Although Honesty might wince at the word ‘collective’, the immersive, mysterious tracks birthed so far from the nucleus of their Leeds studio The Nave exceeds anything its members could accomplish within a traditional ‘band’. While the Leeds scene has always refused to be boxed by genre (just look at recent breakouts English Teacher and Yard Act), Honesty exist in an entirely different sphere of sound.
Taking vivid inspiration from the likes of Burial, Massive Attack and Mount Kimbie, the collective consists of four core members – George Mitchell, Matt Peel, Josh Lewis and Imi Marston – and a merry-go-round of collaborators (previously including the likes of Dry Cleaning’s Florence Shaw). Fluidity and instinct defines their ethos, enabling each song and project to take on the life it deserves.
Honesty’s debut album ‘U R Here’ showcases this approach in its most potent form. Hopeful opener ‘No Right 2 Love’ slices open its three minutes of ambience with an ecstatic, humming climax, inviting you to dream of a better world: “These are some dangerous times”, warns guest vocalist Liam Bailey. It’s a rare outward, on-the-nose snapshot of reality, before the ensuing album evaporates into the heart and soul of its authors.
What’s impressive about Honesty is their ability to seamlessly shift between completely contrasting worlds. Marston flexes her vocal muscles on ‘U&I’ – easily the album’s most dance-inducing track – before light shades of Arcade Fire emerge on the motoring rhythm to ‘Measure Me’. Meanwhile, ‘Tormentor’ dresses up its darkness in euphoria, mirroring the blindness to a deceitful relationship from within: “When I see you I believe in everything inside / Tied to your way of love / Tied to your way of life.”
Despite the jittery ‘North’ feeling like an outlier, the brooding, trip-pop adjacent ‘Empty’ and bittersweet closer ‘Pity’ – which takes a leaf out of PVA’s spellbinding monotone – continue to pump soaring ambience all around the record. The latter makes for a breathless, do-or-die end to the record, as Marston contrasts repeated hopeful affirmations (“I’m gonna make you feel alive”) with harsh tension (“Roll the dice / Head to gun”).
At times, ‘U R Here’ feels like a glorious experiment in controlled overstimulation rather than a traditional debut album. Capturing the essence of “passing the aux cable at a house party”, it’s a record that overflows with personality via its precise, short-lived moments. ‘U R Here’ expertly juggles that push and pull relationship between the ups and downs of life – and all its glorious, individual characters.
