Round-up Tracks: Spring King, Glass Animals & More

Lusting for Transatlantic domination, Spring King’s latest outing ‘Detroit’ comes fully laden; with a stars and stripes flag in one hand and a Fender in the other.

Despite their Manchester origins, this finds the four-piece yearning for American shores, and not just by title alone. Begging for the scrappy-surf tones to be bellowing out of a Mustang roaring down Route 66 - with no pitstops anywhere but the Michigan city - everything about ‘Detroit’ suitably screams Stateside.

Conventional Yank twangs and simplistic, no-frills lyrics are welcomed with open arms, driving the focus towards the overtly infectious riffs. ‘Detroit’ could have been borrowed from early-days EP ‘Demons’, but raucous shouting is traded in for poise, clean-cut guitar rhythms and subtle harmonies. Approach with caution. After a single listen “I don’t wanna be nowhere else except for Detroit City” becomes immediately mind-tattooed. (Mollie Mansfield)

Tropical though it may have been, Glass Animals’ debut album ‘Zaba’ was submerged in gloom. Content to rustle around in the undergrowth, its twisted take on jungle-pop was defined by whispers and shadows. On ‘Life Itself’, they’re brushing off the twigs and bugs, and hop-skipping out into the sunlight, piña coladas in hand.

Bouncy and bongo-led, the second iteration of Glass Animals finds them polishing their diamonds, rather than opting for reinvention. Buffed up and shimmering like never before, they’re a thousand times more confident - “She said I look fat, but I look fantastic,” smirks frontman Dave Bailey before they leap headlong into their brightest chorus to date. All fidgety, colliding time-signatures and a toy-box of instrumentation, Glass Animals feel reborn, shedding the murky skin of ‘Zaba’ in favour of a kaleidoscopic new set of scales.

For years, Glass Animals have teetered on the edge of greatness, somehow finding crowds of thousands across the globe without ever burrowing out of the underground. ‘Life Itself’ is evidence that they’re ready to break free - a flamboyant swan-dive into the deep and shimmering lagoon of pop perfection.

The boring reason for Liverpool group Trudy’s name change is obvious. Some legal wrangling forced them to add a few words, to get the other Trudy-related angry-types off their backs.

A more fantastical - but fitting - reason might be that Trudy were such doe-eyed romantics on their early singles, they simply had to add “and the Romance” to their title. Not a single moment goes by when the group’s spike-toothed indie opts against loved-up statements. They’re hopelessly adoring a certain someone, purring into oblivion, the thorns of a rose giving them blood-stained smiles.

On ‘He Sings’, loose-fitted percussion and lollopping guitar lines fight for space. And instead of this being a dreamy rom-com plot, they bark out the line “You don’t need my love!” in spiteful defeat. Romance isn’t dead with these guys. But for Trudy, romance is an ugly beast they’ll always have to wrestle. (Jamie Milton)

A bit like really wanting to order fried chicken when you’re pissed, but knowing deep down it’s a truly terrible idea, Tegan and Sara’s ‘Stop Desire’ takes on the kind of dangerous, all-consuming hunger that’s hard to resist. “Waiting on you to get your ass in gear, didn’t wanna be so invested,” it protests – slightly non-committal to the idea - before deciding to throw all caution to the wind and embrace the whole mindless lust thing, no matter the consquences. “Get me, feel me, want me, Like me, love me, need me,” ‘Stop Desire’ demands, with vague lyrical echoes of that godawful early-noughties Kevin Lyttle song ‘Caress Me’. ‘Stop Desire,’ however, is a pop banger of the highest order. (El Hunt)

Somewhere in the world, Daniel Sturridge is surely rejoicing. A vocal Sampha fan (the footballer once sang a fairly impressive rendition ‘Too Much’ during an interview) he’s a man of fine tastes.

Best known for featuring alongside hard-hitters like Drake, Sampha’s voice is also inextricably intertwined with SBTRKT; he gives many of Aaron Jerome’s creations their unique, unmistakable pulses. This, ‘Timmy’s Prayer’, is his first solo effort in three years, and a more minimal, measured prospect. “I am your prisoner,” croons Sampha, “now I’m just a visitor.” It’s an overwhelmingly romantic song; disturbing, devoted, and loved-up to the point of breaking. If he carries on at this rate, Sampha won’t stay synonymous with the word ‘feat’ for long. (El Hunt)

Tags: Glass Animals, Spring King, Listen, Features