False Heads - It’s All There But You’re Dreaming
London trio False Heads have unveiled their debut album after coverage from the big hitters at Radio 1, 6 Music and Radio X, alongside slots playing with Queens Of The Stone Age, The Libertines, David Byrne, Band Of Skulls and Frank Turner.
Most impressively of all, patronage has come from no less a source than the great Iggy Pop, who’s reported to have said: “They are young and talented and going places. If they came to my town I’d show up for that, if they come to your town you might wanna show up.”
Of course, at present that’s easier said than done, but who are we to argue with the great man? Fortunately, he’s right on the money. It’s All There But You’re Dreaming is a beast of a debut, timeless Britrock at its best.
‘Whatever You Please’ starts with the gentle strum of an electric before exploding into a gargantuan statement of intent with chilling, OK Computer-style guitar lines, ‘Fall Around’ has a gripping bass with the call and response vocal style of mid-1990s Blur. ‘Twenty Nothing’ is one of several tracks to channel the insolent sneer of Green Day, but with an English accent that recalls The Subways’ early output whilst raging at the ‘gutter press’.
The riff-tastic ‘Ink’ is a moody, fast-paced thing which puts the bass pedal through its manoeuvres, while ‘Slew’ is a bit less refined and features a big, typical rock-out coda that has the stodgy sound of grunge, demonstrating a shrewd production technique that keeps things just dirty enough.
As ever with these reviews, ‘punk’ and ‘grunge’ will come up as touchpoints but, whilst being hard to avoid, they don’t really tell the tale. ‘Comfort Consumption’ is something of a warped ballad, rattling along comparatively softly and melodically, while the punchy ‘Slease’ is an odyssey that goes in several different directions, but all with a sustained and raucous tempo. In similar fashion, closing track ‘Rabbit Hole’ is a doom laden mini-epic, as the protagonists wail whilst slipping down said hole.
Although featuring a plethora of riffs, the album isn’t all about the guitar: ‘Steady On Your Knees’ puts a brooding bassline front and centre as singer Luke Griffiths stretches his vocal to its limits, and it’s hard to select just one drumming highlight as the entire album is rabid on that score.
It has to be said that Royal Blood are also an inevitable but unavoidable comparison, yet False Heads don’t rely on the wizardry of an effects pedal; theirs is a purer sound. The album is one or two tracks too long and a reliance on repetitive (and shouted) choruses does point to their inexperience. But ultimately, in a year already becoming crowded with strong debuts, False Heads have laid their marker down in impressive fashion.