The title of Crash of Rhinos’ stunning second LP is taken from a list of stalemates-- “wasted nights, impasses and knots.” The Derby, UK, quintet spends the duration Knots trying to break through these deadlocks, and they start with anthemic single “Opener”. With equal parts anxious anticipation and relief, Ian Draper barks “you’re not wasting time” to his companion, embodying the stomach-in-knots feeling that pervades the record: the two are going to sleep together that night or never see each other again, but nothing’s going to be left unsaid this time. It’s a confrontational song about a confrontation and it’s almost impossible for hear it and remain a disinterested bystander. My first listen, I wanted to tear a phonebook in half. A colleague said it made her want to cry, “in a good way.” But the heart’s a muscle too, right? Make no mistake, Knots is emo as hell and a reminder that the term evolved from “emotional hardcore.” It’s an album of real stakes and bone-deep commitment, where any honest interaction, of mind, body, or soul, is preferably full-contact.
The multifaceted construction of the band allows them to express themselves as both grounded and aspiring, a combination of Dischord’s stoic post-hardcore and the literate, heart-on-sleeve and girl crazy Midwestern emo of the mid-to-late 90s. Crash of Rhinos describe themselves as “five voices, two guitars, two basses, one drum kit,” adding, “we make a racket.” The roles are fluid, as drummer Oli Craven is just as likely to be foregrounded as any of the guitarists, while the overlap of steely, resonant lead vocals and unvarnished yelling result in both strident melodies and unorthodox harmonies. That’s a lot to keep track of and on their 2011 debut Distal, Crash of Rhinos occasionally lost the handle, a promising band a bit overwhelmed by their wealth of ideas.
The songs on Knots unfold like brilliant football plays, utilizing synchronization, deception, quick cuts, speed and brawn, the individual players given omni-directional free reign for the larger purpose of forward momentum. “Opener” mirrors the dramatic conversation of its narrators where heavy emotions can no longer be expressed delicately and everything has to go right. All four guitars appear to strike out in different rhythms, yet churn forward by interlocking in their respective gaps and pauses. When “Opener” snaps into its pulverizing chorus, it puts the subtle restraint of Knots into sharp relief-- it’s the only time all five members appear to be acting in unison, and the force is devastating.
Knots is often every bit as hooky following “Opener”, though rarely as condensed into radio-readiness. More than half of the songs here extend past five minutes to accommodate every four-bar tangent or drum fill accenting the band’s burly barstool poetry and dashboard confessionals. I imagine Crash of Rhinos are partial to semicolons, as Knots abides by its instructions: pause. Collect yourself. Go.
The album’s bookends “Luck Has a Name” and “Speeds of Ocean Greyhounds”, are reverse images of each other, the former sprinting out and cycling through quicksilver time changes before settling into a patient build, while the latter starts out as a ballad before closing out Knots with a percussive victory lap. “Sum of All Parts” feigns itself as a mid-album, waltz-timed cool-down before a chorus of doubled vocals and guitars that lunges out of the speakers. There are two short guitar instrumentals-- acoustic fingerpicking exercise “Everything Is” and the ruminative “The Reason I Took So Long”-- and while beautiful in their own right, they’re the only points on Knots where Crash of Rhinos limit themselves to one thing.
They both prove necessary in establishing continuity throughout Knots, as Crash of Rhinos get increasingly ambitious throughout. The first half acknowledges its debt to the bands that will draw in new listeners and nostalgists-- think a softer Fugazi, a musclebound version of tourmates Braid, …And You Will Know Us By The Trail of Dead, anything J. Robbins has been involved with-- while Side B goes out into more audacious, free-form compositions. On “Mannheim”, they tease out the dissonant chords and oblong time signatures of their earlier work. “Standards & Practice” weaves two gracefully looping guitars for a melody too distinct to allow counterpoint-- instead, the band’s vocals clash in brassy, atonal harmonies like free jazz horns. You get the sense that Knots could be a standard in its current genre, but the exploratory second half suggests Crash of Rhinos are working towards transcending it.
It’s that combination of potential and realization that gives Knots a spiritual connection to its lineage in addition to a sonic one. A UK band whose influences are entirely American, you can picture Crash of Rhinos watching YouTubes of old Fugazi and Braid shows and wishing they had something similar, where the communal expression was as meaningful for the crowd as the artist. The best of this stuff felt like it was perpetually on the verge, that something was at stake, and that’s where Knots finds the energy to answer its main philosophical challenge: Is fear stronger than your desire for emotional freedom? This is played out on centerpiece “Impasses”, where guitarist Richard Birkin screams “it could’ve been a waste of your time!” before the band spasms and double clutches, working up the courage to admit “it wasn’t a waste of mine!” It’s a raw moment, expressing the kind of sentiment that leaves one vulnerable and prone to embarrassment if it’s not reciprocated. There’s an undeniable catharsis in crossing that line as well and after that point, “Impasses” can never go back to being the tense and composed post-punk it presented itself as in the beginning. Instances like these make Knots feel vital. While indie rock still primarily traffics in timid sounds and mannered emotions, Crash of Rhinos dare to care too much on Knots and their risk is our reward*.*
