![]() Wood’s self-portraits exaggerate not only rote neuroses but also status anxieties and delusions of grandeur. They epitomize the recent wave of British “ sprechgesang”-mostly young, sardonic speaker-songwriters using flinty post-punk to skewer suspect worldviews, starting with their own. These dizzyingly ambitious capers are where Black Country, New Road come into their own: wordy, abrasive, rhapsodic, absurd. “I’m more than adequate,” snaps the outraged lover, rebuking some off-camera slight. The narrator is in his wealthy girlfriend’s kitchen, contemplating a brilliantly naff future together: “I become her father/And complain of mediocre theater in the daytime/And ice in single malt whiskey at night.” Then the camera pivots: first to a sauntering character who is “invincible in these sunglasses”-cue saxophonist Lewis Evans with a deliciously mocking counter-melody-and later to a romantic quarrel, just ludicrous enough to ring true. The three-act, nine-minute single “Sunglasses” is no less confounding. Why are children crying? And how, in all this, did he end up with “sticky hands”? A moment later, he snaps from a trance and stages a panicked exit. ![]() There is a seductive acrobat-the narrator, drunk, believes she is eyeing him up. The unreliable narrator of “Science Fair” (having performed, winkingly, with “the world’s second-best Slint tribute act”) attends the Cirque Du Soleil and leaves us a breadcrumb trail of clues. Wood’s most alluring lyrics offer glimpses of a higher, often sinister logic. “She sells matcha shots to pay for printing costs and a PR team.” A delightful snapshot, but without some development-or a glossy melody to pucker it up-the image pixelates, stuck between story and poem. “It’s a one-size-fits-all hardcore cyber-fetish early noughties ’zine,” begins one. In truth, the rewrite could have gone further, because a new-notepad smell lingers behind his moreish couplets. Debut single “Athens, France,” originally released by the high-concept label and monologue-rock incubator Speedy Wunderground, is rerecorded and shorn of Wood’s copious lines about fucking, perhaps to expunge the “regrettably one-dimensional female characters” he says populated the band’s early songs. Recorded quickly last March, when the members were barely 20, For the first time documents the first 18 months of the band’s output. As with contemporaries Squid, Black Country, New Road are releasing their debut on a vaunted electronic label, escaping the constraints-whether symbolic or actual-of the indie-rock ecosystem. That none of their experiments feel gimmicky speaks to a diverse and inquisitive musicianship violinist Georgia Ellery, for one, also plays in outfits like the pliable pop duo Jockstrap and a wily ensemble called the Happy Bagel Klezmer Orkester. Their portentous crescendos and surges of Jewish klezmer music set the pace, making post-rock sound improbably carnivalesque. Paradoxically, it is Wood’s mercurial character-his flamboyant self-scrutiny, deft comic instinct, immunity to embarrassment-that anchors the mania of Black Country, New Road’s debut album For the first time. It may feel like catching a sworn enemy at an open-mic night and realizing, aghast, that he is destined for brilliance. You might cringe, then cringe harder, almost enjoying it this time. Hearing their recordings for the first time, you might oscillate between irritation and intrigue. The 22-year-old wordsmith commands the studio while enunciating lyrics with a pompous-prefect quiver. On record, the London-based group’s pounding heart is unmistakably Isaac Wood.
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