Squid manifests an evolution through the observation of objects around us, coasting through slithering soundscapes that horrify us slowly. ‘O Monolith’ is the sophomore project that takes away past influences and induces them with slow-burning freak folk and glitch electronica, creating a subtler kind of unease.
2021 may perhaps be the year where the Post-Punk and Experimental Rock niche has its peak prominence, so much so that it has established the two bands that created their columns in these genres alongside a certain act named Black Midi that also put out their softer, yet still fraught project ‘Cavalcade’. One of them is Black Country, New Road, and the other, is Squid. From the three bands that cultivated a widespread liking to anyone who has been crawling in the underground scenes, Squid’s debut may as well be the most accessible and the groove-heavy of the bunch. Through ‘Bright Green Field’, Squid embraces their inner Talking Heads as they float through their sonic influences with a thematic thesis surrounding absurdist imagery of systems that affect society’s lives, hemming them deeper into a spiral abyss. Influences may be a bit heavy-handed, but the sheer potency coming from the band is still excellent regardless.
However, with them putting out ‘O Monolith’, their sophomore project indulges in a sonic identity that they now cultivate as their own. Shedding away from their post-punk dabblings, whirling towards a mix of folk and electronic dynamics that nevertheless does not take away from the absurdist writing that they manage to cater in a different tonal shift. If ‘Bright Green Field’ is one most open to their deeply flawed environment, ‘O Monolith’ cowers into the lowland, relying on freak folk and glitch electronica tapestries that may not have the immediate pummeling shrieks coming from Ollie Judge’s fraught delivery, but they still manage to create an anxiety within that utilizes the narrower and subtler sonic scope. ‘Siphon Song’ and its use of woozy synths and vocoders lay down the unfurling dynamics that the band approaches magnificently, a trait that allows ‘Undergrowth’ with its tip-toeing bass and drum grooves accompanied by brass horn and sonorous synth tones gently grow out of its habitat, the cascading momentum of ‘The Blades’ comes to a riveting climax before it willows out of the scene, and the ominous atmospherics of ‘After The Flash’ that nails down the creeping dread due to Martha Skye Murphy’s ever so slightly enthralling backing vocals.
This unfurling quality also translates to Squid’s overall writing. Still perusing through abstraction as always, although the sense of anxiety that Squid effectively creates back in their debut goes deeper into the objects that we see in our very surroundings. From gold letters, rococo curves, great while planes, and more, there is a deep sense of riveting obsession with animism that serves to become one’s own escapism in places that only seep with corruption on every seam. Yet it is an obsession that feels sketchy, with those objects being commodified from the outside world as we seem to take notice of those objects amidst chaos from the structures that take advantage of the value of those objects to seduce everybody in their neck-strangling systems. That, and the observation of the cruel historical contexts placed upon those objects makes Squid’s English folklore leanings even more distressing.
Despite that contrast of style working in Squid’s favor, some of the execution doesn’t always hold up, mostly coming from the melodies and vocal performances. The melodies placed down on the back-to-back cuts leaning on that slower dread work so well that when the band leans back on the post-punk pillars that they stuck through before, those cuts just don’t manage to hit that dread that much at all. ‘Swing (In A Dream)’ may be a neat opener, but Ollie Judge’s vocal prowess just doesn’t cut as deeply where the starry-eyed melodic churns that are well-intended just stews cooler when it goes along, and ‘Green Light’ is basically a straightforward post-punk pull out that just sounded even less special in the record. Of course, there are also slower cuts that also don’t remotely stand out, specifically ‘Devil’s Den’ and ‘If You Had Seen The Bull’s Swimming Attempts You Would Have Stayed Away’. The former cut could’ve been a bit more expounded as the melody just gets cut short at the very end, even if the woodwinds decorate a delicate atmosphere to the song, and the latter cut just is not that strong of a closer at all, where the melodic and instrumental pile-ups rolling through the end does not save how flimsy the melodies are on that track.
The sophomore project evolves Squid’s sonic palette into a more quaint steeple, bringing in the sort of contemporary folklore that leaves everybody in shambles. While the experimentation towards subtlety amidst still potent anxious-inducing writing allows Squid to sharpen their core, the project is still ransacked with early and late shrugs that do not stand out melodically and sonically. Yet the band continues to fracture the view. Within the monolith that Squid is oh so enamored with, there is an uneasy dread lurking through that once you step closer just to find more ways for you to admire the object, you end up with realizations of dour histories and crushing commodities that are seeped deep into that object, making you step back and feel shaken with crushing fear.
Favorite Tracks: ‘Siphon Song’, ‘Undergrowth’, ‘The Blades’, ‘After The Flash’
Least Favorite Track: ‘Green Light’