Considering their extensive catalogue of collaborations, a full-length totally attributed to The Body seems somewhat of an anomaly. Their outrageous output, bested only perhaps by their brothers in arms Thou or psych-genre pranksters King Gizzard, almost makes me assess a new release with a nod and a “how many albums is that for this year, now?” quip. Jokes aside, their curiously experimental take on sampled-heavy sludge is always fresh and exciting, whether you can keep up with them or not. And the good news—even without them soundboarding off of their mates so much—is that The Crying Out Of Things is far from lacking in the left-field ideas we want from them.
The Body (comprising guitarist / banshee squealer Chip King and percussionist extraordinaire Lee Buford) exist as a definitive focal point for the noise rock universe. In fact, many of their contemporaries live in their home at Thrill Jockey. Whether that’s Providence alma mater Lightning Bolt, the poetic BIG | BRAVE or black metal overhaulers Liturgy, there’s no denying there’s something in the water at the label, extending to this band’s consistent friendships with Full of Hell and the aforementioned Thou. Most notable about The Body, no matter if they’re serving demos, split EPs, or live cover sessions, is their stripped-back framework which grants them or their mates huge creative freedom to take the mantle or intermingle their respective styles. And in the “just the two of us” set up on this eighth LP, clearly King and Burford relish the opportunity to expand their own original skeleton to new heights through hip hop inspired studio experimentation.
As before, King’s guitars delve into the muck, existing as a base layer of distortion and fuzz that lets Buford run riot with rhythmic simplicity or complexity as he sees fit. Involved in this is the duo’s handling of rogue samples and electronics that exist outside of the doom sphere, a sound they purposefully retreated from. Like The Bug’s metallic takes on dubstep (another former collaborator), The Body’s sonic exploration shows a deft hand at music’s overwhelmingly primitive danceable ability no matter what cape it wears.
Acting as a familiar blueprint for The Body listeners, opener Last Things recreates former track Die By Ourselves with brighter, cleaner sounds and a modified spoken word passage before King’s high wails cut through. 808s pound the speakers, the horns sound crisp yet disconcerting. On paper what sounds like a GCSE music project disaster is a well-connected, icy and bombastic in-yer-face sound explosion, which hides a boppiness courtesy of Buford’s latter stage shuffle. Removal doesn’t so much dip its toes into dub as wade straight into it, vocal samples and heady atmospheres included. Middle-part centrepiece A Premonition lives up to its name by tinkling high hats toward what you’d expect to be the stankiest jungle track imaginable, avoiding the payoff for a suitable length, then dropping one of the best hip hop inspired beats of the year. For fans of that vibe, find your way to The Building also.
The Body’s distinct differentiation is not only displayed through Buford’s beat switches. King’s strangled vocals contribute to the overarching sonic fabric rather than shine through, elevating featured vocal chops. After their collaborative effort earlier in 2024, Dis Fig’s Felicia Chen adds etherealness to The Building, and a similarly meditative feel plays all over closer All Worries, a churning tune that brings in the band’s favoured choir to amplify the record’s tone of troubling loss: “The sadness in grief’s howling, the ache in futility. We are this.”
Speaking of amplification, Buford himself states that the overwhelming nature of their mixes is all intentional. In his words, the noise has “an instinctual, maximalist way”, and it certainly backs up the oft-devastating role of the lyric sheet. Careless And Worn describes the removal of agency and passion—“Why live? Why at all? Eat bread provided, perform tasks prescribed”—all through a monstrous sound trying to burst forth from the speakers.
That personal viewpoint of futility gets given the universal treatment too; worldly changes can have dire impacts on livelihoods and the primal instincts their music serves so well, as on Less Meaning, there’s “no purpose to stir, no fish to catch, no land to till”. The studio trickery fragments the drum and guitar tracks and rebuilds them into a fully fleshed soundscape, before blending into the minimalist The Citadel Unconquered that ultimately asks “Where do you think it comes from, the sense of detachment? Nowhere, nowhere…” Being completely discernible, as foil to King’s vocals, and seemingly downplayed when compared to its previous track, this makes its sentiment feel all the more powerful.
Power is certainly something The Body has never tired of presenting to us. The Crying Out Of Things is a document of their ability to let inner drives come crashing out into the world, music that’s a large mouthful to digest yet peppered with familiar rhythms that even grants its harrowing moments more mass appeal. With this condensed package, The Body’s gravitas has been proven once again and while it feels a fitting, biting reminder of humanity’s darker psyche as we head closer into the jaws of winter, it weirdly offers the opportunity to dance off any spiritual ills too.
For fans of: Dis Fig, Liturgy, Pharmakon
‘The Crying Out Of Things’ by The Body is out now on Thrill Jockey Records.
Words by Elliot Burr
