Written By Kevin McSweeney
Uncultivates This Will Become Clear Later Like the French Revolution review
It is not for nothing that Cork in Ireland is known as the Rebel County. OK, so it’s primarily to do with the Irish War of Independence, but I like to think it defines the character of the people – Full disclosure: McSweeney is a Cork name! – who have an admirable spirit of defiance about them.
They simply won’t be told what to do, and it is in that fiercely independent (and ironically humorous) spirit that cacophonous Corkonian cowboys Uncultivates bring you their idiosyncratically-titled debut album, This Will Become Clear Later, Like The French Revolution, which is due for release on February 6th via Horsebox Records.
They define themselves on their Bandcamp page, not in terms of any subgenre, but as: “…men who have recently bought a house in the local area.”
I believe this to be a reference to the attempts of an underage Will McKenzie to purchase alcohol illegally in an episode of The Inbetweeners.
Whether this is the case or not, I don’t know, but feisty ones they most certainly are with their technical and recondite brand of “mathy” post-hardcore, embellished with Primus-like accents of engaging eccentricity.
Styling themselves as the wildest figures on the frontier in what they call a “love letter to America”, they follow in the footsteps of many Irish country and showband stars before them who have cultivated a cowboy aesthetic, though the perennially struggling whiskey farmer shtick is certainly a first.
It’s clearly a case of having the craic for these cowboys, not from Hell, but from the banks of their own lovely Lee, with their distinctly Hibernian brand of hootin’ and hollerin’.
Now, let’s have ourselves a hoedown as we go through the album, track by track, in the Metal Lair saloon style.
Intro:
This is an unsettling little hors d’oeuvre – a sort of a cross between a showdown at a saloon bar in the Wild West (so presumably somewhere like Clonakilty or Skibbereen) and a car alarm going off in an area with a high rate of crime and dim prospects of survival for anyone stupid enough to intervene.
It acquaints us with their apparent disdain for such trivial constraints as conventional time signatures – there’s that rebel spirit! – and there’s a banjo twanging away beneath the guitar, bass, drums and guttural vocals. Now, onto the main course…
I Am Your God, Your Father and Your Boss
This modestly-titled track begins with a dissonant and unorthodox little riff that hints at System of a Down-style silliness to come.
This riff is later harmonised, sounding somewhat like a swarm of angry bees. The frenetic fretwork occasionally shows signs of lapsing into the triple-time that is so readily associated with Ireland’s rich musical heritage, and is alternated with what I can only describe as belligerent bluegrass.
One thing is immediately apparent: given the nature of his vocal performance on this and almost all subsequent tracks, There won’t have been enough Murphys or Beamish in the whole of Munster to soothe Dr Eli Gravedigger‘s throat after all his roaring. His larynx must have been shredded to ribbons.
As is the case with many of the songs on this album, the lyrics are somewhat abstruse. Deciphering them is perhaps only possible once you’ve got stuck into the aul farm-grown uisce beatha. That’s my assumption anyway.
The constant reference to digging for coal is perplexing, as turf is typically cut in Ireland to keep the fires burning – unless of course this digging for coal is taking place on American soil. Who knows, and does it really matter? It’s eccentric and intense in equal measure, and that’s what really counts.
Great Minds Think of Mike
Something about the way this song kicks in reminds me of Amen – rest in peace, Casey Chaos – with its unfettered fury and its no-time-to-be-messing approach.
The intensity is fully ramped up, and there’s a great, tom-tom groove when the guitar riff subsides to leave the good doctor screaming over bass, drums and squealing feedback. There’s also a thundering hoor of a breakdown to savour at the end.
The lyrics alternate between the poetic and the truly harrowing. I’ve no idea who Mike is, but this appears to be a furious invective directed towards the abusive treatment of children in church institutions – something that was widespread in Ireland once.
I was educated by the Christian Brothers myself, so blame them if I’m wide of the mark here. It’s their fault that I’m thick as pigshit.
Every Day I Wake Up on The Bonnet of a Different Car
They’ve let the Texan gimmick slip here, or they’d be calling it the hood, not the bonnet. The second single from the album.
Waking upon the bonnets of different cars would tend to suggest excessive alcohol consumption, and given their status as whiskey farmers, it’s fair to assume that there’s plenty of that sort of thing going on, but this track appears to be about having your head wrecked by someone with views you might consider objectionable – in this case a “Joe Rogan apostle.”
The lead riff sounds a bit like a sample of the aforementioned System of a Down covering the Knight Rider theme. This appeals to me.
There’s also a fleeting flavour of Immigrant Song in there at one point. For the most part, though, it’s furious post-hardcore with some very tasteful double-kick drumming towards the end, and a breakdown that once again takes the concept of conventional time signatures and kicks them into Lough Mahon.
Oliver
I’m not sure who the titular Oliver might be. In the context of Irish history, it might be Oliver Cromwell, which would certainly explain the line: “Ah, he peaked in the womb.”
Cromwell is not the most popular historical figure in Ireland. It could be Oliver St John Gogarty. I suppose, but why would they be after him?
One thing’s for sure: it’s not a song from the Oliver musical, based on Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens. They’d probably never get away with a lyric like “The fucker is buffering” in a musical.
Musically, it’s a small bit more restrained than the other tracks hitherto, with a lid just about being kept on the violence.
The throat of Dr Eli is not being given a rest, however, as the larynx-shredding roars are still very much in evidence. This more cultured approach to aggression is reminiscent of Meantime-era Helmet, to my ears at least.
Rory’s Interlude
Well, this is nice! The wind might be howling, but somehow they’ve managed to keep a fire from going out on the prairie, or the bog, or wherever they happen to be.
We are treated to an oasis of serenity in the form of lovely, soothing work on an acoustic guitar that seems slightly out of tune, and sounds all the better for it.
Another acoustic guitar enters the fray, similarly out of tune, and we have ourselves a pleasant, poignant little instrumental interlude – it does what it says on the tin – before the madness begins again.
Things fall apart towards the end, with some impromptu slide guitar and other such messing, but the job is done regardless.
Flatley
The first single to have been released from the album takes the form of what I’m sure is a warm, earnest and heartfelt tribute to the American-born reinvigorator of Irish dance, Michael Flatley, whose jig-based juggernaut Riverdance has drummed up rave reviews and rampant revenues since the 1990s.
That the time signature of this song for the most part might be defined as a 4/4 shuffle, but could also be rendered as a 6/8 jig, has not escaped my attention. It also features a cracking little guitar solo.
I’m going to let the lads explain the lyrical content themselves, as I’ll only make a hames of it.
“This little ditty is about getting old and your body not doing what it used to. It’s about how in 1998, Tap dancing legend Michael Flatley broke the record for most taps in a second with an incredible 35 taps. What people don’t know is that in dancing at that speed, ol’ twinkletoes opened up a hole in space and time where he saw a version of himself in another dimension. In this alternate reality he was the world’s most skilled kickboxer and was loved and respected by all. Every day since, he has tried to dance that fast again in the tenuous hope that he can come face to face with his alter ego and defeat him in the ultimate tap dancing kickboxing bloodbath.”
So, now you know.
Dread First
Ah now, lads. This wouldn’t be a dig at everyone’s favourite red cap-wearing rap metal icon, would it? I should rage-quit the review here in disgust at the treatment of our beloved destroyer of unspecified items, but I appreciate a good spoonerism, so I’ll proceed.
Actually, the lyrics articulate that all-consuming sense of impending grief and pain that afflicts many of us from time to time.
In this context, I am reminded of the quote attributed to WB Yeats: “Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.”
There’s always that sense in the pit of the stomach that it’s all going to go tits up, but it’s alleviated somewhat by the knowledge that no Durst abuse took place here.
As for the music, imagine a crust punk cover of the Primus song Wynona’s Big Brown Beaver.
That’d be about it. The song, which blasts by in a mere one minute and thirty-two seconds, has recently been released as the album’s third single. No need to cut chunks out of that one for the radio, so.
Rental Snake
I remember a rental snake being in an episode of Peep Show once. I wonder if the song is a reference to that. They’ve proved themselves only too happy to allude to British sitcoms previously..
Musically, we’ve got a bit of a blast beat on the go here. We get more into the realms of grindcore than post-hardcore, save for a few moments when the pace drops and the bass takes over as the primary means of driving the song.
The abrasiveness is certainly taken up a notch, and we get a big, beefy breakdown towards the end that is also kinda bluesy.
The Ice Bed World Tour of North America
The final song of the album is here and I still have no idea what they’re on about, but I know an impressive groove when I hear one.
That’s what we’ve got here on a song that is significantly longer than all of its predecessors, though we’re still not exactly getting into prog territory.
There’s all manner of ghost beats and other intricacies to excite the percussive purists among you, under a riff that is muscular but kind of wistful, if that makes any sense. It doesn’t, does it?
The ending of the song, and album, as is unorthodox as you’d expect it to be. We get a brief bit of dreamy acoustic guitar before the brutality takes hold again, then it relents again.
We have a clean, melodic passage, met with a bit of hootin’ and hollerin’ from those present to witness the recording, then it’s back to brutality, then they knock out a bit of jazz before a monstrous breakdown brings matters to a close. Primus would have been proud!
So, what to make of all that? Well, it’s quite a debut: Unorthodox, Uncompromising, and unapologetically idiosyncratic.
Theirs is a spirit of independence that I can’t help but admire. As the Wolfe Tones might put it: they paddle their own canoe, or as they say in America, they do their own thing, and don’t care if they baffle you in the process.
I still don’t know what the title means, but I’m sure we’ll figure it out in the next 230 years or so.
Anyway, it’s an emphatic opening statement from a band who know how to stand out from the crowd. I’m sure they’re quite the experience live. Just make sure you leave your guns at the door, and your tongues firmly in cheek.
Metal Lair awards This Will Become Clear Later, Like The French Revolution by Uncultivates four and a half devil horns
Read more from this author:
Dive deeper with Kevin McSweeney in Seven Deadly Songs, Metal Lair’s ongoing series uncovering the tracks that cut the deepest.
Uncultivates are:
Dr. Eli Gravedigger – Vocals
Colonel Goon – Electric Bass, Vocals
The Prospector – Electric Guitar, Acoustic Guitar, Banjo, Piano, Vocals
Boot – Drums, Percussion, Vocals
Tracklisting:
1.Intro
2.I Am Your God, Your Father and Your Boss
3.Great Minds Think of Mike
4.Every Day I Wake Up On The Bonnet of a Different Car
5.Oliver
6.Rory’s Interlude
7.Flatley
8.Dread First
9.Rental Snake
10.The Ice Bed World Tour of North America
Listen on Spotify.
Listen on Apple Music.
Uncultivates Online
About The Author
Kevin McSweeney is Metal Lair’s resident scribe of the underground, eternally rummaging through the global metal scene for riffs worth your time.
As the guiding hand behind Seven Deadly Songs every Friday, he has an uncanny knack for finding the track you didn’t know you needed, usually before finishing his pint.
Equal parts loyal, kind, and quietly razor-witted, Kevin brings deep knowledge, impeccable taste, and a steady, reliable presence to Metal Lair.