Formed in 2012, Walking Papers is a Seattle-based band centred around Jeff Angell (The Missionary Position). Relatively quick off the mark with their debut album (released in 2013), the band, which featured both Barrett Martin (ex-Screaming Trees) and Duff McKagan (G’n’R), took five long years to release 2018’s WP2, with Barrett and Duff departing in its wake due to commitments elsewhere. However, far from slow the band down, the shift in personnel seems to have revitalised Jeff, and The Light Below is an album that sits comfortably between the twisted gospel blues of Screaming Trees, the confessional nightmares of Afghan Whigs and the dark electronica of latter-day Depeche Mode.
Right from the start, The Light Below has the listener hooked. The atmospheric noise and shuffling beat of The Value Of Zero is not necessarily an obvious choice for opening number, but the sense of menace it exudes is tangible, Jeff and his cohorts exhibiting a hitherto unnoticed alt/prog edge reminiscent of A Perfect Circle. What Did You Expect is no less unconventional. A twisted blues pitched closer to Depeche Mode’s electronically-augmented take on the form than Muddy Waters, it’s driven by Benjamin Anderson’s deft use of keyboards and Will Andrews’ subtly innovative percussion. However, these two pieces, as good as they are, only set the scene for what follows. Epic in scope, Divine Intervention is undoubtedly an album highlight, with its serpentine slide work and lysergic beat. Drawn into its core, the listener has no option but to lose themselves in the sumptuous production and let the blues wash over them in waves. Jeff is in his element here, his vocal cracking with emotion as the band weave their magic around him, and the sparkling solo that emerges at the conclusion has a similar impact to the stately lead work of David Gilmour. It gives way to the rippling post rock of Stood Up At The Gates Of Heaven, caught in an ethereal whirlpool sound tracked by Mogwai and Soundgarden, that builds to an unexpectedly potent crescendo before tumbling towards the hymnal beauty of Going Nowhere. Essentially, the sort of music Kings of Leon spent their entire career trying to create perfected in six little minutes, Going Nowhere is the sound of dusty, mid-West, haunted and empty, yet in possession of a mysterious power that emerges as Gregor Lothian’s gorgeous saxophone sweeps across the mix. It leaves the monumental Creation Reproduction And Death to round out the first side, which it does in blistering form. With Dan Spalding’s creeping bass underpinning guitars that send out showers of sparks, Creation Reproduction and Death is a dark soundtrack to late night lust, Jeff channelling a particularly lascivious Iggy Pop as he prowls the darkened streets. Words, to be honest, fail to do the remarkable ambition of this piece justice, and it has to be heard to be fully appreciated.
Opening the album’s second side, Money Isn’t Everything retains the ambience of Creation Reproduction And Death but allows a lighter touch to emerge through Will Andrews’ jazzy beat. Indeed, there’s an airy ambience to the track that seems to weave, dreamlike, around Jeff’s vocal, creating a soundscape that shimmers somewhere in front of the speakers. It’s a remarkable effect and one that adds yet greater depth to the brooding soul of the vocal. A shorter track, Rich Man’s War employs a taut beat, as if to clear away the layers of ambience built up over the preceding tracks, and it serves as a powerful palette cleanser prior to the bizarre, Tom Waits confessional of Where Did I Go Wrong, all honky-tonk piano and regret. The Depeche Mode vibe returns on the saxophone-swept The Other Shoe (Reprise), albeit a Depeche Mode that grew up in the shadow of Radiohead, and this transpires to be a short segue preparing the ground for the hulking My Thoughts Are Not My Own. A seven-minute exercise in tension and release driven by the exceptional rhythm section, it says much of the band’s dexterity that they can move so deftly across genres without sacrificing the cohesion of the album, and the guitar work here is second to none. It leaves California (One More Phone Call) to bring this exceptional record to a close on a reflective note. As refreshing as the rain that follows a period of intense heat, California (One More Phone Call) helps the listener to emerge, blinking into the daylight and it provides the perfect conclusion to an album that utterly beguiles the senses throughout.
The Light Below is unequivocally a work of brilliance. The musicianship of the band is, in and of itself, exemplary but, when you take into account the remarkable chemistry the assorted members have developed, it becomes something else entirely. As for the music itself, although there are clear antecedents, Walking Papers have woven their influences into something unique and special, each track serving to draw the listener out of the world in which they live, and the result is an album that speaks as much to the imagination as it does to the emotions. A masterpiece? Most certainly? Album of the year? A strong contender. The Light Below is a truly special album and essential listening. 10/10
