As we’ll learn, this isn’t an unusual state of affairs, it is more of a default position. The Dublin-based quintet rattles out a series of searing tunes dealing with genuine feelings of modern youth and life unsettled, agitated, and up against things. It rails against apathy while seeming to simultaneously examine the futility of undertaking such an exercise. To say that the band, and in particular singer Dan Hoff’s raging delivery, come across as disillusioned might be to undersell the mood, massively.
“Des Goblin” hyper-focuses readily and ferociously on the superficiality of existence lived ‘online’, as does the opener, and yet the feeling appears to be inevitable like there wasn’t really any other likely outcome. It’s as bleak and barren as it seems. Society is doomed, we’re all sheep, corralled and predestined and each generation has been culpable in the diminishing returns of the one to follow. It’s vastly reductive but not entirely wrong either. We may all be sleepwalking toward oblivion but rather than pointing fingers where are the answers? Should they be expected to have any? Doesn’t every generation feel the same - are the newest Gen’s simply doing so with more energy, more urgently than their forebears? Of course, the flip side to this stance is that some do see the problems, have their eyes fixed elsewhere, and are perceptive in a way others aren’t, enter your champions, Gurriers then.
“Prayers” addresses the scurrilous duplicity of a faithless church, “Close Call” is a roaring rush of abrasive industrial pounding. These are tunes that map scenes in dystopian movies, as boots crunch over shattered glass and broken hopes. So many things are severely wrong with society, systemic and endemic, and younger generations definitely are paying the price. One of the most effective songs on the album is “Top of the Bill.” It’s as angry and bewildered as the bands' other songs but expresses things in a wider context.
Gurriers candidly belittle the rise of the far right, yelping “I was born in the wrong era” on “Approachable” as they pull the threads out from the racism and bigotted methods groups use to engage the disenfranchised generation the band and their fans hail from. This and the meaty basslines and lyrics from “Sign of the Times” at least go some way towards addressing things in any productive way. The sardonic humour this song shares with the similar-sounding Viagra Boys use on their own tongue-in-cheek takedowns. It’s easier to find hope in these songs than in some others, especially if all they can manage is to spout rhetoric or dissatisfied bile.
Gurriers are not anyone’s saviours. They’ve positioned themselves between the proverbial rock and a hard place, this feels much more like a don’t shoot the messenger type scenario. Punk always has an inbuilt shelf life, short of civil uprising and actually smashing the system, there’s a point at which ‘reality’ kicks in for the majority of society. Sadly thoughts of rebellion are quieted and life continues, perhaps a little has been achieved superficially to appease those flanked behind but not on the front lines. Gurriers, with a name derived from the historic ‘lout’ or ‘ruffian’, do stir the pot. Do rattle the cages and maybe can mobilise some critical thinking. Come and See could be deemed a counterattack, rubbing our noses in the mess we’ve created, but with a thread that mostly expounds on the ‘we’re all fucked’ adage it’s not like we’re all so oblivious and unwilling to turn the ship around.
Overall, the album is ambitious and it’s not necessarily the band's own fault that there’s a slight sanctimonious-sounding vein running through their musical output – it kind of goes with the territory. But the biggest letdown is perhaps that they don’t exhibit a willingness to face the aftermath, the long term responsibility for all their lofty and urgent ideals.
