In 2013, after the release of their third LP Out of Touch in the Wild, Dutch Uncles were plucked from the indie playground to join Paramore’s European stadium tour. Hard-earned though the break was, the quintet seemed an arbitrary pick. Over the last half-decade, northern England has reared a sharp and brainy brood of art-pop omnivores, but Dutch Uncles err on the vegetarian side: They’re sleek, but Wild Beasts are sleeker; they tweak Field Music’s oddball bombast without revamping it; and they tap into a weirdo-pop accessibility that’s neither as weird nor accessible as Everything Everything’s. Given the occasion, their fourth record might have been a bells-and-whistles induction to pop’s champagne elite, but in typically moderate fashion, O Shudder is less concerned with the party booze than the kitchenware.
That could be a criticism, but inertia suits them. Dutch Uncles still sound spritely, but as their thirties loom, O Shudder finds them shaping up to settle down. Rather than an agonising compromise, their songs confront domesticity as a playful challenge: Opener "Babymaking" fathoms parenthood like a rigged Rubik’s Cube, while "In N Out" sketches a sexual entanglement in lyrical riddles as slippy and perplexing as interesting relationships invariably are. It’s an album wounded by suspicion and longing, but the band stay bright and limber, perhaps leaving disenchantment to those fool enough to have been enchanted to begin with.
Holding it up is Duncan Wallis, the kind of mildly eccentric pop singer who seems like he’d spend a long time ironing his shirts. Where marketable songwriters weaponize potent emotions, or at least sound certain of their uncertainty, Wallis precariously grasps for tangible feelings that rarely materialize. On "I Should Have Read" he navigates criss-cross piano lines with chronic trepidation, his shy falsetto evoking a child in a mirror maze; on job-hunt saga "Decided Knowledge" he blurts jumpy exclamations, flitting between inner and outer monologues, as if he finds it awkward to have a voice at all.
If Wallis’ exhortations find solace, it’s in the backdrop’s orchestral splendour, a complex lattice of woodwind, strings, percussion, and marimba that winds up feeling improbably cosy and lived-in. The band’s secret weapon is Robin Richards, their composer and bassist, and his handiwork here glistens, ranging from elegantly odd curiosities ("Babymaking", "Drips") to obscenely lovely mini-symphonies ("I Should Have Read", "Given Thing"). On the livelier "Upsilon" and "Don’t Sit Back (Frankie Said)", Dutch Uncles defibrillate third- or fourth-hand R&B with twinkly synths and piston bass pops, signposting the sort of disjointed grooves by Japan and Talking Heads that might’ve soundtracked their parents’ own baby-making.
Maybe it’s telling that their most obvious touchstones—Speaking in Tongues, early Prefab Sprout—hail from Reagan and Thatcher’s '80s. Recession-ready and armed against austerity, Dutch Uncles write physically involving tunes that rectify UK indie’s groove deficit while tentatively reviving the vast emotion of balladeers like Tears for Fears. The formula seems corny, but when Dutch Uncles fall short, it’s for the opposite reason: Though the busy, Reichian loops help decorate the retro palette, it's the sort of intricacy that can encase art-pop in bulletproof glass, demanding admiration without meeting us halfway. At its best, though, O Shudder's timeworn skill is to combat looming adversity with verve and rhythm, emptying the mind through the body.
