Coach Party – ‘KILLJOY’ album review: a brilliant indie-soaked existential crisis
Indie rock can get a bit samey. A flash of rage here, a moment of introspection there, all set to glittering guitars and some decent, passive vocals. But Isle of Wight’s four-piece Coach Party have driven a tired genre to new heights on KILLJOY.
It entirely sidesteps the indie tendency to get into the weeds of misery, the whys and the whats of certain heartbreaks and personal betrayals. As vocalist and bassist Jess Eastwards put it in a press release: “People are just dicks sometimes.”
That carefree attitude is what colours the album, the sense that things are shit sometimes, and that’s the way it is. Would you expect anything less from a record that opens with ‘What’s The Point In Life,’ which spends a glorious two minutes assuring listeners we’re all going die, but winkingly asking: “I don’t give a fuck, do you?”.
For such a nihilistic album, it is positively bursting with energy. The depths of despair feel so suburban they’re wickedly relatable, not quite reaching Nietzschean heights, but settling with Eastwood resigned to crying on the sofa playing Nintendogs while everyone else manages to get a job. The resignation continues on ‘Born Leader,’ a cool indie-rock celebration of settling: “I’ve got a boyfriend, he’s not very smart”.
‘Micro Aggression’ has the most bite of any track on the album, dripping in a misogyny-fuelled anger and a fitting riot grrrl-esque vocal, reminiscent of Wolf Alice’s ‘Yuk Foo’. ‘Parasite’ is another heavy hitter, complete with abashed shrieking and eviscerating riffs that would fittingly soundtrack any moment of genuine rage. It’s a cathartic listen that leaves you exorcised of your hang-ups, thanks to Coach Party’s unflinching embrace of their own neuroses.
Although the loudest moments dazzle, they are adept indie-pop experts, leaving crucial space on the album for the more docile tracks. ‘July’ is a breezy, light consideration of genuine dread that borders on the paranoid.
This ultimately underpins the sentiment of the album: it relishes the chance to espouse anxiety, but not in a put-upon fashion, more so in a manner that the band have the bit between their teeth and are boldly probing at modern life. Liberated by the energy that comes from the tight playing and bold, almost-bluesy, rhythm section, KILLJOY seems happy abide by its title for a second and look at dowerness with clear-eyed reflection.
With the thump of ‘Micro Aggression’, this would have been one of their bleakest tracks, but it’s quite masterful as the music pulls it along, underpinning the record’s sentiment. Here, an existential crisis is packaged in a neat, easy listen. In fact, it is so comfortable, that it makes it almost unsettling – like the ramblings of someone truly on the edge, slightly too high-pitched when they tell you they’re fine.
‘Always Been You’ closes the album, which is almost a shame because the emotions that leap from the other songs feel strangely absent in this love letter. There’s a sense of longing and insecurity, but this is done with a lot more flair when they commit to a full-bodied anger. What it does do, however, is highlight their range. The record is unexpectedly versatile, walking you through a cycle of manic moments that are polished, inventive, and feel painstakingly real.
Its weaker moments chart romance, and its best, unspeakable frustration and rage, only makes the LP more intriguing. Needling guitars and brilliant builds shape the entire album, a spirited, frank collection of songs that will thrill indie fans. Off the back of a Glastonbury set and a spell supporting Queens Of The Stone Age, Coach Party are going from strength to strength, and this gritty album is clearly a sign of brilliant things to come.
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