Idles - Joy as an Act of Resistance

The Quietus

Most standard definitions of community (such as Merriam-Webster's: “people with common interests living in a particular area”) fail to reference the sheer import of difference. A self-proclaimed ode to communities and the individuals that forge them, Idles’ second album resists that. It’s a fist-clenched celebration of the full spectrum of phenomena - inexplicable, crushing and totally joyous - that divides and unites us all.

Refining the single-minded sneer and spirit that made last year’s Brutalism one of the most emphatic and supremely fucked-off first moves from a British act in recent memory, Joy as an Act of Resistance is a feature-length confirmation of what many have long suspected: channelled via frontman Joe Talbot, the Bristol five-piece are striking a midpoint between polemical and impactful, the grit of which few contemporary guitar bands have any odds of outdoing.

While Brutalism filtered tales of trauma, self-sabotage and incalculable shite nights out via the band’s singular brand of skull-pummeling punk rock, album number two sees Idles delve deeper still. Framed by the profound personal tragedy of Talbot's daughter passing away as the band began working on the album, Joy As An Act Of Resistance is, from the moment the mechanical drub of opener ‘Colossal’ sets in, a spectacle of defiance sung through gritted teeth.

While ‘Television’ is a two-minute overture to self-love, and lead single ‘Danny Nedelko’ proves a sneering serenade to the beautiful immigrants that make our small towns and hectic capitals worth living in, ‘Samaritans’ is a textbook instance of Idles’ world-beating clout revealing itself. “This is why you never see your father cry,” Talbot incants, mid-way through. As with other times the 33-year-old wields uncomfortable truths for the greater good, the deafening ambivalence of “this is why” will no doubt untangle knots in many of his listeners’ minds.

From the post-Pimm’s depression of ‘Colossal’ to the sepulchral 'June’, with its sobering refrain of "Baby shoes, for sale, never worn”, Joy as an Act of Resistance will, if you allow it, register an explicit memo that, in spite of the forces that conspire to level us, persistence is never futile. When he’s not espousing self-worth or flexing his satirical muscle (‘Never Fight a Man With a Perm’) Talbot doesn’t neglect to stare down the leering chasm of Brexit, Whataboutism or the rot of deglobalization gnawing through the floorboards of our communities. Nowhere is that more inspired than on ‘Great’, a peak that takes aim and snuffs on sight:

“Blighty wants her blue passport Not quite sure what the union’s for Burning bridges and closing doors Not sure what she sees on the seashore.”

Bolstered by a rout of incendiary drives from bassist Adam Devonshire, guitarists Mark Bowen and Lee Kiernan, and drummer Joe Beavis, the overarching missive here is to brace grief, connect, push forward and, above all else, learn to love oneself. And yet, it’s in those bursts, when Talbot picks apart the cul-de-sac cunts whose idea of self-actualization means owning a 50” TV, that often lands the biggest punch.

Striving to see the good in things when one-time reference points to surety and stability are taken away takes not just a considerable amount of mettle: it demands an immense faith in one’s fellow world citizen, whether they reside next door, down the road or beyond Blighty’s beloved seashore. Guided by his friends and fellow punk conquistadors in Idles, as a lyricist, Talbot has just elevated himself to the ranks of craftsman by ensuring that the sheer currency of vulnerability, and the unkillable spirit of community, is threaded throughout JAAAOR. With it, as distilled via his closing call to sense on the album’s closing peak ‘Rottweiler’, Idles take their rightful place as not Britain’s, nor Europe’s, but the world’s most vital band:

“Keep going. Keep fucking going. Keep going. Fuck ‘em. Fuck ‘em. Go. Smash it. Ruin it. Destroy the world. Burn your house down. Unity!”

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Drowned In Sound 90

It's this play anywhere and everywhere, speak to the fans, word-of-mouth ethos that's helped build a community both online and in the flesh reminiscent of the first wave of punk where news spread like wildfire, albeit via different mediums. Their lyrics are easy to identify with whether 16 or 60. Their music crosses beyond class or demographic status with even ITV's News At Ten running a recent feature on the growing phenomenon that is Idles.

So it's not an exaggeration to suggest Joy As An Act of Resistance is one of 2018's most eagerly anticipated releases. It's a record that's actually been in gestation for a good three years, well before their debut came out: closing number 'Rottweiler' has been an integral part of the band's live set for the same period of time, while at least half the songs on the album made their on stage debuts at the back end of last year.

Yet that doesn't even begin to tell the story. Songs have been scrapped along the way. Others shelved until further notice including 'Alcohol', another that appeared on a few setlists during the autumn of 2017. As singer Joe Talbot stated in a recent interview, ‘When we started writing the songs for this album, we tried to keep our integrity by ignoring our success. Even though we were getting bigger crowds we felt we had to stay true to where we are and write more brutalist songs because that’s where we’re from.’

Not that Idles could ever be accused of faking it. Aside from the social commentaries that accompany their music, the personal traumas endured by Talbot played a part in the making this album as with its predecessor. 'June' which closes the first side of the record makes for uneasy listening, recalling the tragic passing of his daughter last year via an Ernest Hemingway poem ("Baby shoes. For sale, Never worn") that sits poignantly as the song's bridge. The final song written for Joy... and understandably the most difficult to document in the studio, 'June' will bring a tear to the most desensitised eyes.

Elsewhere on the record, Joy As An Act of Resistance tackles social injustice and class inequality while subjects such as toxic masculinity, Brexit, the right wing press and xenophobia are given short shrift. The four singles lifted from the album so far represent different sides of the band's musical make up. Whether it's opener 'Colossus', which lives up to its name clocking in at five minutes and forty seconds. Similar to 'Divide & Conquer' off the first record in its brooding mantra reminiscent of Killing Joke, the song's subject recalling the struggle to live up to his father's expectations. Likewise 'Samaritans', which lyrically acts as a sequel to 'Colossus' via its call and response verses and matter of fact chorus ("This is why you never see your father cry"). Meanwhile, 'Danny Nedelko' belittles those that dare to treat immigrants differently ("He's made of bones, he's made of blood, he's made of flesh, he's made of love, he's made of you, he's made of me, Unity!") while 'Great' punches Brexit in the face ("Blighty wants her blue passport, not quite sure what the union’s for, burning bridges and closing doors, not sure what she sees on the seashore"). Talbot doesn't hold back or mince his words while Lee Kiernan and Mark Bowen's dual guitar salvos alongside Jon Beavis' fiercely punctuated drum rhythms and Adam Devonshire's indignant basslines make for compelling listening.

Delve deeper into Joy... and there's the middle class-baiting 'I'm Scum', which takes aim at everyone from fascists ("I am Dennis Skinner's molotov") to the next James Bond ("We don't need another murderous toff") before declaring "This snowflake's an avalanche". 'Rottweiler' has its sights firmly set on publications such as The Sun and The Daily Mail ("There's a snake in my boots, there's a rat in my cage, there's a shark at my feet, that's been circling for days"). Then there's 'Television', a song written for his daughter that simply states Love yourself, fuck TV" in its chorus. Joy As An Act Of Resistance isn't all angst ridden protestation. References to 'Dirty Dancing' appear not once but twice. First on the delirious 'Love Song' ("I carried a watermelon"), which is what it says on the tin. Then later on penultimate number 'Cry To Me', a cover of Solomon Burke's soul classic from 1964 that soundtracks the moment Jennifer Grey and Patrick Swayze get it on in the Eighties flick.

Joy As An Act Of Resistance is everything anyone could have wanted or expected it to be: Idles have released the most relevant and at times gut wrenching album of the year.

The Guardian 80

Partisan Records

Pop music takes us to some wonderful places in 2018 but, Sleaford Mods aside, doesn’t often reflect the sharp end of austerity, post-referendum Britain. But, 18 months after their acclaimed debut, Brutalism, Idles do that with 11 songs of focused, cathartic rage, rooted in their own experiences. Their vehicle is furious punk rock with post-punk angularity – a molten, modern cross of the Fall, Fugazi and the Angelic Upstarts – and the songs bolt out of the traps with sparks and guitars flying.

Vocalist Joe Talbot, a former carer and recovering alcoholic, tears into subjects from parental expectations and fear of manhood to angry young men in “fishbowl” towns, to the demonisation of the working class, James Bond and the decline of our city centres. And that’s just the first three numbers. It works because the tunes are strong enough to carry a brilliantly, powerfully observed message. Take the song Danny Nedelko, which stands up for the benefits of immigration by personalising it. “My blood brother is an immigrant,” Talbot sings, “a beautiful immigrant … He’s made of flesh, he’s made of love, he’s made of you, he’s made of me.” Great fingers Brexit, while Samaritans takes Talbot’s forensic eye to toxic masculinity, “a mask that’s wearing me”.

Pitchfork 68

The riffs come hard, fuzzy, and fast on the Bristol punks’ deeply passionate second album—and the platitudes follow close behind.