Grey Britain. Geddit? It’s like Britain was great, yeah? But now it’s just grey n’ stuff. D’ya geddit tho? Yeah? OK.
The Watford punks return to eschew reason in favour of pugilistic riffing, prophetic grunting and oodles of drama. Grey Britain rises up, out and onto ‘The Riverbank’ and a swampy, mournful string-filled number rides smoothly upon waves of feedback beset by screams of rutting foxes before we are cast into vocalist Frank Carter‘s dystopian vision of the UK. Part guttural grunt and part shout -- it’s a miracle to not hear him vomit at least once on record.
Grey Britain is well orchestrated and songs move swiftly into eachother, making for compulsive listening. This addictive quality is matched by the band’s continuous assault. Add some staggering production into the mix and Grey Britain becomes a record capable of severe brutality. As Gallows cleverly straddle the punk, metal and hardcore genres without ever really fitting any, there is lyrical content to match.
If you created a tag cloud from Carter’s lyrics, I’d bet on the following words featuring prominently: fuck, black, cross, death, hate, lies, rats, graves. You get the idea. Religion, London, Teen knife crime and insecurity are the topics that bear the brunt of Carter’s attention, and though hardly the most eloquent of lyricists, his verbal delivery is precisely what is needed when the soundtrack is quite so apocalyptic.
‘I dread the night’ bears the best of Gallows’ hallmarks: massive terrace chants, choppy chords entwined with melodic octave licks, time changes, double bass pedal work and possibly the best lyric on the album “Trapped in the body of a man defeated, I am the shame of mistakes repeated“.
‘The Vulture (Acts I & II) features Carter singing, yes -- singing, backed by a solitary 12-string acoustic guitar; but this venture into folk is mere prelude to the urgent punk of Act II. ‘The Riverbed’ deserves special mention as the taut and muscular musicianship that drives the band finally takes prominence. It is sure to provide moshpit inhabitants with a great workout this summer.
The Vulture (Act II)
Quite why Biffy Clyro‘s Simon Neil appears on the deathly ‘Graves‘ is beyond me, lending as he does a wholly unnecessary American feel to the track. ‘Queensbury Rules‘ calls for a knife amnesty and a return to the gentlemanly manner of settling a dispute with ye olde fisticuffs. Though running the risk of tarring an entire generation as knife-wielding maniacs, it’s assuring to know that the band read the papers.
With shattered national pride propelling the anger, Grey Britain offers no solution to the state of our country. Unless of course, you fancy taking up the proposal suggested on finale ‘Crucifucks’. “Take out your knives and drain out your blood, we deserve to die.”
It is thoughts like this that exemplify the album’s major flaw: incapable of finding any intelligent answers to empower young people, Frank Carter calls on this British public, now so alien to him, to kill themselves and let the world start again. I just hope he realises that we’re going to want him to lead by example.
