So the long-awaited return of mclusky with the world is still here and so are we is less a comeback and more a reawakening, like the band fell asleep in 2005, had a particularly bizarre dream about late-stage capitalism, and woke up just in time to start shouting about it all over again.
The noise-punk trio, now comprised of original member Andy Falkous and latter OG era Jack Egglestone, joined by Damien Sayell (Future of the Left, The St. Pierre Snake Invasion), has forged something rare here: a reunion album that doesn’t dwell in nostalgia or trip over its legacy. Instead, it’s a bristling, brick-to-the-face 34-minute detonation of wit, bile, absurdity, and joy. Classic stuff, and yet undeniably new.
The opener “unpopular parts of a pig” sets the tone: blistering guitars, snarling vocals, and the kind of tightrope-tension rhythm section that only a band with road-worn chemistry can pull off. There’s no easing you back into the chaos. mclusky aren’t here to reintroduce themselves. They’re here to reassert their place in the canon of bands that sound like they’ve been screaming in the basement for years and finally kicked the door down.
Lyrically, Falkous remains the sardonic poet laureate of
the absurd. His lyrics don’t explain themselves, they gesture wildly,
laugh at their in-jokes, and dare you to keep up as titles like “way of
the exploding dickhead”, “the battle of las angelsea” and none-more-meta
“kafka-esque novelist franz kafka”. These aren’t anthems for arenas;
they’re riddles, manifestos, pub fights with God. But between the
cryptic punchlines and head-scratching turns of phrase, you catch
glimpses of something more: frustration, hope, survival. A lot’s
happened since 2005 - not to dismiss the reformation and resurgence in
possible mclusky activity back in 2014, too. But the band hasn’t
forgotten how to say something without ever really saying it.
This record has an unmistakable sense of joy even in its
most corrosive moments, see the swaggering “the digger you deep” and
bouncing off the walls “juan party-system”. The band has said the
recording process was “fun,” and you can feel it. Not in a twee,
sunshine-pop way, but in the way a band plays with the giddy knowledge
that no one expected this, and certainly not this good. The
tension is real, but it’s playful. Sonically, it’s tight as hell.
Falkous’ guitar work slices through the mix like a knife sharpened on
sarcasm. Sayell brings a bass-heavy growl to both the low end and the
mic. Egglestone remains the band’s secret weapon, persistently
inventive, punchy, and capable of making every beat sound like it could
be the last before the song implodes.
What makes the world is still here and so are we work,
beyond its raw noise-rock pedigree, is its refusal to be either a
museum piece or a reinvention for reinvention’s sake. mclusky haven’t
tried to recreate Do Dallas or distance themselves from it.
They’ve simply picked up the thread and kept pulling. The result is an
album that sounds urgent not because it’s trendy, but because it needs
to exist. You get the sense these songs were going to happen whether
anyone listened or not. That we get to hear them is just a bonus. The
ferocity is intentional, but it’s not grim. The album not only justifies
its existence but also adds something vital to the band’s legacy. It’s
messy, lean, sharp, and relentless. Not cleaned up. Just tuned up and
turned loose.
They were a band, then weren’t, then are again. Thank
whatever chaotic deity made that possible, because the world might still
be here, but it sounds a hell of a lot better with mclusky back in it,
you just crave so much more.
