Idles

Every now and then something comes along that seems to encapsulate what you think and feel about the world, communicating it in a way you never could. I’ve always felt it about Daniel Kitson, a comedian, that I’m off to see next week; and Smiths-era Morrissey, whose lyrics challenged homophobia and monarchy at a time when people only accepted one queen. Over Christmas I read the end of year culture lists, realising I hadn’t heard or seen many of the things, so set about investigating the ones that piqued my interest.

Idles’ ‘Joy as an act of Resistance’ seemed a compelling prospect. In a review I read the words ‘angry’ and ‘lyrical’ which was music to my ears. I’ve always been a lyrics man. In every Pulp record from the Freaks LP, Jarvis Cocker included the instructions, ‘Please do not read the lyrics whilst listening to the recording’ – this is what I do. Of course, I love the music: the riffs, hooks, beats and drops, but what I adore more than anything is the words. I can forgive a lack of musicianship if the lyrics speak to me. I can appreciate a symphony, yet it’s the words that truly ensnare me.

 

Jarvis is right on most things, but not his lyric advice.

 

As for the angry part, I felt angry as a teenager – mainly towards myself for being inept with women. And if I’m totally honest, angry at them for rejecting me- despite me never asking them out. Morrissey syndrome I call it. In my late teens, early 20’s, I mainly listened The Clash, watched a lot of Bill Hicks and read plays by Angry Young Men. Older the anger has changed. I’m angry that education has become a part of the job market where subjects have salaries attached to them (‘What job will my child get from doing English?’ we hear parents ask.) I’m angry over online discourse that has become so hateful, so gladiatorial, taking contentious topics and bare knuckling them into Twitter fist fights. I’m angry over politicians that pit people against one another: there were even some members of the public who couldn’t side with junior doctors over the government because strike action inconvenienced them. The security of love has mellowed me somewhat, but I’ll always have an itch I’ll never quite scratch.

All of this brings me to Idles. Before buying the album, I heard the song ‘Samaritans’ and it blew my mind. The title comes from the charity that do outstanding work in preventing suicide – male suicide in particular. The fact so many men get to this point has to be down to corrosive masculinity. Undoubtedly women have it a lot harder than men. It’s indisputable that men have the unfair advantage. The only area where men are at a disadvantage is in communicating their problems. Lead singer Joe Talbot is acutely aware of this. During the recording of his first album, his mother died; during the making of his second one, his daughter died.

 

‘Samaritan’ is a savage takedown of masculinity. It begins with Talbot barking out the unhelpful instructions every young man has heard.

       Man up
Sit down
Chin up
Pipe down
Socks up
Don’t cry
Drink up
Just lie
Grow some balls, he said

            Grow some balls

In some households boys can’t express sadness. Emotion is a weakness that won’t be tolerated. The crackle of grief and disappointment can never burn out because feelings have to be hidden, consequently they’re quickly doused by gendered sentiments. If men are going against their instincts to cry out pain, they will only be worse for it later. So despite having masculine thrashing guitars, the lyrics are anything but. Towards the end, Talbot leaves the tragedy whilst guitarists Kiernan and Bowen write the catharsis. When Talbot returns to scream, ‘I kissed a boy and I liked it,’ the battle is won. We return to the refrain of ‘Sit down,’ ‘chin up,’ even more aware of how ridiculous they sound. For a man who has never bought into masculinity but still has the receipts, I loved hearing the topic addressed in such an impassioned way.

Having now listened to the whole album, I’m pleased to announce that there are other tunes which combine visceral thrills and cerebral smarts to great effect. ‘I’m Scum’ comes across a lock-in at a Labour Club with Talbot spitballing like a smart, smashed drunk,

‘I sing at Fascists ‘til my head comes off, I am Dennis Skinner’s Molotov, I’m lefty, I’m soft, I’m minimum wage.’   

 

Another tune ‘Danny Nedelko,’ is a celebration of immigration. The eponymous is a friend of the band and plays in Heavy Lungs, he and Talbot have such a close kinship that they both vowed to write about each other. The lyrics of ‘My blood brother is an immigrant, A beautiful immigrant, My blood brother’s Freddie Mercury, A Nigerian mother of three,’ is a reminder of the richness of diversity. Danny Nedelko is the title, but the song also references Malala, Freddie Mercury, Mo Farah as well as the Polish butcher and Nigerian mother. If you’re going to celebrate famous immigrants (as all Brits do), then you should be championing unheralded ones too. The climatic yelps of ‘yeah, yeah, yeah’ are a middle finger to politicians that divide us.

 

Later on the album ‘Great’ addresses Brexit. It is Idles’ farewell song to Britain. The referendum has reduced it to ruins, leaving the band to dance on its grave. More than Britain separating from the EU, it’s about Great Britain separating from its title, leaving us without the Great. Again, the lyrics are astounding, featuring the hilarious kiss-off, ‘Islam didn’t eat your hamster.’ In the middle I’m sure there’s the first few bars of ‘God Save The Queen,’ a wry comment on how nationalism brought us and May to our knees.

The centerpiece of the album is ‘June.’ The song addresses a topic rarely addressed in music: the death of a child. Here, the guitars are turned down, giving Talbot the space to express himself. Much of the album is a frenetic blast, blending Grinderman menace and Ramones turbo-charge, ‘June’ though is a contemplative ballad. It’s a cry for understanding. ‘A still born was still born, I am a father.’ The use of tense is powerful. Just because a child has died doesn’t mean a mother and father don’t continue to carry its weight. Later, Talbot intones, ‘Baby shoes never worn: For Sale.’ This was the six-word story Hemmingway wrote on the back of a beer mat for a bet. The fact his tale has endured is because it distils pain in its purest form.

Idles have produced a record that will make you laugh, think cry, shout and dance. They are a band of head, heart, lungs and spleen. They have inherited the mantle of Angry Young Men from Osborne and his ilk and done something thrilling and vibrant with it. I’m off now to listen to their first record.

Idles' 'Joy is an Act of Resistance' is out now.