Nation of Language – ‘Strange Disciple’ album review: a synth-fuelled emotional minefield
Strange Disciple, the latest release from synth-soaked trio Nation of Language, is an album marked by obsession. Its cover features a Christian Little painting of a monk, seemingly agonised by a sheer sense of devotion. The question is to what? A lot of listeners will point to this album being an exercise in 1980s worship, with it recalling the work of Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark and Talking Heads. But Nation of Language have created a record that far exceeds retro-nostalgia. The real devotion at play here is to emotion, which they masterfully capture by recreating a live feel, and the contagious joy you get from dancing at a gig can be felt across every one of its ten tracks.
A lot of this is owed to the fact Strange Disciple is their first album recorded since Covid. With their fanbase steadily growing, they were able to gauge audience reactions to songs in a far more organic way at gigs. When rooms started packing out with fans of their ‘80s-esque sound, they found half the people in attendance often wanted to dance while the others wanted to cry. “It’s a bit of a tightrope act to satisfy both feelings at once,” admits Ian Devaney in a press release. “But the most beautiful thing in the world to us is that all parties made the perfect amount of space for one another to be able to do whichever felt right to them,” he added.
On the record, similar space is made to cater to each emotion, but most crucially, there’s a pronounced embrace of analogue gear. In producer Nick Millhiser’s East Williamsburg studio, they printed the tracks to tape, boldly committing to embrace whatever mistakes or surprises popped up as a result.
How we use media soon becomes an emotional thread on the album, too. On ‘Too Much Enough’, the sense of overwhelm caused by doom-scrolling is distilled in the relentless beat, one so addictive you feel relief when it reappears after moments of calm. Similarly, ‘Sole Obsession’ nods to those who trade in news-induced stress for blind devotion. This sense of faith can take on a romantic dimension, like on opener ‘Weak In Your Light’, but it feels like a thematic stand-in for something far grander. It doesn’t matter what the obsession is aimed at, it’s the fact we can lose ourselves completely to it that Nation of Language find intriguing.
On the note of losing yourself, it’s impossible not to mention that a lot of their sound is directly inspired by the likes of Depeche Mode and OMD. The emotional tightrope Davey mentions comes into play here, simply because they hug the line between inspiration and infusion so effortlessly. The synth-soaked pulse of their songs is distinctly ‘80s but without ever drifting into imitation. Their links to that era are almost so pronounced that you can’t trace them definitively to one band or singer.
Devaney’s are captivating throughout – not quite angelic, but touched by a sense of yearning that’s almost devasting, particularly on ‘Weak In Your Light’. The vocals are never overpowered by the introduction of electric guitars or keys, and every synth line and groove feels intentionally placed. For all the glimmers of shoegaze and krautrock that burst through the record, it’s never overcomplicated.
This restraint is why its tracks are so imminently danceable. The beats are catchy, cohesive, and quaint. As for the 50/50 split of criers and dancers at their shows, following this sublime offering, I imagine there will be more dancers to come. It’s almost poetic that on an album so concerned with emotional extremes, catering to both sides allows the more joyous one to prevail.
Never Miss A Beat
The Far Out New Music Newsletter
All the latest New Music from the independent voice of culture.
Straight to your inbox.