Pynch – Beautiful Noise

London’s Pynch have followed up their critically acclaimed debut, ‘Howling At A Concrete Moon,’ with their new album, ‘Beautiful Noise’ (Chilliburn Records). It was recorded at the band's home studio in Brixton, with frontman Spencer Enock handling production duties and Los Campesinos cohort Jimmy Robertson overseeing the mixing.

Image & artwork courtesy of the band

‘Howling At A Concrete Moon’ was the finest coming-of-age record in a generation. Lost protagonists searching for hope amid a sea of austerity and races to the bottom. Without being an explicitly political record, it lit up the times in the bleak, grey brush strokes that were.

Fast forward two years, with hope still a distant dream for many, and so, ‘Beautiful Noise’ saddles up and searches for more meaning. ‘Forever’ comes out the gates with Grandaddy-esque production and the effortless summer cool of Real Estate as they yearn for “late nights to go see the world To find God in the eyes of a girl”. With the spirit of Billy Bragg’s ‘A New England’ coursing through it, Pynch land you straight back into their out-of-kilter world of Kerouac prose and Jonathan Richman vocals.

Enock’s development on studio duties is enriching on ‘Forever’, but on ‘Revolve Around You’, it gives the band new dimensions. The tinges of drum ‘n’ bass fold in the sound of cathartic chaos. The coming to terms with loss, with unfathomable heartache that catapults your soul into nights of empty sex and excessive booze:

“I lost myself chasing memories / Of things that were never there at all”

They channel their soul through coming-of-age tales, reaching a powerful peak on ‘Microwave Rhapsody’. It's where the divine cool of Is ‘This It’-era Strokes collides with the raw, unfiltered roar of Seafood, a sound both expansive and intimately wounded, as they gaze out across London’s grey skyline, wrestling with life’s big, unanswerable questions.

There’s a hypnotic chaos to their slower songs, a sense of losing control that grips the listener, claws into the spirit, and tears at self-doubt. Memories and dreams blur through their guitars like spectres; the past grins knowingly, its scars worn like armour. The joy, when it comes, is laced with sorrow, aware of its all too fleeting nature.

Elsewhere, they cut through the philosophical torment with the likes of ‘Supermarket’, ‘Hanging On A Bassline’, and ‘Come Outside’. ‘Supermarket’ whilst steeped in youthful estrangement, sonically plays with Graham Coxon and his inclination to b surrounded by “painter and decorators” in the Good Mixer to feel something real. ‘Hanging On A Bassline’ reimagines Beach Boys and The Strokes for London’s youth looking for its freedom. Meanwhile, on ‘Come Outside’, Enock duets with drummer Juliana Hopkins. The lightness of The Cure’s pop-goth guitars sprinkles fairy dust before they race with the glee of Sebadoh and the romance of The Wedding Present circa ‘Seamonsters’.

Pynch documents the isolating nature of your twenties with an innate sensitivity, but crucially, with a burning passion. They wander willingly to the edges of emotional cliffs, staring into the abyss, not with despair, but with curiosity. Music can be playful, even meaningless, but Pynch injects substance into their brand of rock ’n’ roll like a collision of T.S. Eliot and Irvine.

Elsewhere, they cut through the philosophical torment with the likes of ‘Supermarket’, ‘Hanging On A Bassline’, and ‘Come Outside’. ‘Supermarket’ whilst steeped in youthful estrangement, sonically plays with Graham Coxon and his inclination to b surrounded by “painter and decorators” in the Good Mixer to feel something real. ‘Hanging On A Bassline’ reimagines Beach Boys and The Strokes for London’s youth looking for its freedom. Meanwhile, on ‘Come Outside’, Enock duets with drummer Juliana Hopkins. The lightness of The Cure’s pop-goth guitars sprinkles fairy dust before they race with the glee of Sebadoh and the romance of The Wedding Present circa ‘Seamonsters’.

Pynch documents the isolating nature of your twenties with an innate sensitivity, but crucially, with a burning passion. They wander willingly to the edges of emotional cliffs, staring into the abyss, not with despair, but with curiosity. Music can be playful, even meaningless, but Pynch injects substance into their brand of rock ’n’ roll like a collision of T.S. Eliot and Irvine Welsh.

Pynch – Howling At A Concrete Moon

After a triumphant set at this year’s Truck Festival, we rewound to April to when Pynch released their debut album ‘Howling At A Concrete Moon’. Written by guitarist frontman Spencer Enock and produced by Enock and Andy Ramsey at The Nave, Press Play Studios, and Chillburn HQ. Image courtesy of the band.

In years gone by, bands would leave home for city life and make 2 or 3 albums based in that world. The hopeful debut, followed by the coming-of-age masterpiece, felt like a right of passage for bands in the UK. Then it’s off to the countryside to make cheese.

‘Howling At A Concrete Moon’ is available to buy on their Bandcamp page.

Alas, the sense of hope that ‘His ‘n’ Hers’, ‘Dog Man Star’, and ‘Modern Life Is Rubbish’ that led to the glory of ‘Different Class’, ‘Coming Up’ and ‘Parklife’ feels like an alternate reality in 2023. London’s Pynch look upon a city of greed, poverty, and air so toxic it can kill. Coupled with Tory misrule and the music industry’s race to the bottom, to even begin attempting an album is laudable.

Pynch, poetically tackles this generation being left behind in London in two parts. ‘The City (part 2)’ is the finest document of pressurised city living since Recreations’ (aka Sam Duckworth / Get Cape Wear Cape Fly) ‘Zones 9 & 10’. The sense of alienation in the overpopulation (“you never see the same face twice”) and the search for meaning (“is this what we were made for / For life on the 15th floor….fuck no”) are followed by a guttural howl on Enock’s guitars. It’s a panic attack wrapped up in slacker rock ‘n’ roll.

Its counterpart, ‘The City (part 1)’ in turn, says “fuck you” in part two. Acknowledging that “tomorrow is a lifetime away” serves up the most freeing sonic of the record. As Enock decrees, “forever has been and gone”, a four-minute warning resounds, and Pynch chooses to live for the moment. Musically, a mesh of Hot Chip solos and Franz Ferdinand riffs follows, packed in Pynch’s distinct lo-fi slacker outsider status. Spiritually, it’s as pure a moment of rock ‘n’ roll this decade.

This subtle level of defiance climaxes on the record closing three songs ‘Karaoke’, ‘London’, and ‘Somebody Else’. The former puts The Strokes’ ‘Is This It?’ into slow motion for the So Young generation to unite behind:

“Be good but don't go changing
Stay strong don't you waste it
We only get to go round once”

It’s as uplifting as any 90s and 00s polemic with the authenticity of Johnny Rotten howling “no future”. Enock’s melodic drawl has its roots in Jonathan Richman and Julian Casablancas, but through his lyrics, his melody begins a cultural deterritorialization. Finally, nostalgia mania has bitten the dust!

On ‘London’, they tap into a melody that wouldn’t be out of place in any era. The indie oddities of Golden Silvers and Bowie’s vocal hook combine with Enock’s wry take on how they are viewed:

“We waste our money all on drugs and coffee / We must be so lazy, why don’t we start saving? / Every penny counts if we wanna buy a house / Twenty years from now, the banks will bail us out”

Then, on album closer ‘Somebody Else’, Pynch write themselves into history with a stonewalled classic. Dan Le Sac vs Scroobious Pip beats go for a joyride with Jonathan Richman’s motoric whist Enock eloquently beds in vocally between Albarn and Coxon. The Strokes influence looms heavy, but again, they manage to distill it to a more tranquil tempo and match their intensity via lyrics.  Climaxing with the “I just wanna feel / I just wanna feel / Something real” roar, you are left in no uncertain terms that Pynch are a special band. They walk the tightrope of poet and philosopher with effortlessness. Witty, smart, but crucially, always impassioned they are the sound of a generation that’s been fucked, yet despite all this, never give up.

Pynch’s debut album is full of such great era-defining couplets, it's easy to overlook just how many great musical moments it possesses. The dreamy Real Estate and Horros-esque (circa ’V’) synths of opener ‘Haven’t Lived a Day’ or the solos on ‘Tin Foil’ and ‘Maybe’, to name just a few.

A truly great moment in a sea of political despair. Viva la hope!