Most bands spend their first record trying to sound like one thing. The Furnace Choir spend theirs refusing to. Brass and Static lurches from New Orleans second-line stomp to something closer to industrial noise within a single song, and the seams show.
That restlessness is the point. When the horns finally lock into a groove on the closing track, the release lands precisely because the album made you wait for it.
The seams show, and the band is right not to hide them.
The arrangement
Across the record’s ten tracks, the production favours space over density. Instruments enter, state their case, and leave. It is the kind of mix that sounds better the louder you play it and the more carefully you listen.
The verdict
Not every track lands, and a couple overstay their welcome. But the best moments here are the kind you find yourself returning to weeks later, which is the only test of an album that finally matters.
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