ALBUM REVIEW: The Common Thread
The long awaited 4th full length album from No Broadcast is here. Radiohead-esque sonics, dark but hopeful ambience, wide open wooziness and Josh Braden's stunning and familiar vocal melodies, this is The Common Thread.
Jeremy McLean responds critically to the new album, weaving astute observations and personal perspectives into this wonderful review.
In the great rush of the year to throw all chaos in the air, I find myself in a moment of stillness. My last grandparent has perished. After waiting three agonising weeks to spend 30 hours on sleeping pills and wake in a different country, I wait even longer for her funeral. Her last years were spent in a glum housing estate, alone in a bungalow overstuffed with more crockery than a solitary 80-year-old needs. Entering her kitchen to the reek of her carer’s stale cigarette smoke, we surveyed the remains of her life: wardrobes stuffed with handmade quilts, 50ml bottles of liquor kept from flights or hotels, and a moth’s dust lingering on the curtains by the front window.
In Aotearoa, it can be difficult to find artists that will freely explore more nuanced emotions. An overwhelming majority of local art is marked by a self-consciousness which undermines the emotional pathos of the work and leads to a homogeneity of style. However, Aotearoa is also full of artists who embrace raw vulnerability; they just rarely seem to rise to the surface and be celebrated in the way they deserve. No Broadcast is one such group and their latest album, The Common Thread, grieves through tender lyricism and pensive instrumentals. Each track oscillates between a whisper-in-your-ear intimacy and a sweeping rush of air, a step down in volume from their more intense previous three albums. It may be my mood, but this quieter approach has led to the band's most refined work so far with a more consistent core that grounds each layer of instrumentation.
“[No Broadcast’s] latest album, The Common Thread, grieves through tender lyricism and pensive instrumentals. Each track oscillates between a whisper-in-your-ear intimacy and a sweeping rush of air…”
Josh Braden not only engineers, produces, and writes each song, he also proves himself a delectably versatile guitarist. This record’s electric guitar tone has the washed-out twang of a forgotten country western record or Godspeed You! Black Emperor solo, wavering away toward the horizon. His riffs balance technicality with a candid and familiar sensitivity; a familiarity that spills over into his vocal style and lyrics. Braden’s deeply personal lyrics manage to hold us at arms-length through their minimalism and this ambiguity has always been a strength of his, allowing for short verses that emphasise melodic and rhythmic performance over storytelling. Lines like “All bound to the daydream / all yet not redeemed / to fall in the fields sown / to become unknown” from ‘All and Now’ are characteristic of this album, exploring themes of being lost in dreams and time. The lyrics are thought-provoking, with allusive imagery evoking the feeling of a fading dream in a way that mirrors the lyrics’ ideas. Vocally, Braden spends much of the album in a ghostly falsetto that glides across the surface of the icy mixes in a style reminiscent of elements of Radiohead’s Thom Yorke and Sigur Rós’ Jónsi, combining Yorke’s nasal timbre with Jónsi’s melodies.
Usually only on drums, Thomas Isbister picks up the bass on this album as well. Recording one rhythm instrument before the other is difficult, but Isbister manages to lock both parts together. The drums are earthy and pull themselves back from the immediacy of No Broadcast’s previous albums. Here, sizzling open hi hats and rides sway over precise beats performed with a similar effortlessness to Braden’s guitar work. The chorus on ‘Road Signs’ washes over a kick and snare pattern that jaggedly bounces back and forth in a way that simply clicks into place, tickling the brain with each bar. Just as satisfyingly uneven or driving as his drums are his basslines. Isbister often veers away from the root notes, instead playing a melody or groove, mixing influences from dub, funk, and punk in a manner similar to Colin Greenwood from Radiohead or Joe Lally from Fugazi.
“Each song is a textural behemoth with a considered arrangement”
Each song is a textural behemoth with a considered arrangement. Swooping strings and an assortment of keyboards ranging from synths to organs help to fill up the caverns of the mix. These are provided by Tom Harris, and help to balance the intimacy of the drums, guitars, and vocals. The mixes, and Thom O’Connor’s master, add clarity by emphasising the high frequencies until it feels like an early crisp morning complete with sleet on the windowsill. My first listen immediately reminded me of the alternative rock sound from albums like Ok Computer or Porcupine Tree’s In Absentia. Not only does this give the album a distinctive sound but that iciness elevates the uneasiness of Braden’s harmonies. No Broadcast’s previous albums had dense layers of distorted guitars and bass - fitting closer to progressive metal and shoegaze more than alternative rock at times - so their mixes reflected that with more emphasis on a punchy and thicker lower end. Here the band has taken a significant step down in dynamics, moving away from these higher intensity sounds. This new coldness suits the quieter songs and enables the balance of proximity between close guitars and distant strings that defines Braden’s mixes.
The release’s final single, ‘Terrified’, is the song which encapsulates this change the most. ‘Terrified’ is wired, paranoid, shrill, and discomforted. A walking bassline lays a steady foundation for an arrangement of sporadic noises which dissolve into momentary chaos, all to lock back together the next bar. While other tracks on the album have chord progressions which feel more comfortable, the harmonies here contort themselves around the bassline resulting in growing pockets of turmoil that are tethered by the bass’ unflinching consistency. The track’s climax takes this to the extreme with all manner of noises revealing themselves, creating an incredible pandemonium, the harmony never seems to stop moving upwards until we are finally woken from the nightmare Braden puts us in. However, tight construction ensures that the track never falls completely into chaos and we are guided through the ordeal rather than thrown in at the deep end. The string section and walking bassline remind me a lot of Radiohead’s masterpiece ‘How to Disappear Completely’. No Broadcast wear the inspiration on their sleeve but are careful not to sound too much like Radiohead — this track is clearly a No Broadcast recording as it sweats with anxiety, although at a lower intensity than their previous work. They’ve replaced their fuzzy guitars, driving bass, machine-like drumming, and fast riffs with a more apprehensive intensity – an unease. No Broadcast have crafted a spiralling nightmare that’s delightfully uncomfortable to experience and listening to this track I feel the disjointedness of having stayed awake overnight.
Less uneasy are tracks like ‘All & Now’ and ‘Road Signs’ with its ambient outro ‘End of the Road’. Ágætis byrjun, Valtari, and () from Sigur Rós are three albums which have been clear influences across No Broadcast’s discography, and these lower impact tracks really makes that evident. Both No Broadcast and Sigur Rós write melodies which feel nostalgic in the sense of melancholic familiarity; the scent of green beans plucked off the vine, wandering through the accumulation of a dead woman’s home, a paling fridge magnet with an unrecognisable picture of yourself printed on it, as opposed to the cheap nostalgia bait of Stephen King knock-offs and Star Wars TV series. All of Braden’s melodies feel effortlessly familiar; never expected or samey, they simply make sense. These melodies are meaningfully developed, with ideas being introduced with conviction and evolving throughout the track. Even the slowest tracks hold my attention, and this largely comes down to the contrast between melodies, intensities, or pace. Just after two minutes into ‘All & Now’ Braden’s vocal leaps up an octave, wailing over the melancholy instrumental before the band stirs into the full chorus. The wail shifts down to a drawn-out falsetto, an exhale with the rising tide. These moments wash over me, and I’m pulled fully into the music. They take the momentum of Bjork’s Vespertine, but instead of pushing with the full ensemble Braden pulls back and basks in the moment.
“Both No Broadcast and Sigur Rós write melodies which feel nostalgic in the sense of melancholic familiarity; the scent of green beans plucked off the vine, wandering through the accumulation of a dead woman’s home, a paling fridge magnet with an unrecognisable picture of yourself printed on it…”
In this regard, Braden’s vocal melodies clearly borrow ideas from Jónsi of Sigur Rós. He holds soft notes over louder instrumental sections, moving between pitches in similar ways. However, Braden works Jónsi’s sound into his own, and is more confident in the way he uses his voice as the song’s directing force. The Common Thread is No Broadcast’s first album where vocals take full centre stage over everything else. The band’s prior work often distorted and buried Braden’s words beneath a monolith of guitars and drums, a choice that worked for the more intense and dramatic sound they had, but here he is pushed up the front and given space for us to ruminate on his lyricism. I’m delighted by this evolution, as Braden has become a more compelling vocalist with each release, exploring many differing styles but always sincerely himself.
The collapse from ‘Road Signs’ to ‘End of The Road’ is the album’s highlight for me. On the physical vinyl these two tracks are listed as one, and very much form one longer piece. Like much of the track list the song’s beginning is sparse and intimate, gradually building to a full climax. This time though as the track’s lengthy reverbs fall away strings seem to emerge, and for two minutes these strings yearn. The energy of the album softens into a meditation, demarcating the end of side A and perfectly ending the album’s first half. Harris’ sound design in this outro is earthy and wooden, with a subtly cracking distortion. This interval’s minimalist production draws attention to the textural details and you can feel longing in the instrument. The same nostalgia from Braden’s melodies can be heard here; I feel quiet when this section pulls into view. The harmony shifts one note at a time, often holding on one chord for long enough to wallow in its resonances in a style reminiscent of drone composers Yoshi Wada (Off The Wall) and Kali Malone (The Sacrificial Code), marked by distinct but minimalist changes. It’s a subtle work of textural intricacies and slow-moving harmony that invites you to submerge yourself in it, exemplifying the skill with which the band paced each track and sequenced the album. Cutting away from conventional song writing for small moments of reflection like this are always an easy win to me and I cannot get enough of them. I was left motionless by this outro on my first listen and still find myself arrested by it when I listen to the album in full.
No Broadcast have always displayed a high level of musicianship. Beyond just the technical quality of song writing and performance, their records push toward a bigger sound than the mere three piece they started off as. As far back as Null and Void - their debut EP which opens with a minute and a half of guitar drones – their production has focused on atmosphere and mood, and each subsequent release has felt more expansive. However, they stayed heavy and fast-paced with their previous album writhing in anguish at points, but hinting at their quieter approach on other songs. They’ve done a remarkable job at paring back this dramatic sound to a more mellow level across all of The Common Thread, morphing their despair into melancholy. Each track on The Common Thread feels wintery and intimate, yet despite such a consistent mood across the album I never have trouble distinguishing between individual tracks, largely thanks to careful album sequencing. It is a real shame that they don’t have a larger audience as they are a cut above the stream of local bands that do little to progress the sound of Aotearoa. With any luck, this album will help them attract the audiences of some of our more innovative groups like Recitals, SODA BOYZ, or Mermaidens. If this is your first encounter with No Broadcast, I recommend listening to last year’s Lie in Orbit as it is very much a companion to this album. Both works were recorded at the same time and Lie in Orbit is a phenomenal exploration of their more extreme style. Their music will engulf you. I hope the band will continue playing around with their sound. Until then, I wait patiently to see where No Broadcast take themselves.
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Song Writer: Josh Braden
Mixed by: Josh Braden
Mastered by: Thom O’Connor
Video by: Aaron Lee
Musicians:
Keys/Synths/SFX: Tom Harris
Drums/Bass: Thomas Isbister
Lapsteal: Ryan Fisherman
Vocals/ Guitar/Keys: Josh Braden