Are conceptual albums about birds not really your go to thing? That could all be about to change.
Following on from Punching Swans two previous LPs, ‘Punching Swans’ and ‘Mollusc’, ‘Nesting’ is the band’s third full length album in just four years.
Each one has been just that little bit more experimental than the last. ‘Nesting’ tells the story of a man gone mad. A tortured soul, sick of life in the village he grew up in. Realising he must make a change, and reaching a new level of desperation, our friend leaves for the confines of the local wood, where he will live out the rest of his life as a bird-man.
Accompanying the estranged gentlemen on his existential crisis is some rather captivating music. The London/Kent trio conjure up jangly math rock style punk, sporadic and unnerving, and it fits the story to a tee.
“Cuckoo Cuckold K-killed” kicks off the record with a set of bongos and some eerie guitar, building and building until it eventually squawks into life. Presumably talking to his new found woodland chums, whispering voices sing: “This is my house now. You are my wife now. You are my kids now”. The frustrated song flirts with the idea of delivering a knockout blow but never quite sinks its teeth in. Although at times the bedlam levels are most certainly upped, I think the band do it so well it’s a little disappointing they don’t do it more often.
‘Man Nest’ is instant and unforgiving in its absurdity. “Come look at ma’ man nest!” is yelled in classic Paul Rudd/“Slappa da’ bass man” style. This track rips for two minutes straight, and with no time to digest the perplexing riffs and raucous drumbeats you are left in total bewilderment.
The farm yard sound of clucking chickens introduces the disorientating ‘Headless Chickens’, the shortest track on the album, which is literally Greg, Joe and Pablo shouting “yeah, yeah, yeah, hey, hey, hey” over and over again for nearly two minutes. If an album about a bird-man wasn’t barmy enough for you, this track has all the featherbrained antics you could ask for.
The whole thing is half an hour of the most playful rock music you’ll ever hear. Frivolous and feathery. Is birdcore a thing? Well it is now.
LEWIS TROTT