As with any band that has been active for any length of time, Bring Me The Horizon have changed substantially over the course of their career. From their earliest incarnation as a (somewhat derided) deathcore act on debut count your blessings, through a vastly successful run of albums, which began with the Frederick-Nordstrom-produced suicide season, the band only seem to have grown in stature as they’ve incorporated more elements into their sound. The band arguably reached a peak when they took to the hallowed stage of the Royal Albert Hall in 2016, backed by a full orchestra conducted by Simon Dobson (more recently seen conducting the Parallax Orchestra for Alter Bridge). It’s taken the band three years to regroup, in the wake of the eclectic that’s the spirit, to record the genre-hopping Amo and, as Ollie promised, it sees him singing from the rooftops in place of the screaming that once characterised the band’s sound. Now, let’s be clear, BMTH’s new direction is not going to be for everyone. Certainly, those who were hoping for the band to return to the heavier territory of their earlier albums best look away now for that’s clearly not a world in which the band wish to reside any longer. However, for those whose tastes are wider, there is much to admire.
From the start, it’s not at all clear how to characterise Amo. The electronic soundscapes of I apologise if you feel something sit somewhere between the electronica of the Toro Y Moi and the ethereal prog of latter-day Anathema. With opulent production, the track provides a mere bridge into the album, and things kick off properly with the crunchy Mantra. A track built around a suitably bristling riff, it is, nonetheless, far closer to the realm of alt-rock than metal, and, with its clean vocals and electronic elements, it’s somewhat reminiscent of Filter at their poppiest. The electronic elements continue to be given full reign on album highlight Nihilist blues, a track that features a guest spot from Grimes and which, for all the world, recalls the heady dance of Losers’ first album. It’s difficult to imagine this finding much favour with those who fell for the band’s deathcore charms, but there’s no question that the band have a deft handle on modern electronica and pop, and the track has a cool rhythmic heft that becomes increasingly agitated as it progresses. If fans made it through nihilist blues only in the hope that the guitars would flood back into view on in the dark, they’ll find themselves partially rewarded in the chunky chorus, but only after a verse that draws from modern r&b with smooth vocals and industrial-strength beats filling the void where riffs would once have been. It’s all insanely infectious, and it’s a perfect example of how this album could so easily provide a neat bridge between the mainstream and heavier pastures. Of course, the band aren’t about to tear up their legacy entirely, and wonderful life sees Dani Filth join the party as the band head into Skrillex Vs Korn territory with gargantuan, down-tuned guitars and skittering beats going head-to-head for an anthem custom built for arenas the world over.
Opening the second half of the record, ouch is a short, sub-two-minute track that draws on the scattered rhythms of Flying Lotus whilst throwing in a cheeky reference to follow you with the lyric “I know I said you could drag me through hell, but I hope you wouldn’t fuck the devil” before the band apply the salve with the rippling pop-rock of medicine. Arguably the album’s weakest moment in its relentless quest for accessibility, medicine is the first time that it really feels like BMTH are playing with mainstream forms and they wisely follow it up with sugar, a tough-as-nails track that welds giant riffs to the mainstream exoskeleton found elsewhere, and which even allows a few screams to bleed through. It’s not long before the band perform another stylistic volte-face, however, and why you gotta kick me when I’m down sees brooding synths and a hip-hop-infused vocal delivery dominating the verse, although the chorus packs a weightier punch. Almost ambient in approach, fresh bruises suggest the band have at least a passing acquaintance with Aphex Twin on an instrumental that proves more successful than the somewhat bland mother tongue, a ballad that relies on tropes so familiar it simply doesn’t soar in the intended fashion. Given the seismic shifts the album undergoes over the course of its runtime, entitling a song heavy metal is a bold gesture, especially as the track in question is a rap-infused track featuring a guest take from Rahzel. The lyrics make the intention clear, however, when Ollie sings “because some kid on the Gram, said he used to be a fan, but this shit ain’t heavy metal – but that’s alright”. It does much to pre-empt (and, to an extent, defuse) the inevitable backlash that the album will receive from some quarters. The album concludes with classical strings swirling around acoustic guitar on I don’t know what to say, a suitably rich finale that brings the curtain down on an album that is consistently surprising.
It’s likely that Amo is going to prove polarising for the band’s fanbase, but there’s no question that Bring Me The Horizion have mastered the cross-grenre sounds for which they were aiming. At its best, the album proves surprisingly experimental, with tracks like ouch and nihilist blues proving particularly successful. Where it falters is where it cleaves too close to the mainstream without offering anything particularly new – mother tongue proving to be the most egregious example. Overall, however, BMTH deserve praise for successfully bridging the gap between a number of genres without the whole thing sounding like some poorly executed mix-tape. Where other bands have experimented with mainstream elements, only to find it cruelly exposed the flaws in their own abilities, BMTH prove surprisingly adept at toying with whatever sonic elements take their fancy. Not an album for the majority of metal fans out there, perhaps, but Amo is a curiously addictive album that will have considerable appeal to those with broader tastes. 8
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