The Chapman Family - 'Cruel Britannia'

Stockton-on-Tees, a small market town in the north-east, is hardly stooped in rock ‘n’ roll heritage. Having driven through on occasion, it is, like my own home town, pleasant enough, but encourages the kind of escapism only music can provide. The Chapman Family formed in 2006, and quickly outgrew its surroundings, garnering considerable adulation from both mainstream and underground press. Their debut album Burn Your Town emerged last year following five years of touring, singles, and festival appearances – a late bloomer it may have been, but praised nonetheless.

I must confess that Burn Your Town completely passed me by. Blending art-rock influence with thrashing, dervish punk chords, the likes of ‘Anxiety’ simply didn’t resonate and as such, the band had all but faded from memory. Following a line-up change and some effects-pedal investments, new EP Cruel Britannia showcases a band beginning to live up to the lofty expectations put upon them. Darlings between the covers of the NME, the band at are at present the ‘go-betweens’ of alternative rock music; billed alongside Goth-crossovers O Children, with spot on last year’s DV8 Fest, while holding appeal to fans of Editors and Arcade Fire. In truth, the Chapman Family have manoeuvred to sound like none of these bands and instead simply sound like, well, the Chapman Family. Moving forward from their debut, a Jesus and Mary Chain swirl begins to show, but obvious leanings to the darkened vibes of Factory set them apart from fellow noise-mongering contemporaries, managing to eschew condescending comparisons to shoegaze royalty My Bloody Valentine.

The first thing you will notice about Cruel Britannia is its throbbing backline; particularly evident on ‘This English Life’, the fuzzed-as-all-hell bass guitar successfully threw me from my seat and blew my speakers in one fell swoop. Spattering along on a stately shuffle, building in intensity with singer Kingsley Chapman moving from croon to Morrison-esque howls at the epicentre of waves of guitar, initial claustrophobia is ripped apart as the final chords fade. Opener ‘No More Tears’ is possibly the least enticing of the five, sharing traits with Interpol and Maximo Park, the chiming guitars and rollicking beats are sure to get heads banging, but the vocals lack the conviction needed to elevate the song above a basic workout. ‘Summer Song’ on the other hand is served well by its restraint, beginning with ominous, discordant guitarmonies (check it) sliding into a glorious, soaring chorus. It’s clever song writing; for once again the melody lines retain their laidback pitch while the instrumentation revolves, signalling the changes.

The strongest cut here is the title track; taken alone, it serves as a bridge between the EP and Burn Your Town, a perfect synthesis of that record’s thunderous tempos with the sophistication of the new material. Sure, the lyrical simplicity may fail to inspire those of us refusing to wash our The Queen is Dead t-shirts, but serving the song is what matters, and Kingsley’s words float gracefully upon music, much like Ian Curtis' restrained incantations on 'Shadowplay'. Closing with a cover of Morrissey’s ‘Everyday is Like Sunday’ is certainly a welcome surprise, and provides calm, lilting coda. The walls have fallen down and you’re all moshed out, the stripped-back arrangement wraps around like a summer duvet, it’s an emotive way to finish; Kingsley’s vocals, exposed for the first time on this record, are genuinely moving.

Cruel Britannia is the sound of a bigger budget, bigger effects rack and most importantly, bigger ideas. At times, the band veers into ‘tried-and-tested’ territory – no bad thing, but if some of these tracks are to go by, they are capable of greater things, possessing a knowledge of dynamics and musical depth which could elevate them above their peers. An enjoyable record, growing with repeated listens.