Idles - Do you hear that thunder?

In Bristol

A raw, stunning sound rooted in (post-)punk, weighed down by the tectonic distortions of post-hardcore, devastating and shaking the ground around it. The aesthetic is dictated by the psychotic tones of Pil, the incessant "against" bark of Mark E. Smith, the razor-sharp guitars of Gang Of Four. But the spirit is gentle, and behind the tough-guy shell lies a refined literary background. Beneath the cocky mustaches, loud clothes and miles of tattoos of Joe Talbot (vocals), Mark Bowen (guitar), Adam Devonshire (bass), Jon Beavis (drums) and Lee Kiernan (rhythm guitar) lie Labour-leaning readings (and views) and an art-school background, through which they craft new slogans to feed to the public, fueled by the unease caused by the Brexit affair and its inevitable side effects, which captured attention across the UK throughout the second half of the 2010s.

Idles met and came together in Bristol, a multiracial city known around the world for completely different sounds and rhythms. Joe Talbot was actually born in Wales, in Newport to be exact, and after spending his childhood in Devon he met bassist Adam Devonshire in college, in Exeter. The two enrolled together at the West of England University, in Bristol, and the first artistic venture they undertook together was opening a venue, the Bat-Cave (where the two also tried their hand at well-attended dj-sets), which would soon become one of the crucial hubs of the city's music scene. But the real goal was to achieve something far more important than a few well-attended indie nights. Meeting guitarist Mark Bowen, who had also come to Bristol to study, sparked the idea for the next step, the decisive one: forming a band.

Welcome, Meat, the first Eps

In 2012, Welcome is the eloquent, telling title chosen to introduce themselves to the world: an EP containing the first four tracks the band released, stylistically positioned closer to a far more canonical post-punk than what would follow later, and clearly showing their main youthful influences. "26/27" is a very Interpol-like track, the incipit of "Meydei" unabashedly echoes the earliest U2 of "I Will Follow", "Germany" is new wave to the bone, and the closing "Two Tone" is a chaotic post-hardcore regurgitation. Welcome, originally released in December 2011 as a word-of-mouth demo, would later be put out — in August 2012 — by the label Fear Of Fiction.

It will remain an isolated episode in the band's discography: dissatisfied with the result, they have repeatedly said they disowned it, blaming themselves for failing to give their project an identity through those four songs. Welcome, an EP disavowed all too harshly, actually shows good songs performed by a young band, still a bit naive at times. A technical test transmission, needed to gauge their ability to put together fully-formed songs — there would be time later to bring out their unmistakable personality.

Talbot doesn't want to sound punk, post-punk or hardcore: together with his bandmates, he wanted to find his own way, different from everything else, to break free from any comparison with the past or the present, and carve out a path able to clearly set their creature apart from everything else on the market. But defining an unprecedented artistic dimension takes time — a full three years, spent rehearsing at least three times a week, before reaching the huge step forward achieved with Meat, the second EP. In the meantime, the line-up expands to five members, with the arrival of Jon Beavis on drums and Lee Kiernan (permanently replacing occasional member Andy Stewart) boosting the firepower of the guitars.

Released on October 30, 2015 on the Balley label, Meat has a sound that pours punk and pub-rock elements into the band's songwriting, a convincing preview of the future Idles, outlining their true musical attitude, which goes as far as absorbing tribal-rooted segments. Some tracks had already been released in the preceding months: "The Idles Chant" had been circulating since 2014, while "Queens" had preceded the EP's release complete with a video. But once the spring 2015 tour was over, the band decided to re-record everything, adding the two new tracks "Romantic Gestures" and "Nice Man". Compared to the previous EP, the approach becomes harsher, the tracks more concise, gaining in effectiveness and ferocity.

In the following months the four tracks would undergo an electro transmutation, remixed and reissued on the Meta EP, showing for the first time the band's unexpected interest in electronic-based sounds.

In 2019 Balley would try to cash in on Idles' success, bringing the two EPs Meat and Meta together into a single compilation.

The best way to scare a Tory

But everything done up to that point, during a long and grueling apprenticeship, is nothing compared to the explosion that was about to come. Idles began building a reputation as a phenomenal live band, thanks to shows that were wild and ferocious, yet also fun. During that period Talbot, who was making a living working in pubs and spending nights behind the decks, was caring for his mother in hospital. Those were hard months, during which he sank into alcohol and also turned to drugs. He grew ever more frustrated and angry at the world, and poured all of his pain into writing new songs.

When his mother died, after a long illness, that event became a driving force for him and for all of Idles, a new beginning, an attempt to break free in every way possible from their respective flat existences, with all the strength and pride they could muster. This is the path that would lead to Brutalism, their debut album, released on Norman Records in 2017. On the cover, an image of Talbot's mother — her, of all people, an unwitting muse of sorts — alongside a sculpture made years earlier by Talbot himself together with his father. A family portrait of sorts, energetically shared by the other four members of the line-up.

Brutalism is a powerful work, meant to shake Old England from within, an album in which Idles describe all the unease stemming from Britain's complicated socio-political situation. A call to arms against Brexit, but not only that: the arguments are many, justifying dissent and outrage against the system, as well as the will to attack taboos and conventions with great determination. Tons of rage, sarcasm and fucks take shape with furious intensity right from the opening "Heel Heal", bursting out explosively on the following "Well Done", an anthem that fuses the rebellious spirit of Fall and Fugazi with the noisy dissonance of Sonic Youth. But all thirteen tracks carry an enormous, relentless shockwave and are played as if each one were the last song of their lives, though there's no shortage of powerful yet melodic choruses able to momentarily soften the mood, as in "Date Night", "Stendhal Syndrome" and "Benzocaine".

Wave-like movements can be spotted on the closing "Slow Savage", the only moment of decadent calm, and within the folds of the very Interpol-sounding "1049 Gotho". The irony of the lyrics is razor-sharp, the themes painfully topical, the result nothing short of explosive, with Talbot indignantly screaming his provocative slogans into the mic in defense of the working class, never leaving any doubt as to how they should be interpreted. The main targets of his invective are the Tories — the Conservative Party faithful — and the stagnation of the English provinces (on the punk-rock "Exeter" they chant with resignation "Nothing Ever Happens"). Not storytelling, but short verses capable of firing up crowds across all of Europe. "I'm not going to write a story, I'm shit at stories!" Talbot said in an interview given to Clash magazine in 2017. Brutalism is a lethal record, introducing with perfect timing the new antiheroes of the English scene, able to light the fuse for a new, small revolution. The album would end up high on many year-end charts: for many, Idles were not only the biggest post-hardcore surprise, but outright the best new band of 2017. An impact that no one, least of all themselves, could have ever expected.

Acts of resistance

The path is set, the fuse is lit, and it only takes a year to get their next work in hand, Joy As An Act Of Resistance, released this time by Partisan Records. The guitars remain nervy and sharp, ready to deliver new venomous blows ("Never Fight A Man With A Perm", "Rottweiler"), the uncompromising approach is confirmed and the sound grows even coarser and more corrosive, bony and lopsided. Talbot's mumbling, paranoid spoken word — which at times recalls the low-toned grumbling of Joe Casey of Protomartyr — often evolves into choruses, also showing a fair melodic streak. But joy still lives far from these sick, graceless chants, shrieked nursery rhymes aimed at society with a demonic smirk (the formidable live staple "Danny Nedelko", the hilarious "Great").

Here too, Talbot has harrowing days to recount: "June", adorned by a mournful accordion, is the moving farewell to his baby daughter, stillborn a few months earlier, for whom he borrows Ernest Hemingway's words "Baby shoes for sale: never worn", adding his own aching lines: "A stillborn was still born/ I am a father". A song so powerful it manages to bring the listener close to that pain. Yet another demonstration of how, amid the feedback buzzing in your ears and the violent lashes aimed at the ruling class, the media and politicians, the heart of these five irreversible punks is always clearly visible, peeking through in the blinding verses of love, brotherhood and welcome scattered throughout their songs.

Joy As An Act Of Resistance is a work of great cohesion, hitting every one of its targets dead on, even if the debut remains superior both in terms of songwriting originality and overall impact. The album debuts straight at number five on the UK charts, breaking two Rough Trade records: pre-order sales and sales made on the day of release itself. Prestigious nominations follow too: Brit Awards and the Mercury Prize. The promotional tour is almost entirely sold-out, including prestigious support slots for Maccabees and Foo Fighters (at the O2 Arena, no less!). The ten thousand tickets for their show at London's Alexandra Palace sell out in under 24 hours. All the unease poured into words and music becomes even wilder in a live setting. To capture the emotional stream of consciousness of those nights, Idles decide to record their first live album, after only two studio albums released. They snap a vivid photograph of a drifting England by choosing a venue — the Bataclan in Paris — which took on particular meaning after the November 2015 attack, when Eagles Of Death Metal were on stage.

Meanwhile, there are now even more reasons to be furious: the recent General Election saw the Tories win big, handing Prime Minister Boris Johnson a strengthened mandate stating that (a portion of) the British public wants to leave the European Union as soon as possible. But as we've already said, there's more than just politics in Idles' songs: social issues, immigration and feminism are all touched on too, all present on the frantic A Beautiful Thing, the live album on which Joy As An Act Of Resistance is almost entirely replayed (only the personal "June" is left out); the rest of the material is drawn from the blistering Brutalism. All the proclamations released up to that point, starting with those found in "Mother" and "Danny Nedelko", gain even more rage and power, sealing the triumph of modern neurosis delivered somewhere between post-hardcore and post-punk. Some tracks are performed at greater length, including the closer, a version of the anti-fascist anthem "Rottweiler" stretched out to over ten minutes.

Why don't you get a job?

We've already mentioned how important lyrics are in Idles songs. But don't be fooled: even when they're screaming at the top of their lungs, the lyrics aren't just about being "against" something — they also speak of brotherhood, anti-racism, the defence of diversity, equality, unity. Sentiments and concepts enshrined, for instance, in one of their most infectious anthems, "Danny Nedelko", dedicated to a Ukrainian immigrant friend of theirs, himself a member of the Bristol band Heavy Lungs. In this warm, heartfelt portrait, Talbot shouts: "He's made of you, he's made of me/ Unity!". You, me, migrants, but also lying politicians — we're all made of the same stuff.

Sometimes Idles's invectives are blatant and direct, raw and savage; other times you have to hunt for the accusation, scrutinising the ironic undertones of the lyrics or the social allegories they employ. "Well Done" states “Why don’t you get a job?/ Even Tarquin’s got a job/ Mary Berry’s got a job/ So why don’t you get a job?”. The target here is the classic excuse used by the British political class, according to which the poor are poor because they don't work, out of their own laziness. Behind these stock phrases, Idles sneer sarcastically at the very misdeeds of those politicians, which have led to a social system that is anything but egalitarian, never a safety net for anyone.

Brexit is the inevitable target of "Great", a track that, through a jungle of basslines, aims to capture the confusion of the English public at the moment of that disastrous decision. The press obviously doesn't get off easy either, as a mirror of a rotten society: in "Rottweiler" it becomes the target of Talbot's disgust, as he washes his hands after reading the horrible tabloids and, putting on his reading glasses, prefers to take refuge in his beloved old books. Often it's society as a whole that comes under attack, with plenty of room given to scourges such as misogyny and homophobia, frequently mocked and condemned by the band. In "Mother", for example, it's made clear that violence against women doesn't end with an act of rape, a beating or a femicide, but has far deeper roots: "Men are scared women will laugh in their face/ Whereas women are scared it's their lives men will take".

The band points the finger at a society built on the dominant male model and condemns those who refuse to conform to it. Being laughed at by women becomes a source of frustration and violence: a lethal, inescapable short-circuit, to be rejected and fought. The same toxic masculinity resurfaces in the lines of "Samaritans", where Talbot overturns the stereotypes that men are confronted with from adolescence onwards: real men don't cry, don't be a sissy, romantic films are for your little sister. To these poisonous models Talbot responds with clarity: "I'm a real boy, boy and I cry/ I love myself and I want to try". Homophobia, meanwhile, is targeted in "Colossus" with a metaphor that will delight every wrestling fan: "I'm like Stone Cold Steve Austin/ I put homophobes in coffins".

"Model Village" tells the story of a terrifying model village ruled by conformity, the death of individuality, racism and hatred. Everything is perfect, everything is standardised: model wife, model low crime rate, model car, but also model hatred. In "War", the combination of Talbot's onomatopoeic howls with the layering of the guitars is enough to visualise the atrocities of any armed conflict. "Grounds" is a menacing demand that those in power account for the war dead, for the victims of abuses for which no one has ever taken responsibility ("not a single thing has ever ever been mended"), delivered through screeching, syncopated six-string riffs set to a galloping math-rock rhythm. Power and control channelled with precision, right up to the apocalyptic finale.

In "Mr. Motivator", on the other hand, the band puts together an entertaining parade of pop-culture figures, from Frida Kahlo to John Wayne, from the Fall to Ukrainian boxing champion Vasyl Lomachenko. But the zenith is reached in the devastating wreckage of "Reigns": if we were descendants of a fallen noble house, of a privileged family of politicians, if we came from a history of ruthless capitalism, of dynasties that have helped create wars, social inequality and global warming — well, our knees would tremble hearing Talbot ask, screaming, how it feels to have blue blood running through your veins and to have ground the working class to dust, to have won wars that, in truth, nobody ever really wins.

Year 2020: How does it feel?

Idles are a band loved, and loved a lot, by plenty of fellow musicians too. It's no coincidence that Pearl Jam chose them to open many of the dates on their European tour planned for summer 2020, later postponed to the following year because of Covid-19. Pearl Jam bassist Jeff Ament, when publicly posting his favourite albums of 2019, put Idles's live album right at the top. There could be no more effective promotion than that: small seals of quality attesting to just how much Talbot and co. are shaking up the system (memorable was their performance at the 2019 Mercury Prize, in front of super-trendy tables laid out with champagne flowing freely) — and it's partly for this reason that they're held in such esteem by less conformist peers.

If praise comes from rock's sacred monsters, equally widespread approval comes from bands of their own generation, or even younger ones. Idles have found themselves, whether they liked it or not, among the standard-bearers of the latest post-punk revisionism, the one that surged forth with real force in the latter part of the 2010s, with names like Girl Band, Iceage, Protomartyr, Shame, Fontaines D.C. and Murder Capital at the forefront. Fontaines D.C. themselves have repeatedly named Idles as one of their favourite bands. The mass media adore them too: in a band that so vigorously attacks convention, they see a goose that lays golden eggs, thanks to an unpredictability capable of generating views and likes galore. The contortions of our times. Let's hope Talbot and co. manage to dodge the inevitable process of normalisation, without letting themselves be reined in by the very system they're trying to fight.

In March 2020 half of Europe is brought to a standstill by lockdown, but Idles are already ready with a new album, and begin drip-feeding tracks online. On the last weekend of August they broadcast from London three one-hour sets live on the web, during which they present a selection of already-known songs alongside covers reworked in a thoroughly personal style, plus a few tracks that will feature on Ultra Mono, the band's third album, slated for release on the following 25 September. Right from that London livestream, it's clear what miracle this album pulls off: bringing order to chaos. Ultra Mono indeed sounds more "organised" compared to their previous work, more "rational", less chaotic, without giving up a single ounce of their by-now proverbial ferocity. It's not so much a matter of reining in the sound — which if anything bursts out of every crack even more forcefully — but of managing it more effectively, without scattering it, without squandering it. This is the main achievement here, one that definitively transforms a group of (at least seemingly) "misfits" into a well-defined artistic entity, fully aware of its own strength, both sonic and lyrical.

Up until now they had been preparing the battlefield, identifying the "enemies" to take on, the sounds best suited to confronting them and the best messages to disarm them, winning over an ever-growing following. Now the time is ripe to take to the streets, finding them brimming with outrage. Brexit, Trump, unfavourable economic conditions, gender inequality, nationalism, neo-imperialism, corruption, assorted injustices, incompetent governments, bigotry, empty promises. It's time to raise your voice, to confront the enemy, to oppose abuses of power, to demand justice. Idles's call-to-arms opens with an extremely violent song titled "War": a manifesto track that's essential to any account of 2020 in music. The onomatopoeic sounds and desperate screams let out by Talbot, together with dissonant, slashing, brutal guitars mimicking the terrifying sound of an air battle, pack three minutes of delirium, a realistic visualisation of horror, as if we were standing in front of the dramatic cubism of Guernica.

And Talbot certainly won't stop there: having thrown off the muzzle, he keeps barking and bellowing for the whole length of the album, railing like a hooligan against everyone who gets on his nerves. From Trump to boxing champions, he spares no one: he invades every available space with a narrative technique borrowed from the conventions of rapper's freestyle. He's the main character here, propped up by two guitars that lend a post-hardcore edge, perfectly chasing, intertwining and feeding off each other, and a rhythm section that never grants a single moment's respite. A way of standing "against" that represents the common thread linking the punk explosion to the unease put into words by Sleaford Mods, spinning together everything that happened between the two phenomena, achieving the result Talbot has always aimed for: sounding like nobody else before them.

If the verses of Ultra Mono are immensely powerful, the choruses are like nuclear bombs ready to blow any arena sky-high ("Model Village" is among the most gripping, complete with a video directed by Michael Gondry), new slogans fed to an increasingly incredulous audience, in the presence of a band that isn't imploding on itself (as more than a few had hastily predicted) but is instead making its ideological and musical stances ever sharper, without a single falter. The best thing, according to Talbot himself, about having been ignored for a decade is that it allowed the band's members to carry on without anyone telling them what not to do. Call it, if you like, "total artistic independence": an anarchy that has, over time, turned into the wild, uncompromising fury that is now their personal trademark. Rebels defying the "system" with an urgency that's at times almost hysterical, tempered by an ironic streak that eases the tension, making the whole scene occasionally hilarious, as entertaining as it is prone to going over the top, like the fruit of a Quentin Tarantino film rendered in music. Their audience eats it up, and by and large the mass media coddle them too: they see in them the perfect prototype of an alternative band to feed to the mainstream circuit, proof that not everything that gets airplay is decided behind closed doors.

Poor deluded fools: Idles are not about to let themselves get caught up in that game. Hardly easy on the eyes, cocky with their shameless faces, their improbable clothes, their swaggering 70s-style moustaches, their miles of tattoos, they keep on being as irritating as possible, firing off giant FUCKs at targets that are anything but mysterious, enemies no longer hidden behind metaphors but laid bare, singled out and skewered by swarms of punk arrows.

The guest list is unexpectedly packed: Jehnny Beth hides behind the Gallicisms of the feminist-tinged proto-punk sledgehammer "Ne touche pas moi", Warren Ellis enriches the ending of "Grounds", Jamie Cullum plays piano in the prelude to "Kill Them With Kindness", a track further elevated by a contribution from David Yow of Jesus Lizard, while Colin Webster's saxophone punctuates several tracks ("Reigns" in particular, where it duels with Adam Devonshire's bass), helping build an even more overpowering wall of sound than in the past. The same approach (though here even more abrasive) is pursued by Protomartyr (a band with which Idles share no small number of affinities) on their recent "Ultimate Success Today". Production duties were once again entrusted to Nick Launay, assisted by Adam "Atom" Greenspan, but the work done on the sound by Kenny Beats, who has often worked alongside hip-hop giants, is plainly evident, especially on "Grounds" or "Mr. Motivator". Tracks that are raw-throated, blustering, histrionic, theatrical, overwhelming, sweeping everything away in an avalanche of electricity, yet catchy in their own way, made to be sung in unison in the mud, infectious in how, with all the irony and theatrical force they bring to the table, they manage to turn anger and dissent into fuel for a new, necessary collective social push.

The final synthesis of a chemical process, a catharsis that scorches the earth, leaving nothing but dust and rubble in the enemy stronghold, before scattering the seeds of regrowth, of renewal, of a new beginning. Destroying in order to rebuild according to the rules of a new ethic. The only taste of honey comes courtesy of the majestic “A Hymn”, the first track in their whole discography that we could even vaguely label a “ballad”, as well as one of the best songs on the record, carrying hints of Pixies (listen to how the word “Down” is delivered), proving that Idles can also speak to the heart, to the need to fall in love, to feel loved and loved in return. A kind of medicine taken in a last-ditch attempt to cure one's own chronic sense of inadequacy. When everything seems destined to fade away, “Danke” arrives, almost unexpectedly, with its tribal drumming and a line borrowed from the repertoire of Daniel Johnston. A closing one-two punch that represents the “romantic” side of their songwriting, a chapter all of its own, adding further points to a record with no filler.

Are you ready for the storm?

“Ultra Mono” ended up hamstrung by a health emergency that dragged on and disrupted its promotion. Covid-19 forced everyone indoors for months, and Idles took advantage of it to write songs, enjoying the unexpected “luxury” of having all the time they needed to work out original, and at times disorienting, solutions, ones capable of pushing them forward in significant ways. From this latest round of musical psychoanalysis sessions came Crawler, released in November 2021, a concept album whose arc plays out like a film script: an account of how one can go back to living “happily” after going through traumatic experiences such as a car crash, an addiction, a love affair gone to pieces, or the pandemic. A record that confirms their intention to gradually break free from the strictly combat-post-punk-angst-and-anger imagery they've skilfully built up over the years. The stylistic palette thus becomes more varied, shaped with the aim of easing the emotional tension as the narrative unfolds.

First scene. An English road, it's February, it's probably raining, Joe Talbot is driving his car when an “MT 420 RR,” a particularly expensive model of motorbike, roars powerfully past him. A few moments later, the crash is extremely violent. The bike slams at full speed into another vehicle, the rider is left lifeless on the ground, the helmet powerless to prevent the worst. Talbot just watches, speechless, as he draws a parallel between coming out unscathed from a terrible road accident and managing to climb out of the tunnel of his own addictions, just as lethal. It's the spark for the song that opens the album, delivered in the manner of a damned crooner over a bare sonic backdrop, in which the drums only appear for a few seconds, right at the end, and the crescendo evokes the fatal crash by drawing on an actual slow-motion effect. The theme of the car crash then comes back, forcefully, a little further on, in “Car Crash,” with an obsessive drum pattern front and centre, underscoring vivid flashes of lyrics delivered in a hip-hop metre.

The shock of the crash catapults Talbot back in time, to his teenage years, when he was forced to helplessly endure the self-destruction of a mother perpetually glued to the bottle. A mother Joe already introduced to the world in “Brutalism,” and whom he now returns to describe in “The Wheel,” where the oppressive pace perfectly recreates the heaviness of that family situation. The leaden mood is then amplified on the following “When The Lights Come,” a nocturnal dance underpinned by a sound directly descended from darkwave, dark and anguished, not all that far from the less suffocating moments of Joy Division. It's the most dramatic and solemn part of the record, which then eases off, following a path of gradually lightening themes, starting from sorrowful tones and situations and launching towards the joy of a reclaimed freedom. If Crawler is the project designed to steer this transition, the key point is that it's precisely when Idles try something different from usual that they achieve their best results. When, on the other hand, they fall back in line with the past, settling into their trademark sound (as is the case, for instance, with “Stockholm Syndrome”), the feeling is that of listening to ideas they've already explored, and better, on other records. The main one of these “stylistic novelties” was previewed with “The Beachland Ballroom,” the true instant classic of this album, whose distinguishing feature is a vocal line with unexpectedly soulful inflections that makes it a one-off within the band's discography.

Crawler is a strongly autobiographical, introspective record, on which Talbot doesn't shy away from exposing his own traumas. On “The Wheel” he claims that if you have a parent with addiction problems, it's unlikely you won't end up with some of your own down the line. Drugs take over, they take everything, and make you lose everything — relatives, friends — reshaping your habits. The dissonant guitars of “Meds,” anxiously chasing after Sonic Youth, perfectly underline this whole range of feelings. If “Ultra Mono” wanted to have its say on the big topics of the day, such as Trump and Brexit, Crawler also keeps an eye on the evening news. So it becomes impossible to resist mocking that smooth operator Rishi Sunak, the rising star of a Chancellor of the Exchequer, as well as an aspiring future prime minister. During lockdown, Sunak made some unfortunate remarks: instead of considering subsidies for a sector brutally hit by the pandemic, he urged artists and entertainment workers to go find themselves a new job. And there it is, England's own “The New Sensation,” mocked through an ironic anti-government tirade. But Talbot's real response was to hold firm: proud of his own profession, he couldn't wait for the dark period of restrictions to end, so he could get back on stage and scream out all his discontent.

Addictions can reduce you to rubble, land you in a hospital ward, or in a rehab centre, where you find yourself — not just metaphorically — first on your knees, then crawling on the floor, bearing the full weight of the world pressing down on your back. These are the feelings that mark the vibrant and significant “Crawl!” On all fours on the carpet, like in that old Genesis song, remember?, and it might not be a coincidence that at one point the phrase “The Lamb” is mentioned, perhaps a deliberate nod to the 1974 double masterpiece. There are moments when it really feels like it's all over, and the only wish left is to go back home, a desire expressed in the vaguely psychedelic mantra of “Progress” (preceded by the short instrumental intro “Kelechi”). It's one of the most interestingly structured tracks on Crawler, one of its more experimental passages, with lyrics built around coming to terms with one's own self-destructive situation, and the longing to go back to living within one's own space.

The seismic rush of “Wizz,” a hyper-fast hardcore gunshot that burns itself out in the space of thirty seconds, engineered to recreate the “rush” that follows a line of cocaine, closes the rehab chapter, with slogan-like lyrics unwittingly gifted by Talbot's own drug dealer, tracked down by the singer through a message received after he'd deleted him from his contacts. The final scene of Crawler opens with “King Snake,” an anthem to normality, the self-acceptance of being an ordinary person, underlined at one point by the amusing use of the word “Assistant,” repeated with an anger now tempered by hard-won awareness. “The End,” the closing track, represents the end of suffering, rediscovered joy, a return to purity, an appreciation of simplicity. “In spite of it all / Life is beautiful”: I can't recall a line this positive ever coming out of Joe Talbot's mouth. The excitement of coming home and finding everything back in its place, clearing away all the clutter, physical and mental, for good. Being oneself again. Then, once the credits roll, plenty of people will still argue that Idles are at their coolest when they go all out, pedal to the metal, every light on the mixing desk flashing red, but the most exciting message to take away from Crawler is that, these days, we can legitimately expect — and get — something else from them too…

To celebrate Brutalism's fifth birthday, in November 2022 Idles released Five Years Of Brutalism, a double red vinyl (the reworked artwork designed by frontman Joe Talbot) featuring the original tracklist alongside a second disc documenting their performance at Glastonbury Festival in June 2022, during which the English band played Brutalism in full, with the sole variation of the final two tracks being swapped in order.

Five Years Of Brutalism gives us one more reason to listen all the way through these thirteen songs again, in their studio and live incarnations alike, reminding us why we started loving this bunch of provocatively mad losers right from their earliest steps.

The most elusive and hard-to-pin-down Idles record, however, is their fifth: Tangk. Named after the sound of a pick striking a distorted guitar string, or that of a beating heart. Two things that, when it comes to the standard-bearers of new post-punk, often go hand in hand. Never before, given a variety of approaches bordering on schizophrenic, has the album's coherence had to be sought not in its style but in the message it carries. A tale steeped in unity, communion, one might even say socialism, sweat, the urge to dance and to scream, be it one's own outrage or one's own happiness. Even the choice of producers and guests brought in to make Tangk reflects, if not outright experimentation, a constant search for new means of expression. The presence of a heavyweight like Nigel Godrich (Radiohead, Beck, etc.) elevates the record's many slow numbers, rich in precious finishing touches and enchanting passages (the crystalline pianos of “Idea 01,” the lovely interlude “A Gospel,” the restless electronics of “Grace”), while that of a hip-hop guru like Kenny Beats (Denzel Curry, Vince Staples) provides new strategies for Talbot's vocal assaults — chief among them a “Gift Horse” that, live, given the five-piece's proven ability to whip up a crowd, could turn out to be downright dangerous. Godrich and Beats were joined on production duties by the band's own guitarist Mark Bowen, a choice that lends the tracklist fluidity and cohesion.

Propped up by a syncopated rhythm section and darting guitars, “Dancer” is set to become a genuine new anthem for the band's fans. Here James Murphy and Nancy Whang of LCD Soundsystem make an appearance on backing vocals, making the song yet another statement of intent for an album built for catharsis and unbridled fun. The most inscrutable track of all, though, is “Roy,” an attempt at an airy, heartfelt U2-style ballad, with Talbot belting it out like Bono but with the lungs of Shane MacGowan. A thing as improbable as it is irresistible. Before the jazzy close of “Monolith,” Idles' fifth effort delivers a trio of tracks less unhinged than the rest and more in line with their past, all of them enjoyable and suitably thunderous nonetheless. “Hall & Oates” is a lightning-fast, concise piece of dance punk, “Jungle” speaks to the need to save one another, and “Gratitude” unleashes electricity through relentless guitar work and yet another chorus destined to be mumbled along to from memory. Much like (more or less) all the records that came before it, Tangk is an excellent collection of songs that are immediate and utterly engaging. This time, though, in terms of creativity and invention, Idles have gone even further, and at this point one thing is clear: post-punk might go out of fashion, but they're unlikely to.

In 2025 Idles put their firepower to work on Caught Stealing (released in Italy as “Una scomoda circostanza”), a feature film directed by Darren Aronofsky, part thriller, part urban gangster movie. Rob Simonsen, a composer with an impressive track record, already at Aronofsky's side on “The Whale” (2022), found himself living through a thoroughly singular experience: writing a score meant to be performed not by an orchestra, but by one of the leading bands on the contemporary post-punk circuit. A great opportunity for Idles, who thus cash in on the acclaim they've built up over the years among industry insiders. An experience born by chance, following a chance encounter some time ago backstage at an episode of the US talk show hosted by Jimmy Fallon, after they exchanged mutual compliments.

The film is an adaptation of Charlie Huston's novel “Caught Stealing,” set in New York's East Village in the late Nineties, when it was still a fairly dangerous place — a danger that can certainly be found in Idles' razor-sharp sound. Aronofsky's intent was to charge his film with a punk sensibility, and who better than Idles, today, to help pull off such an idea? Idles, total newcomers to the world of film scoring, didn't get caught unprepared, bringing along four original songs, which makes the soundtrack all the more able to stand on its own, even detached from the images. “Doom” immediately sets the menacing mood the director was after, with Mick Talbot's voice moving through the lines in hip-hop mode, but the unmistakable style of the Bristol outfit also surfaces in the flattened-out guitars of “Cheerleader,” in the electronic beds that define the sound of “Coper,” and in the spirals of the already-released single, “Rabbit Run.”

Perfectly in keeping with the rest of the programme is also the cover of “Police And Thieves,” a Junior Marvin song previously covered by The Clash. The other eleven tracks make up the score composed by Rob Simonsen, written with the Idles' style firmly in mind, a score performed by the band in a way that plays up their own distinctive traits, their unmistakable signature, their unequivocal intensity, never holding back, amid feedback, distortion and assorted effects. No string arrangements, no forcing things in post-production, just five musicians playing in the style and with the approach that made them who they are. Inside Caught Stealing you won't find the best songs Idles have ever recorded, but you will find their firm will (and undeniable ability) to test new paths, to experiment with new collaborations, to humbly put themselves at the service of adventurous projects, carrying their music elsewhere, towards new horizons, rather than endlessly repeating the same formula.

Across five albums, Idles have left a decisive mark on the historical moment we're living through, one defined by dozens of ultra-pissed-off bands, adept at drawing on the dissent and malaise of a generation to craft the musical manifestos of an era. Idles in Europe, Protomartyr on the other side of the Atlantic, on top of an entire post-punk movement, increasingly substantial, that in recent years, and even more so in recent months, is establishing itself as the best — and most cohesive — of all time, with the exception of the genre's founding fathers, the ones who laid down its original coordinates.

Gilla Band, Iceage, Fontaines D.C., Shame, Murder Capital, along with others who've come to prominence even more recently, such as Do Nothing or The Cool Greenhouse. All very exciting stuff. But if there's one band in this remarkable brood today capable of standing apart, of sounding like nothing else, it's undoubtedly Idles. Well aware of - and far from intimidated by - the leadership role they've unwittingly taken on.

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