The UK’s emo phase never really got going. It’s a shame, given how Britain birthed (and ramped up popularity in) so many musical things, but perhaps emo’s heydays in the ‘90s and ‘00s didn’t quite rub with the Britpop and indiehead scenes respectively. So much so that Los Campesinos! has long run with their hilarious “the UK’s first and only emo band” moniker that’s never been questioned, besides from victims of it’s clear baiting These days though, Breichiau Hir may be planting their flag as alt-rock forbears for a new generation.
It seems no coincidence that both aforementioned bands have their basis in Cardiff’s educational systems: Gareth Paisey et al from the city’s university, Breichiau Hir’s members having been to school together. Wales, after all, is celebrated for its traditional singing, the Cool Cymru lot, and, absolutely, post-hardcore veterans like Mclusky or the black-fingernailed Funeral For A Friend. Next in line, this six piece was already nominated for the Welsh Music Prize for debut Hir Oes I’r Cof and soundtracked the national football team’s Euros 2020 charge. That’s no mean feat, and as a staple in their homeland, most importantly their rich follow-up Y Dwylo Uwchben plays its part in gathering steam for a Welsh language revival, so attributed to prominent musicians such as Gruff Rhys.
What’s most apparent in Breichiau Hir’s interplay is that three-guitar throng; it instinctively and collectively plays coyly in one instance, and as a mighty wall of sound the next. Having expressed an admiration for the loud/soft instrumental maestros Mogwai, you can feel the sounds diminishing and exploding immediately through Syllu Mewn I’r Gwagle, or when the dynamics shift smoothly down to a rhythmic plod on Llusgo Ar Lawr Y Llwybr to reveal one of the album’s most exuberant choruses. Like these harmonising instruments, the flashes when the gang’s vocals merge here serves as one of the album’s core components, even sounding hymnal in closer Cyn I Fi Fynd.
The power of voice is represented through various lanes. Beyond Steffan Dafydd’s choice in sharing his natural language, unfamiliar to many, his delivery and voice production adds weight to his personal tales: the prominent-in-the-mix vocals on Tymor Hela sound extra raw, especially in one noteworthy instance where he longingly states “Tynna fi lan, tynna fi gyda dwy law” (“Pull me up, pull me with both hands”). A small isolated vocal in the hypnotic dreamy math rock cut Cuddio Tu Ol Y Llen bears a air of vulnerability, while the impending dread of the La Dispute hammer-on, pull-off clean breaks/spoken word passages crescendo upwards with Dafydd’s “Please paid, paid mynd, ma’ ‘da fi ormod o ofn am hyn” (“Please don’t, don’t go, I’m too scared for this”). Poeri At Yr Haul too, which I’ve roughly (with Google assistant) translated to Spit At The Sun, is a fuzzy bass-led juggernaut and unsurprisingly from the name alone, the most biting track here.
Cutting through to new emo-deserving audiences is a feat gladly handled by the Cardiffians, so too the role in keeping the pulse of Welsh language and alt-rock heritages going strong. Sometimes dreamy (Dim Ymladd Nol), sometimes locked-in and loaded, Breichiau Hir’s next level up on this sophomore is clear to see—a journey that warms and cools as it travels along, and their emotive vocal and chordal barrages soundtrack the idea of ‘communal experience’ with the best of them.
For fans of: Los Campesinos!, The Joy Formidable, Dananananaykroyd
‘Y Dwylo Uwchben’ by Breichiau Hir is out now on Halen Records.
Words by Elliot Burr
