Things to know about mclusky:
They like rice.
Their band is bigger than your band.
They have more songs than a song convention.
They dream of being erect by half past ten.
Without MSG, they probably wouldn’t exist.
They. Are. Fucking. Awesome.
That last one is probably the most important.
Of all the bands I saw live during the early 00s, I probably saw mclusky the most. I followed them around like a loyal puppy as they tore up stages in small venues and at big festivals. They roared and screamed, knocked stuff over, and their bassist of the time (John Chapple) was usually left, flat out on the stage, too exhausted by the fury of his own delivery to do much more than feebly wave a paw in the direction of the crowd before being hauled away.
With concluding compilation, mcluskyism, featuring a simple note from singer Falkous, “that’s it, then. No farewell tour… no premature deaths (at time of writing), no live DVDs…” no one really expected McLusky to return. They were done. Finished.
They were… back?
A handful of live shows here and there, including a rapturous set at ArcTangent which did good to my heart and bad to my neck, suggested there was life in the machine yet and, out of nowhere, an Ipecac signing suddenly saw a new album in the offing. Fuck me, the world may be going to hell, but at least we have an amazing soundtrack.
And so, following in the footsteps of the surprise four-track EP (Unpopular Parts Of A Pig), we have The World Is Still Here And So Are We – arguably the minimum commitment to existence that any band could make packaged up as a grand statement. So far, so mclusky.
Kicking off with the flaming wreckage of Unpopular Parts Of A Pig, a loud-quiet gem complete with twee vocal that makes it sound like the band sat around absorbing early genesis before deciding that such pretension needs to be kicked into next Tuesday with a burst of surly punk riffage. The result, a schizophrenic assault that picks up where their final album left off, leaving fans in raptures and everyone else in tears. And so, it goes…
The band’s musical archaeology continues with the surprisingly funky Cops And Coppers, which digs into the Clash’s songbook, throwing in a touch of jazz along the way. With Falkous exploring a wider vocal range than hitherto, it finds mclusky evolving their sound on the fly, with typically excellent results. It’s followed by the first track to really lock into what might be termed mclusky’s “classic” sound – the brilliantly titled Way Of The Exploding Dickhead which, with its pounding beat, harks back nicely to the still unparalleled Do Dallas.
An early album highlight, the skronky post-hardcore of The Battle Of Los Angelsea recalls the angular wonder of Helmet, the mid-tempo percussion nailing a free-flowing riff to the floor as the band deploy a layered, melodic vocal that refuses to leave your head for days. No less awesome is People Person, which is built around a churning bass groove that leads to a perforated bowel in the unwary and a malevolent sense of glee among the band’s fans. The first half then concludes with The Competent Horse Thief, which has a nice, loping rhythm that evokes the titular animal.
The second half of the album opens with a nod to the clattering punk fury of the band’s debut via Kafka-esque Novelist Franz Kafka, before the sleazy stoner grind of The Digger You Deep finds the band slipping elements of QOTSA into their sound. In contrast, the stabbing Autofocus On The Prime Directive finds the vocal devolving into a series of primal gargles, occasionally eschewing syllables altogether as Pixies-esque guitars probe into the track’s darkest corners.
The pace slows for Not All Steeplejacks a slinky track with elements of Fugazi and Folk Implosion in its DNA. One of those songs that exudes violence without ever actually resorting to it, it provides a little light before the dynamic Checkhov’s Guns is deployed – another album highlight that underscores the band’s ability to create earworms out of the least likely material. With the album hurtling past (the only failing mclusky have ever exhibited) Juan Party-System is a straight up punk rock blast, dispatched in just over a minute and leaving the audience breathless in its wake. It leaves Hate The Polis to tidy things up in typically atypical style, the chorus recalling (of all bloody things) Neil Young’s ramshackle harmonies.
That I love mclusky should be obvious. That their new album lives up to their previous work is a minor marvel, and that the band is back at all is a fucking delight (as is their hair). Over the years, the band have wrecked and re-wrecked my stereo with never an inkling that they would return. Now they’re back to do it all over again and I couldn’t be happier. Fuck it. 11/10
