“Fuck fighting demons, invite them around…”
Mother Vulture are hands-down one of my personal favourite ‘if you know’ up-and-comers in the UK heavy chain-of-command. They’ve single-handedly made the undeniably boisterous rock ‘n roll spirit cool again in an era of post-post-irony that endlessly cannibalises and regurgitates itself, like a friday-night bender at Ouroboros’ house. Refreshingly enough, they’ve done this sans the schlocky AI generated visuals and uninspired, disingenuous stone-throwing that now largely represents the term “rock” in the not-so roaring ‘20s. With a finger in each pie on the table, sporting sparks of classic rock, prog-metal, hardcore (punk addendum optional) and beyond, the kitchen counter is far from the limit when it comes to these Bristolian boogie-bandits. Evidently, they intend to keep that goalpost moving well into their sophomore ‘era’. We’re talking about an act that has been lighting fires and cultivating intrigue long before their studio debuts based on rowdiness alone; a smoke-signal frequently indicative of something rather special as we’ve come to recognise here at Boolin. But will they stick the landing? The only way to find out is to indulge in a little bit of the good ol’ fashioned Cartoon Violence.
Let’s talk about that title whilst we’re here, shall we? Because if there’s a singular turn of phrase that perfectly, and I mean perfectly bottles the essence of Mother Vulture both sonically and physically, it’s Cartoon Violence. In fact, this is probably one of the few times as a music enthusiast that something as inconsequential as the name of a record has exclusively captivated me so deeply. It’s as if it were the term I had been searching for this whole time with which to describe the rip-roaring sound and complementary antics of this band in particular. Perhaps this revelation was just as much of a eureka-moment to them as it was to me, as the record itself appears to lean heavily on it as the blueprint for its overarching atmosphere. When it’s not viciously beating your head in with a comically oversized mallet, there’s something feverishly dream-like or almost nostalgic to it. Through this, it still remains steadfast to the cockiness and chaos of it all – like a rubberhose saloon-brawl recalled only from distant memory. Opening duo “Mike Check” and “Sufferin’ Succotash!” take the starting-gate clean off its hinges, with the latter cementing itself as quite possibly the most unrelenting, speedy and downright kooky whirlwind of the Vulture culture catalog in record time. This is achieved by virtue of Brodie Maguire’s white-hot string-abuse, and the scatterbrained vocal arrangement courtesy of Georgie Valentine Ivanov. His range back-and-fourths between the charismatic decadence of a stick of butter drenched in honey, and the ludicrous lunacy of an Arkham escapee; an overclocked metronome on the verge of an arc-flash.
As mentioned prior, there’s an element of hazy wistfulness buried beneath the fists-flying and strings-squealing. We see this in the fleeting commercial remnants of a world in the rear-view mirror that interludes “(corporate programming)” and “(For Years I’ve Been Searching)” dangle overhead, and in the gradual shift from spasmodic pandemonium towards something more intentioned and dynamic as the album progresses. “Treadmill” onwards doesn’t necessarily pump the brakes but rather begins to weave a thickening layer of reflective depth into the record, in a way that takes delicate care not to betray the nonsensical whimsy long-since baked into the band’s DNA. The insurmountable primary single “Slow Down” takes the biggest plunge in this direction. By trading out frenzied momentum for monolithic heaviness, both conceptually and musically, it embodies self-destructive desire through both its deeply introspective lyricism and also Meshuggah’s best shot at alt-rock rhythm. It clears the area for an unexpected epic in “The Masquerade”, which stands at a staggering seven minutes and twenty-two seconds (effectively an entire prog album in the face of this explosive discography). Low attention spans need not fret, however, as to say it uses every second of this runtime effectively would frankly be an understatement. This absolute odyssey of a track gallops with ambition through soulful, bluesy crooning and psychedelic reverberations both stringed and cosmic. To top it off there’s one hell of a hard-hitting, grandiose hook, made even grander through its polyphony of voices, Ivanov or otherwise, whipped straight from the Queen playbook. Whether you’ve been following the band since they hatched or find yourself the hatchling in this situation, you’d be in your right mind to recognise this as a whole new avenue of theatrics and dramatics for the band, crafting a potential anthem with increased maturity and longevity in the process.
With the floodgates hoisted open and the scope of their potential now boastfully recognised, Mother Vulture dedicate the rear-end of Cartoon Violence to stitching together the pathways of Vulture past to Vulture future. The much talked about ‘punkoid ferocity’ that has found itself their most popular descriptor wriggles back into the limelight with the sacred riffs of reflexive Gretsch-allurer “Phoenix” paired dutifully with its aggressive, conversational verses. Chris Simpson’s thunder-fisted bass forcefully circulates the lifeblood of “Knuckles” – a velvety-smooth thriller that most notably demonstrates the jump from album numero uno to the present day. Mother Knows Best for the most part got straight to the point in express-delivering the concussive carnage clearly addressed to one’s cranium, which was to be expected from a debut full-length of established live favourites that die-hards were more than likely dying-hard to hear definitive versions of. With those out in the open air there’s adequate opportunity for just enough restraint to really keep you wrapped around their pinky fingers for the closing punch-up… and when that punch-up arrives it kicks harder than a mule with an expertly-crafted chorus, each more delightfully transmissible than the last.
The choral transmission rate naturally continues to soar well through the self-assured swagger of bops like “Bedbugs” and “Double Down”. These tracks allow some well-deserved breathing room when listening at home, but in a live setting appear destined to do some damage. Semi-instrumental chase-sequence “La Matadora” comes somewhat out of left field but once again will presumably slot superbly into place amongst the live setlist as an event of sorts, giving Mr. Valentine a well-earned break, but offering drummer Matt West a chance to rile-up the crowd with some showing-off of his own. In the same way that OG closer “Homemaker” oozes a well-earned collaborative finality, “Mountain Of Youth” closes out the record with a last-minute victory lap akin to the celebratory ending scene of a feel-good film. Thanks to a virtually omnipresent gang vocal stem, as well as a number of seemingly candid recordings of the band in the process of Cartoon Violence’s creation sprinkled throughout: it manages to strike the finest balance between the sprouting cinematic growth developed on-tape before our very ears and that tight-knit, DIY mentality that says more about the internal relationship of this band than any interview or direct testimony could.
Rock music presently finds itself in a bit of an uncertain age at the moment. Your heroes are either dead at best, or decidedly shitty people at worst. Even your local scene finds newer and shinier parasites with which to infect itself with each passing day. This is what makes bands like Mother Vulture so important, being ‘unfiltered’ not in the way that your dad talks about Johnny Rotten or Piers Morgan, but rather untainted by any of the forbidden fruits of the industry. They’re for the most part completely independent, aren’t terribly bothered by any of the metrics besides staying afloat, and (most importantly) everything they do appears to come from a place of genuine adoration for the music and the scene, of which I like to believe deservedly loves them back. Cartoon Violence is not only another set of back-to-back bangers for the band, but also an ambitious step forward that completely futureproofs their sound. There’s a supplementary layer of emotional weight and commentary that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that they are not ‘one-hit’ or ‘one-note’ by any definition. Whilst the exclusion of liminally-displaced singles “GO BIG OR GO HOME” and “Break Me” from the record initially came as somewhat of a shock, in context, it makes complete sense that nothing short of a clean slate was required in order to adequately take the next step on the path to world (or perhaps just Bristol) domination. I guess it’s true what they say, Mother DOES Know Best, perhaps the genre would be better off under their wing.
8/10
Cartoon Violence will be released independently on Thursday, January 15th and can be pre-ordered here.