Blanket
True Blue
The way that Blanket have avoided stagnation in their time is such an important capstone on their tenure as a band. As to not get lost in the post-rock sauce, they’ve been conscious of the strains of atmosphere they’ve called their own, naturally in a Deftones- and Loathe-esque vein on 2021’s career high point Modern Escapism. Now, though, they’re toying around with a grunge-gaze style and showing how vastly different that can actually be. True Blue really does feel like a new avenue explored without deviation, even compared to its relative forebear of Ceremonia in 2024.
Gone is so much of that album’s emo churn in favour of a grunge palette that simultaneously sits adjacent, as well as serving its own purposes. True Blue is about inner weight explored through the abstract, and therefore is less concerned with forward momentum or clean, definite progressions. It’s probably why Bobby Pook’s vocals barely register as a whisper sometimes; they serve as just another piece of an interpretable journey. Honestly, it has more in common with their post-rock work in that sense. The more ‘straightforward’ orientations of Blanket have carried a decidedly different feel to True Blue, though this is still entirely them.
Unfortunately, it’s also a bit of a step back in some rather unavoidable ways. For one, the album isn’t quite as stirring as it could be, likely due to how Blanket’s confluence of grunge, shoegaze and post-rock can sit a little inert. There’s not much of a roaring spirit in True Blue, despite a robust instrumental palette that might suggest otherwise. Instead, there’s an emphasis on big emotions with the likes of Hole In My Head and Leaning On You that work on the proviso that you’re intending them to. You can get swept up in this, and on a good day, True Blue works as intended, but that’s less common than you’d maybe like.
The unequivocal standout moment comes form Exploring Birdsong’s Lynsey Ward on Summer Skin, both as a lovely presence to legitimately elevate that song, but also as a different piece in the sound palette. That’s not a common trap for Blanket to fall into, though you can kind of see why True Blue is the album in which they do. ‘Directionless’ is too harsh a put-down; ‘not being as certain or purposeful in its direction’ is just right. Still, it’s not terrible, and Blanket’s continued unwillingness to stay in stasis will always be worth shouting out.
For fans of: Loathe, Oversize, Slow Crush
‘True Blue’ by Blanket is released on 16th January on Adventure Cat Records.
Rifle
Rifle
With a bone-dry guitar tone and Guy Richie’s Frank Carter on vocals, it’s not hard to ascertain how indebted to the old, lionised archetypes of British punk that Rifle are. It’d be true even they didn’t cite Cockney Rejects and Cock Sparrer by name. This is right in tempo with The Chisel and Chubby And The Gang in the recent straits of Laaahndon ‘ardcore, the sort of thing that tends of have just one trick, but winds up pretty good at it.
Such an assessment is probably more applicable to Rifle than most. Of the 12 songs on this debut, only two are reaching out for more, and it rarely feels to flesh out the repertoire. In Cease And Desist’s void-like swallowing of itself and Pray For All’s final assortment of harder, purposeful blows, they come closer to being new flavours of the standard. After all, you’ve still got frontman Max’s acidic, antisocial holler going off, the bellwether of working-class roughnecks cast aside by the system that’s been the catalyst of punk since time immemorial. Rifle’s version isn’t anything new, but it is authentic.
Just like their namesake weapon, the no-fuss approach is favoured for the best results. Songs like Protest and Bastards practically write themselves from their title prompts, both lyrically and in sub-two-minute runtimes that would balk at the mere inference of added bells and whistles. No, this is designed to be ripped out with haste and batter whoever’s in earshot; Rifle promise nothing more, and nor do they need to. You don’t have to still be a skinhead in your 60s to respect the intent and craft when it’s so plainly there.
For fans of: The Chisel, Chubby And The Gang, Bruise Control
‘Rifle’ by Rifle is released on 16th January on Year0001.
The Just Joans
Romantic Visions Of Scotland
As a band who’ve taken six years between albums and who sound like Belle & Sebastian’s take on The Beautiful South, The Just Joans evidently see little import in world-conquering status. They’re wholeheartedly better for it, too. Romantic Visions Of Scotland (despite the unforgivable sellout move of recording in an actual studio instead of a DIY space; oh, the horror!) is here to showcase character above all else, the kind that’s tailored to a slightly older indie-pop band doing this solely for the love of the game. The Scottish-ness of it can’t be avoided, either, between David Pope’s brick-thick brogue and the way that Here Come The Rugby Boys is like a Scotch & Wry sketch transposed to song. Co-vocalist Katie Pope, meanwhile, isn’t quite as animated, though that’s better suited for a simple, effective sad song like Drinking On A Weeknight.
The Just Joans’ charm offensive really is the handiest tool in their kit, given how placid and unthreatening this music would otherwise be. The jolly horns, pianos and synths are representative of indie-pop’s older guard, and would certainly feel it if not for the measures taken towards immense likability. It’s what saves the one-note jokes of Strictly Presbyterian and Everybody’s Moving To Australia, but can do more when required. For as long as The Day We Missed The Train believes it can hold off on its obvious Ocean Colour Scene, it’s a joyous little moment when it eventually slides in for the coda. Simple, easy-pleasing hokiness does still have a place in music, and The Just Joans know how to make it work. It’s all very nice, meant without even a single shred of derision or dismissal.
For fans of: Belle & Sebastian, The Beautiful South, The Wedding Present
‘Romantic Visions Of Scotland’ by The Just Joans is released on 23rd January on Fika Recordings.
Words by Luke Nuttall
