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Tropical Fuck Storm’s latest release is a surprising exercise in restraint. At a point in their career where they have an already built-up reputation for musical abandon, there really is nowhere for a group as lateral in their movement as TFS to go. At least, that was my initial thought going into this album. If you’re concerned about a rehash, perhaps a spin of ‘Fairyland Codex’ will put you at ease. By far Tropical Fuck Storm’s most measured project to date, you could be forgiven for thinking the band had gone through some kind of personnel change. The freewheeling energy of their first two albums, while still present, is toned right back. When it does rear itself, it’s after a heavy warm-up.
Instead, you’ll find Tropical Fuck Storm’s usual brand of surrealism in moments of stillness. The guitars tend to ponder a bit more, clinical in their movement. Lackadaisical drums get submerged in their own haze. On the flip side, This record can be vicious, cunning even. ‘Moscovium’ closes the album with some of the most searing noise rock you will hear all year. ‘Irukandji Syndrome’ is scored by a gothic post-punk bassline akin to some early Joy Division or Bauhaus. Towing the line between frenetic and temperate, it is a perfect mesh of every vibe you will hear from this tracklist.
TFS are not afraid to borrow here either. ‘Goon Show’ feels like the kind of scuzzy, mid-tempo ballad that would pop up at the halfway mark of a Viagra Boys album. These two bands are very much in-league with each other so a comparison seems fair. It becomes a multi-phased behemoth, each stomp in the march building up the track’s power. Elsewhere, the swaggering ‘Teeth Marche’ welcomes lead vocal contributions from band member Erica Dunn. She doesn’t take centrestage often with this band, but it’s always fireworks when she does. It’s an uncharacteristically proper song, filled with sour guitar licks and a plodding pace, yet Dunn’s trademark rasp fits it like a glove.
By the time we reach this record’s title track, we’re in full stride. A lamentation rather than some kind of emboldening statement, the hellish dystopia being promised in the lyrics could be skimmed over were one simply not paying attention. This one is not just impressive for its length, but for its uncanny ability to play with tension and release. “A village in hell is waiting for you”, the chilling refrain backed up by the breeziest instrumentation imaginable. Like you shouldn’t worry, it won’t bite. The cultish allure makes the eventual descent into madness all the more enticing. It’s an empty promise once we come to the song’s end, and the dejection we’re left with signifies that more than telling it ever could.
Whatever frame of mind TFS are trying to communicate here, their tact is always undeniable. They never oversell the zanier moments, they never undersell the contemplative. Even when the band ushers in strings on ‘Bye Bye Snake Eyes’, it couldn’t be further from feeling like window-dressing; it’s intrinsic. (I have to sidebar: as a fellow Melburnian, hearing ‘Warrigal Road’ and ‘Scoresby’ name-dropped by a band of their current international status is a bit surreal). Not only do the band knock it out of the park, but they do so as if it was nothing; just another Saturday. They have an effortlessness about them that makes their wild songwriting that much more affirming. Highly anticipated, highly impressive.
Dan Will Review 