The New Model Army were formed in 1645 and known for their independence from Parliament. This led to the Army’s willingness to contribute to the overthrow of both the Crown and Parliament’s authority.
Good lord, we need them now.
New Model Army were formed in 1980 and are known for their independence from just about everything.
To prove that, almost, ahead of “From Here” there was a statement put out by the band and it simply said this: “It is often said that the album is dead. We don’t believe this is true”.
And that is the key factor here, in truth. If you are looking for singalongs, immediacy and fun, then frankly, you can look elsewhere. “From Here” is not that record. It has moved on in a similar vein to their other albums in this decade. It is bleak, seemingly hewn out of the rock of the landscape.
That landscape is not solely their West Yorks home, this time. As another review has already put it: “This album was recorded on the tiny Norwegian island of Giske, and it sounds like it.”
The truly striking thing about “From Here” is how remorseless and uncompromising it is. “I was in a hurry, I hit the road young” is more than just the first line on the record, you suspect. It is reflecting, surely on the journey from 1980. That sense of learning is all over it’s brooding too. “I was certain in what I know,” sings Justin Sullivan here, “I thought the branches moving made the winds blow….”
Maybe, things change. Things aren’t now how you always imagined they were. And maybe that’s how you get to be in a band for getting on for 40 years.
Because as much as work like “Never Arriving” is straight out of the Dales, and as much as it is the darkest folk you can conceive the way Sullivan delivers the line: “I’ve always considered it best to not disturb ghosts, but it seems women always want to get right to the heart of things” is done with a real sense of maturity.
Occasional frissons of urgency pock mark these too. “The Weather” is driven by acoustics, but pulses, and if we are hurtling to some impending doom then the nihilistic “End Of Days” seems as unhinged as the news. “You’ve been cheated” sneers Sullivan, “but not in the way that you think”.
There is something truly primal about the stormy rumble of “Great Disguise” and there is something eerie and ethereal about “Conversation” that make these two the real engine room of the collection.
One of the highlights – perhaps the highlight – is “Where I Am” and it recalls the sound I remembered when as a kid I found NMA while looking for West Yorks bands in the wake of my Paradise Lost obsession (true that, it’s what all the cool kids did at 16) and the line about “everybody wants to be somewhere else” is still as true now as it was then.
Perhaps the best thing about “From Here” is the poetic delivery, and that is most particularly underlined on things like “Hard Way” and the ability to unsettle too, which is on the strange whine underneath the music on “Watch And Learn” as if it has set out to deliberately subvert the formula.
Throughout, really, there is an epic, almost classical embellishment. Particularly so on “Maps” which has a real cinematic feel, and the way Sullivan mumbles his way through “Setting Sun” makes that one feel claustrophobic.
Closing with the almost eight minute long title track is a masterstroke too, as its lilting piano opener, the organ and the metronomic air to the drums, gives almost a chance to reflect. To consider where indeed “here” is, perhaps. The fact is that wherever it is, NMA have created a challenging piece of work that will probably make you consider your place in the world.
So, no, the album is not dead. And neither is the ability to craft – in every sense of the word – one that is strikingly original.
Rating 8/10
