Maxïmo Park

Maxïmo Park’s Paul Smith has one of those ultra-distinctive voices. His North Eastern twang so affluent in his dialect dictioned-dialectics, his aching-shaking ululations charged by effervescent hyper-kineticism, his is a heart and mind that cares, shares and seeps it all in (and above) his skin. One prone to overthinking, a-frayed emotions be-linking with vignettes worthy of realist kitchen-sinking. At times he reminds of a vulnerably optimistic, grittier Justin Hayward of The Moody Blues (particularly on opener ‘Partly of my making’ and the exuberant ‘Placeholder’).

Adrift in an endless ocean of trans-Atlantic enunciating dullards, espousing committee-contrived clichéd memories of half-eaten quiche that only symbolise the absence and essence of ‘You’, a literate group (cross-textually) such as Maxïmo Park can only add a glinted glimpse of enrichment, an educative, enlightening enhancement through words and music. Art must transform and reform the soul, not deform.

On seventh album ‘Nature always wins’ the whys and wherefores of communal existences enmeshed in shared environments are explored, the who’s and whats of entrenched structural inequality and endemic corruption are deplored and the effective benefits of altruistic autonomy implored.

Coming together is the ultimate form of defence and resistance against malevolence and manipulation, human error and inhuman terror (‘Why must a building burn?’ is a harrowing, heart-breaking hymn to the Grenfell fire horror and also the Bataclan attacks in Paris where the group’s friend, Nick Alexander, perished).

Add in to the mix the perils and pratfalls of parenthood and the hereditary hang-ups (’Baby Sleep; ‘I don’t know what I’m doing’) and the fractious future the planet hesitantly awaits and you’ve got a heady brain-brew-stew.

However, these seemingly heavy and bleak themes are (as always in these heads, hands and hearts) rendered as philosophically upbeat romantic dreams and positively pensive socio-poetical screams. The quartet (Smith, Duncan Lloyd, Tom English and Jenna Freese) musically they barely veer from their trusted template (and why would they?): melodious and riotous guitars, propulsive percussion, slinking synths, are all present and erect. All magically bottled by producer Ben Allen (Animal Collective, Gnarls Barkley).

‘Placeholder’ is a superlative C86ish jangle-rock jolly. The punchy-punky passion of ‘Ardour’ features Pauline ‘Penetration’ Murray on backing vocals. Reeling off a litany of ingrained (un)natural habits that take their toll: ‘swiping/scrolling in my sleep … what’s become of me?’ as the refrain points out ‘It’s easier said … than done’.

Closer, the carousel-carousing Stranglers-like ‘Child of the flatlands’ is an optic-opus that looks back, harks towards the past, a ‘craning of the neck’ that stretches its utmost to recall what’s gone, or going. As Smith laments the loss of life locales ‘the libraries are closing down … where will the old/random folks go when they feel all alone’ is raises the question what does progress actually ‘look’ like and who actually benefits?

Nature always wins. It’s what it does. Don’t fight it, feel it.