Eagulls have been one of the more interesting bands to emerge from the recent post-punk renaissance. Originally purveyors of quite spiky punk, their sound has mellowed a little over the past few years and their second album Ullages also an anagram of Eagulls marks a definite move forward from the band’s impressive self-titled debut of 2014. George Mitchell’s vocals are a little more defined, but retain their early Bob Smith quality, slightly stretched and pleading, reaching out for answers that never come, leaving only bewilderment and frustration. “Each night’s like the needle slipped, does existence have much more than this?”, “Is our future grey as the slabs on our drives?”, “Why don’t I ever stop and start to think?” – there are more questions than answers for Eagulls in the bleak world they inhabit, the desolate city scapes mirroring their inner desolation and helplessness.
If anything, there is less hope on Ullages than on their first album Eagulls, the tone is more resigned, the music less of an attack and more of a blurred soundscape. Emptiness, Eagulls
Eagulls delivered a daring follow-up that transformed George Mitchell’s vocals from echo-drenched hollers to sharp, wry observations. ‘Heads or Tails’ is an almost folky opener, while ‘Velvet’ and ‘Psalms’ sound like wandering alone into a dark alleyway, not sure whether you’ll make it out the other side.
Tony Wilson once said post-punk is about moving on from saying ‘fuck you’, to saying ‘I’m fucked’. Eagulls have encapsulated this perfectly in two albums.
Though the band describe the record as positive with a glass half-full mentality, it is a curious mind that would find positivity only in the fact that things couldn’t really get any worse. Sonically, there is a marked change, with more thoughtful backdrops framing the vocals, often slighty warped in an MBV style, though with plenty of picked notes and a clattering drum attacks straight from the Birthday Party. It’s a beautiful amalgam of all that has been good in music over the past thirty-five years, with jumping Cure basslines, plangent guitars, the occasional power chord and even some ambient flickers. There’s a very limited indies-only green vinyl edition, so get in quick, and all housed in a sleeve by cult photographer Peter Mitchell. Near enough the perfect package.
The Fat Angel Sings 