new at all. The silky lounge-suit aesthetic was done by Don Broco on Automatic in 2015; a few years later, the alt-rock-to-pop-slickness pipeline would be brought to the table by Deaf Havana on Rituals in what was a similar diminishment at the time. Even beyond that colleagued view, the flecks of a technicolour groove hiding the crippling neuroses of modern life you’ll find on the likes of Strawberry Sky is the exact design space of Paramore’s After Laughter.
It goes without saying that bands will be influenced by others, especially those who’ve come along in such a massive interim. Pink Flamingo, though, feels almost laser-focused on specific, narrow territories, where ‘reinvention’ is shorthand for pop slickness and copious ‘80s worship. Truth be told, it’s a really overplayed style by now, and one that this album is drastically affected by, but looks to keep itself rictus and dancing through regardless. Through the rose-tinted glasses you’re supposed to view it through, Pink Flamingo is snappy, shiny fun; with even some mild critical thinking, it’s a slight version of this band as they isolate what they believe they’re supposed to do, and proceed to sleepwalk through it.
That’s an assessment that comes in multitudes, too. The ‘80s ‘things’ aren’t hard to spot, in how they inform various points of the album. If you’re looking for general, all-consuming vibes, Vulnerable is the one to go to, with its sinewy guitar and padded drums that are roughly as synonymous with ‘80s pop pastiches as you can get. It’s just kind of all over, though, like a musical stamp that has to be applied without fail. The jumpy guitars and synth glaze are the commonplace standard that aren’t exactly neat or vitalised anymore, not when they’re shrunken and stretched into wires for such tiny inconsequentialities as Change Your Mind or (Feels Like) Déjà Vu. And of course there’s saxophone, the first port of call for ‘authenticity’ on every album that takes this route, and it’s so rote at this point, not just for Kids In Glass Houses but not to where they’re exempt from it either. When they toyed around with horns and sax on In Gold Blood, it could feel bold and daring, as opposed to here where it’s part of the period-appropriate toolkit.
It goes without saying that that can still be fun, too, on what’s a baseline of enjoyability that Pink Flamingo grasps from the beginning. Theme From Pink Flamingo does as good a job at laying down the fundamentals for the album as you’ll get, with Strawberry Sky and Rothko Painting punching the hardest in the hook department. The fact that there’s nothing truly objectionable might be praise as featherweight as much of the album itself, but you’d be surprised how often pivots like this go hideously awry and find the band at the centre mangled by throwback expectations. It’s a testament to Kids In Glass Houses, then, that even at their absolute most flagrant commitment to the bit, it’s not terrible. Take Have A Good Time as your example, where the gelatinous bass and synth warps make for such a bold-faced recreation of Peter Gabriel’s Sledgehammer. It’s not the only bout of Genesis-alumnus-aping, either, as the very next song Cold Night is extremely liberal in what it borrows from Phil Collins’ In The Air Tonight. As in, the very first sound on the song is the iconic drum crash that everyone on the planet knows.
If Pink Flamingo were more of that, it would probably sit a lot better, if only for such a concerted effort towards pop foolproof-ness that’d vault over the misgivings towards this style. It’d take a much more daring band to do that, though, not Kids In Glass Houses on their reunion campaign where playing the game still needs to be accounted for. The album in question is proof of that. It’s also why notions of this being some grand, new swing are a bit overblown, when its direct predecessor Peace already fiddled around with synths and pop elements. To be fair, Pink Flamingo tightens and sharpens what could be very flavourless on Peace; this is the better version of that overall idea.
Really, though, it’s just better at masking what can feel rote and workmanlike at the core. Pink Flamingo might want to dazzle but it seldom has the means to, or the gusto from Aled Phillips to take up the velveteen lounge-lizard role. He just doesn’t seem as expressive here, even disregarding the robot filter on the back end of Human Touch that’s entirely unneeded. That’s a different sentiment from being spry or energetic, which he undoubtedly is. The pop effervescence is there at the surface on something like Change Your Mind, but no further below. It’s the return of necessity that Pink Flamingo is predicated on, not the loose, light, often wry swagger it believes it’s giving off. The mask truly slips off on A Ghost To Live With, a song founded in an impossibly awkward acoustic guitar that never resolves comfortably, while Phillips meanwhile sings to a melody that might be from a different song entirely. Away from the safety net of rigid pop fundamentals, the Kids In Glass Houses of 2024 are critically lacking.
There’s no joy in saying any of that. Kids In Glass Houses are responsible for some of the best work of their Britrock era; they could do the same again now. Even if you want to clutch at straws even tighter, it’s a good precedent that they’re actually active again, and making music that the others probably won’t lazily replicate. When / if they get around to it, The Blackout won’t be doing this; Mallory Knox certainly won’t. But with every subsequent listen of Pink Flamingo, it gets more limp as the veneer peels away. None of this feels like a conscious effort towards advancement or refreshing the Kids In Glass Houses brand for a new era, as much as the safest, surest way to put a piece back on the board with as little collateral as possible. There’s no reputation staked on this, not when a) what they’re doing is about as blankly marketable as it comes, and b) the Smart Casual stim-pack is just waiting in the wings; another anniversary will be here before you know it. If you want a grim extrapolation of Britrock’s future, this is it—bands reforming to buffer placid, substandard new material with the promise of old bankables in the chamber, sometimes skipping to that step directly. Sounds just…stellar.
For fans of: Don Broco, Paramore, The 1975
‘Pink Flamingo’ by Kids In Glass Houses is released on 25th October.
Words by Luke Nuttall
