There is something admirable about a band that knows exactly what it is.
Spread Eagle have never felt like a group that were going to chase whatever the trend happened to be. They were never likely to start worrying about algorithms, playlists, or whether some bloke with a laptop thought the guitars were too loud.
Instead, they make hard rock. Tough, streetwise, no-nonsense hard rock. The sort with scuffed boots, battered amps and a look in its eye that suggests it has seen a few things and is standing.
“The Brutal Divine” is their fourth album, and there is a symmetry to that. Two albums came in the 90s, and two have arrived in the seven years since they returned. Spread Eagle have spanned those two worlds superbly, and what is incredible here is how full of energy they still sound.
The band have called this “an emotionally and musically heavy body of songs,” and that feels right. You can hear it in “Flat Earth Vultures,” which starts expansively, as if setting the scene, before settling into the tough hard rock Spread Eagle are associated with. Ray West still has that unmistakable voice, all grit and attitude, and when the band locks in behind him, this is not nostalgia.
“Street Noise” makes the point even more clearly. This is the same classy hard rock they have always been synonymous with, but they are pushing the envelope too. Skid Row fans would love this. Not because it sounds like a copy, but because it has that same sense of danger and swagger.
“Gunflower” changes gear, and there is more metal than hard rock here. That matters, because “The Brutal Divine” is not one long strip of asphalt. It moves. It kicks. It bites. It knows when to lean on melody and when to drive the riff straight through the wall.
With Rob De Luca producing, Gianmaria “Jommy” Puledda’s guitars are happy to take centre stage, and “Jail Rat” is a fine example. This really is a throwback record in the best possible way. It is not chasing trends. It is just playing great songs with conviction.
“Forbidden Local Honey” is a single for a reason. Catchy, swaggering and up to no good, it has the sort of hook that gets under your skin before you have realised it. “Gotta lick the spoon!” sings West, with all the knowing glee of Joe Elliott asking if you take sugar.
“Pushed To The Limit” keeps the momentum up. At a tight ten songs, there is no flab and no mid-album sag. As a fan of songs that start with a solo, “Ant Farm” gets bonus points immediately, while Rob De Luca’s bass anchors it down.
“Scars In Our Eyes (City Kids)” has an 80s feel to it, and proudly so, while “Inside A Shrunken Head” is almost punk, certainly ready for the moshpit. Without a ballad on the record, “Makebeliever” ends it with the same tough edge it began with. “Grab a hammer and hit the streets,” sings West, and appropriately enough, they have nailed it.
It is heavy, but not joyless. It is melodic, but never soft. It is rooted in the past, but not stuck there. Most of all, it sounds alive.
Rating: 8/10
