Archive - Call Us Prog

“Indefinable” is perhaps the word that most precisely sums up Archive's career. In their musical rollercoasters, in fact, the most disparate sonorities have been taken and recombined together, moving across styles while following a common thread. Their music is animated by a genuinely progressive attitude, geared toward blending the most disparate influences by recombining pop, rock, electronica, orchestration and trip-hop. This free, experimental spirit, at times ambitious, has led the group to craft works of real value too, which curiously found little following at home in England, yet captured the attention of listeners on the continent. Thus, by taking apart and reassembling stylistic devices to combine them in new ways, occasionally returning to the fold of their own origins, other times straying conspicuously from it, Darius Keeler and Danny Griffiths' Archive have carved out their own peculiar, highly personal niche.

There is, nonetheless, a foundation, a root, from which the English band took its first steps. Let's retrace its career.

Many musical genres have a reference geographic location, for example a city where the scene began or became popular. In the case of trip-hop, the “cradle” where the movement took hold and consolidated is the now-historic city of Bristol, to the point that the expression “Bristol sound” was coined to define the deep bond between the genre and the English city. Like all musical currents, though, trip-hop began to develop beyond its natural borders, through a series of bands. Archive are one of them: the London outfit, formed in 1994 by Darius Keeler and Danny Griffiths from the ashes of breakbeat group Genaside II, rose to prominence right in the midst of the trip-hop boom, just after the release of the landmark “Dummy” by Portishead and even before “Mezzanine” by Massive Attack put the definitive seal on that season.

The band's debut album, Londinium, came out in 1996: it's a fine trip-hop gem in which the downtempo pulse is diluted into hazy atmospheres somewhere between psychedelic soul and chillout, spiced up with strings and flute parts that sound almost like chamber music. The sonic foundations serve hushed duets between a female voice and rapped vocals, respectively those of Iranian singer and archaeologist Roya Arab and English rapper Rosko John. The two voices meet narrating the nocturnal calm that descends over the city, concealing the unease of everyday chaos while at the same time reflecting the restlessness at the heart of late-millennium England. It's an authentic testimony to the most intimate sensations of London's urban environment, in a sweet yet painful vision of modern society that calls out for a space of quiet.

This contrast recalls, in some ways, “Hex” by fellow Londoners Bark Psychosis, released two years earlier: their own expansive, atmospheric rock likewise offers a soft, meditative solution, an exercise in introspection built from hushed, evocative sounds set against everyday chaos.

The list of guests who took part in the recordings is long and shows off the instrumental richness of the record: Ali Keeler (violin), Julia Palmer (cello), Jane Hanna (French horn), Anita Hill (triangle), Peter Barraclough (flute and guitars), Karl Hyde (guitar and bass), Steve Taylore (guitars), Matheu Martin (drums and percussion), Jane Wall and Siobhan Sian (backing vocals).

The tones of Londinium are melancholically autumnal, with a sweet aftertaste running through its most decadent notes. They form the backdrop to sentimental explorations sketched out through delicate sonic touches and enveloping arrangements, reaching their peaks on gems like the opening “Old Artist” (aching strings over a percussive downtempo bed, perhaps the album's most experimental sound) or the celestial “Beautiful World” (cloudy atmospheres, heavy dub bass, celestial synths in the background, cadenced rap). Along the way there's also room for the alienating “Man-Made”, the dense, evocative “Nothing Else”, the emotional crescendos of the title track “Londinium”, and the ethereal “SkyScraper”, which showcase John's finest rap performance, over a trip-hop bed arranged with strings and ethereal synths. There are also blends of retro and more modern tones to enjoy, as in the seventies-flavored “Headspace” or the noir numbers of “So Few Words”, while the instrumental “Organ Song”, built around strings and a dialogue between electronic sounds and classical instruments, casts a sorrowful, melancholy scene. By contrast, “All Time” returns to the band's breakbeat roots, grafting them onto dub basslines and faint female vocals.

The splendid voice of chanteuse Roya Arab is intimate, close to an expressive soul-jazz delivered with crystal-clear charm. Rosko John, meanwhile, brings the British hip-hop scene's interpretation into the album, blending perfectly into the record with gentle rapped passages. Everything flows smoothly in a journey worth taking again and again. Archive's music counters the worldly confusion of the metropolis with thirteen pearls of quiet.

Unfortunately the record wasn't rewarded with adequate sales recognition at home (it fared better in the rest of Europe), but Londinium remains a small lost masterpiece of trip-hop, one to rediscover and savor in every facet. Part of the lack of success in the UK is perhaps also down to a music press that pigeonholed the band superficially, without ever giving the record its due. Archive's Londinium was initially lumped in with Portishead simply because both acts had a female lead voice, and as such the band was dismissed as mere “epigones”. But Arab is a very different singer, far more ethereal, less pained and less cutting than Gibbons; a female voice alone doesn't make two acts alike, and this view also ignores Rosko John's contribution.

Above all, Archive never venture into the kind of harrowing, chilling atmospheres that come to the fore in several of the Bristol outfit's works. They are two very different bands in terms of mood and arrangements.

The record, if anything, has far more in common with the Massive Attack of “Protection”, through its soul influences and rap interludes, with fewer cocktail-lounge sounds, replaced instead by touches of chamber music, by certain guitar flourishes that even recall Pink Floyd, and by a more atmospheric attitude. The flute parts (on “All Time”, “Headspace” and “Last Five”) have been compared by some music journalists to Tricky's “Aftermath”, but in reality they stem from the 70s soul and funk-jazz acts that lie at the roots of trip-hop, which Archive absorb just as many rock bands absorbed the influence of classic blues. As an example, a flute can also be found on “Definition” by Austrian downtempo duo Kruder & Dorfmeister, which dates all the way back to 1992. Londinium has an identity all its own, deserving to be judged on its own terms. Like many other records of the genre, it was superficially snubbed by critics, who mistakenly perceived it as derivative of its more famous predecessors, despite having a style and personality all its own.

After this album, Archive temporarily split up due to internal disagreements, before regrouping and returning to record store shelves in 1999 with a different line-up and new musical intentions.

The word that comes to mind listening to the sophomore effort Take My Head is “metamorphosis”. The English outfit changes its face completely. The hushed, evocative, melancholy trip-hop of the debut gives way to an electronic pop that brushes against danceable rhythms, sharpens its melodic impact, and occasionally tries to become more refined and heavily processed. The pop component becomes dominant, and keyboards and synthesizers often serve merely as decoration to the melodies, only occasionally taking the reins of a song. The rapped vocals disappear entirely, and new voice Suzanne Wooder doesn't echo Roya Arab's melancholy tones, veering instead toward decidedly livelier shades. The heavy use of electronics replaces the delicate atmospheres, alternating between lysergic layering (the more successful moments) and catchier sonic attacks (the less successful ones).

At this point a comparison comes to mind with another London band that evolved in a similar way: Morcheeba. Their first record, from 1996, featured a trip-hop component colored by various influences and dense, urban atmospheres, while their second record, from 1998, moved away from that foundation to open up further to pop territory. Hooverphonic did something similar, though they sound more upbeat and less passionate. It can't be ruled out that Archive themselves took a cue from their “colleagues”. Unfortunately Take My Head loses evocative power and freshness, with arrangements that clash with one another.

The album's main problem is its deeply conflicted nature, torn between its pop soul and its electronic one. That conflict is never resolved, with the unfortunate result of a record split between one half of tracks that are mostly pop without sounding convincingly deep, and another half of tracks that are mostly electronic without sounding convincingly compelling. The fusion only seems to come together in a few moments. Some interesting tracks are nonetheless unveiled, especially early on. Opener “You Make Me Feel” is a hit, energetic, driving, pulsing, fiery, where the acidity of the bass and electronics mixes with a relentless rhythm section, amid screaming electric guitars and obsessive refrains. The contrast created by the sweet acoustic guitar touches and Suzanne Wooder's crystal-clear voice helps generate a disorienting sensation, amplified by the clash between the love lyrics and the searing sounds that accompany them, almost twisting their meaning. Add to that a knack for catchy melodies and you have a simply disarming opening single. The second track, “The Way You Love Me”, is calmer, settling into beds of ethereal keyboards over which rest intense drumming and crystalline female vocals. In the following tracks, however, Archive struggle to find the right balance, alternating between ballads that try to blend piano, background strings and trip-hop but often sound too saccharine (“Brother”, “The Pain Get Worse”, “Cloud In The Sky”) and energetic interludes built on upbeat rhythms or acidic guitars (“Well Known Sinner”, “Woman”)

The dark title track “Take My Head” is the album's peak, alongside the opener, of which it is the ideal follow-up: after a brief introduction of keyboard and voice, there's an explosion of effects and distortion that links directly back to a melody very similar to that of “You Make Me Feel”, while the intensity and firmly marked rhythms bring it once again close to trip-hop territory.

Towards the end of the album we find the instrumental "Love In Summer" (sweet, with some Latin American sonorities, then effects and saxophones that kick in for the final explosion) and "Rest My Head On You" (a sweet, melancholic track that never slips into mawkishness), which in mood and downtempo rhythm is the track closest to Londinium.

The album closes with a hidden track, a sad piano ballad of barely two minutes.

After the album's release, Archive part ways with singer Suzanne Wooder to make room for new recruit Craig Walker, former frontman of pop-rock outfit Power Of Dreams. With this change of lineup registered, the English band release You All Look The Same To Me (2002) and change face once again. This time Archive embrace a modern, elaborate, electronic rock with a progressive attitude, ranging across rhythms influenced by trip-hop and breakbeat, romantic pop, electronic alt-rock, acoustic elements alternating with electronic flourishes and more ambient washes of atmosphere, with crescendos of great intensity and velvety, post-rock-derived drumming. The compositions retain all the band's class, navigating fluidly between layered sounds, more distorted moments and melodic release. The list of musicians who joined Keeler and Griffiths during the recordings is once again extensive, and it speaks to the compositional and instrumental richness of the work: Lee Pomeroy (bass), Steve Emney (drums), Dominic Brown (guitars), Steve Barnard (drums), Pete Barraclough (production and guitars), Dominic Brown (guitars), Alan Glen and Tom Brazelle (harmonica), Steve "Keys" Watts (organ and piano), Anita Hill (triangle), Carl Holt (trumpet), Annelise Truss (viola and violin), Jane Wall and Maria Q (vocals). 

You All Look The Same To Me proves to be a personal missing link between the Seventies and the Nineties, seasoned with a typically British existentialism and a more diluted sentimental streak. There are clear echoes of bands like Genesis and above all Pink Floyd, the latter acting as the main connective tissue. We dare say: this record is exactly what Pink Floyd might sound like if they were born today, let themselves be massively contaminated by electronics, and were fans of Radiohead and Mogwai. That Floydian sensibility is a very marked influence on the arrangements, adapted to more contemporary sounds thanks to a Radiohead-like quality (especially in the vocal lines, sometimes, perhaps, too close to Thom Yorke's). Although certain elements, taken individually, owe an obvious debt to the aforementioned bands, put together and filtered through Archive's own background they give rise to a work that is, on the whole, surprisingly personal. The sonic result is therefore unique regardless, since the influences are mediated by the musical roots of the various members. Perhaps this is what progressive rock looks like in the year 2000, and in some ways the band itself considers it to be just that.

Darius Keeler and Danny Griffiths thus establish themselves as eclectic, if not chameleonic, songwriters, given the ease with which they range across genres from one album to the next.

The opening "Again" is a 16-minute suite introduced by a trumpet reminiscent of late-period Talk Talk, immediately followed by soft guitar arpeggios, Craig Walker's mournful voice and faint background effects, which soon turn into ethereal ambient keyboard washes accompanied by a sorrowful harmonica. It doesn't take long before the effects and the rhythm section make their entrance, lightly driving the track's scenery, which then becomes a kaleidoscope of sonorities interwoven into a single unicum that flows between emotional crescendos (especially the final one) and atmospheric interludes with smooth continuity, even if the middle section drags on a little. The influence of post-rock is most noticeable in the typical climaxes that crown the track's development and in certain drum parts, while the band's trip-hop roots can be heard in the rhythms closer to electronic beats and in the atmospheric passages. The whole thing is steeped in romantic emotion, britpop melodies and a weaving together of acoustic and electric guitars.

The following "Numb" is led by an intermittent bassline, over which lie a steady drumbeat and vocal lines very similar to Thom Yorke's. The distorted electric guitars then burst in, building a repeated wall of sound, dark yet biting, before merging with keyboard washes and samples. "Neon" is a sweet spatial journey through Floydian tones, light reggae touches, partly trip-hop drumming, strings that recall the debut, and a building emotional charge. "Goodbye" instead plays on the combination of a lullaby-like melody, the usual soft keyboard backdrops and filtered drums, but ends up being overlong and repetitive.

"Now And Then" marks the debut of Maria Q, the new female voice, though still in a minor role for now. "Finding It So Hard" is the album's second suite: a dark electronic progression through once again Floydian atmospheres that are transfigured with almost future-pop melodies, repetitive acid-house-style rhythms, ambient keyboards, filtered and sampled basslines, spatial and spectral keyboards reminiscent of Klaus Schulze's "Irrlicht," and guitars that usher in an unsettling, alienating electro-rock. After these fifteen-plus minutes, "Fool" settles into a calmer mix of pop-rock, electronics, trip-hop, autumnal atmospheric release and pop vocalizing: it's no surprise after the preceding tracks, and it comes across as a bit one-note, but it makes up for it with its dense, nocturnal atmosphere, enriched by "sixties" touches in the accordions, the organ and some slightly psych-blues guitar flourishes. On "Hate" the melancholic, sweet music contrasts with the resentful, disillusioned lyrics; a conflict further underlined by nostalgic, velvety vocal lines that leave the track with a bitter aftertaste. The closing "Need," by contrast, is a placid acoustic performance with not much else to add.

Also in 2002 came a limited-edition EP (CD, cassette and vinyl) titled The Absurd Ep, containing four previously unreleased tracks that blend romantic pop, processed backing tracks, electronic alternative-rock, and dreamlike, harmonic layering that the band would go on to explore further in the future. The release nonetheless appears less sharply focused and less cohesive than the album it accompanies, coming across as more "humble" and subdued, but also less striking.

The opening "Absurd" boasts an enveloping atmospheric backdrop serving as a hazy base over which lie light drumming, melancholic vocalizing with an almost gospel attitude, and soft dreamlike elements that create a sweet, relaxing mood. The mini-suite "Junkie Shuffle" opens with faint, almost minimalist keyboard backdrops, which evolve into a gentle post-rock crescendo made up of driving, trip-hop-adjacent rhythms, mesmerizing electric backing textures, and above all Walker's captivating voice, while the final climax marks an intriguing meeting point between rock verve and electronic texture.

"Sham" is a noir piece combining a trip-hop beat, vocalizing and bluesy guitar parts (fairly unremarkable, truth be told), alienating electronic effects and sweetening strings that soften the nocturnal, melancholic tones. Finally, there's "Men Like You," which picks up a typically britpop energetic drive and stretches it out, at once expanding its catchy melodic thrust and making it a little repetitive.

The EP's interesting ideas end up overshadowed by comparison with the imposing preceding LP, with the result that the release passes somewhat under the radar.

2003, on the other hand, was marked by the release of the soundtrack to the film Michel Vaillant, poised between driving electronics, atmospheric orchestration, a sense of epic scale, dark digressions and soundscapes somewhere between Brian Eno and Death In Vegas.

In 2004 came the fourth studio album, Noise.

The work is highly ambitious: the formula of the previous album is repeated in a far more layered and overflowing form, but without ever reaching its structural and emotional peaks.

The result is uneven. In their bid to come across as experimental and innovative at all costs, drawing from a melting pot of wildly different sounds to assemble something unprecedented, Archive end up piling on too much. What emerges is a pretentious work, at times overly sentimental too, a disjointed mash-up of various stylistic tropes that often proves too derivative to give the songs any real personality. Radiohead in particular become an overbearing presence, especially in Craig Walker's vocal lines, which fail to convey any personality or originality.

The best tracks are still well worth noting. “Fuck U” opens with a hushed, feather-light interplay of keyboards underpinning the vocals, before drums and reverb-drenched guitars kick in to pave the way for the distorted chorus. The track builds into a climax of layered electric guitars counterpointed by strings, with a chilling lyric made up of insults and threats, rendered even icier by a vocal tone that's disgusted rather than enraged, contrasting with the sweetness of the music. “Wasted” is a nearly ten-minute Radiohead-esque suite driven by distorted guitars over which sit disorienting drones, electronic beats and filtered vocals. The track opens with a kind of placid, minimal electro/ambient passage, occasionally punctuated by looping obsessive synths, strings and small arpeggios in the style of Explosions In The Sky. “Pulse” plunges back into a futurist pop sound that plays on the hypnotic repetition of synthetic rhythms, noise distortions, electronic and noise inserts, and above all an alienating, filtered, almost chilling yet also scorching and passionate female vocal. The title track, meanwhile, finds a meeting point between alternative rock and trip-hop, enriched with acoustic guitars, electronic pulses, and noisy, Eastern-tinged arrangements.

But across most of the record, either enjoyable ideas get mixed in with more saccharine ones, or the result owes too much to the style of Radiohead's acoustic-electronic ballads (particularly “Conscience”, “Me and You”, and the brief “Wrong”). The one exception on this front is the catchy “Get Out”, which recycles a few trip-hop and Britpop clichés into a new, scratchier guise — though it leans far too heavily on the vocal melody of… Oasis's “Stop Crying Your Heart Out”.

Even some newer bands, like My Computer, flaunt similar solutions and seem to take their cue directly from Archive, though they sound a touch more inspired than on Noise.

There are interesting sonic experiments, catchy riffs and engaging electronic pulses, but they're drowned out by excessive layering in the arrangements and by moments where the band imitates its own influences a little too much.

Archive's fifth album, titled Lights, sees Pollard Berrier replace Craig Walker as lead vocalist. The record reworks certain ideas from the previous Noise with a vein that's less inclined toward heavy layering and more electronic, pairing its sonic blends with greater melodic care, while the atmospheric backdrop becomes even more enveloping. This gives the English band's sound greater vitality and freshness, bolstered by sharper compositional flair and more varied, propulsive arrangements. It isn't perfect: in some stretches the same flaws as Noise resurface in different guises, sliding into a pompous sound. Even the acoustic episodes still owe too much to Coldplay and Radiohead to fully convince (it's no accident that Berrier's own vocal timbre sits very close to Thom Yorke's). On the whole, though, there are far more successful, engaging songs here than on its predecessor, and the recovery of the richly varied emotionality of You All Look The Same To Me (with its crossroads of different stylistic tendencies) is paired with greater immediacy and more heightened emotion. The opening “Sane”, with its propulsive electro-rock, already bodes well, with a driving electronic beat, a cascade of synthetic arrangements, distorted electric jolts, and well-judged vocal melodies. The album's peak is the 18-minute electronic suite of the title track, which stands as the band's stylistic summa, between tireless drumming, distorted electronics, delay and psychedelic drones, and sprawling, enveloping layers. It's a substantial space journey that catapults the listener into a psychedelic vortex, reaching distorted climaxes sustained by enveloping dreamlike beds and a downtempo beat. 

By contrast, the ethereal “I Will Fade” is a much shorter, more placid ambient/acoustic ballad set between lulling notes and Maria Q's sweet voice, unfolding in a smooth, relaxing way; while “Fold” is an ethereal, piano-led ballad with grand vocal melodies and a backdrop of electronic samples. The hypnotic “Programmed” then blends near-dance danceability with filtered vocalizations, synthetic distortions, a few nods to Primal Scream and driving delay, boasting perhaps the catchiest, most compelling rhythms on the record. Across the whole album, as has become a habit by now, interesting and enjoyable ideas are mixed in with more muddled ones. There's also still a tendency to lean too heavily on Radiohead in certain ballads, a tendency set aside only when it's a matter of borrowing from Coldplay (“Fold”) or Muse (“Black”). 

The upside of Archive's music is that it's immensely varied and carefully crafted. The downside is the sense that the English band has become too attached to form, which keeps them from producing a true masterpiece even when all the right ingredients are in place.

In 2009 the task of refuting past criticism and resolving the conflicting compositional tendencies of the English band falls to Controlling Crowds, their sixth studio album and yet another display of stylistic eclecticism. Preceded by the energetic and highly successful single “Bullets”, the record is a protest concept album about mass control and the dark side of capitalism. It's divided into three parts, to which a fourth was meant to be added, though the band later decided to release that one separately a few months on. It cooks up a blend of electronic, pop and rock through a highly considered kaleidoscope of sounds and effects. In particular, Archive pair a progressive spirit and post-rock's emotionally charged crescendos with alternative-rock sounds and trip-hop and downtempo beats, occasionally ranging into ambient-rock, experimental hip-hop, keyboard orchestrations and indietronica.

The result is a work rich in fresh ideas that flows in a thoroughly compelling way. As usual, the strongest moments are especially evident in the opening and in the suites. The opening title track is driven by enveloping keyboards accompanied by driving rhythms. Its pace is drawn-out and expansive, well constructed and well defined, but above all varied and free of redundancy. The arrangement is more measured, marking a departure from the vein of the previous two albums. But the most astonishing moments are yet to come, as in the fifth track, “Quiet Time”, an electronic, atmospheric piece that brings back the rapping of debut-era collaborator Rosko John (a most welcome return). Or the stirring “Collapse/Collide”, which opens the second part of the concept: a long atmospheric piece that gradually adds more and more elements to build the now-central crescendo, with spacey electronic effects, a mournful female voice, downtempo cadences, acid synths, atmospheric beds and no end of sonic refinement. The structure itself says nothing new, but it's the melodic combinations that show freshness and inspiration, reviving trip-hop beats through a highly considered kaleidoscope of sounds and effects.

Then there's “Bastardised Ink”, which strikes with its deeply unsettling character, thanks to its combination of stark hip-hop beats and icy keyboard beds, setting up futuristic refrains that paint an ultra-modern urban scene, pulsing and vital, yet tinged with a sense of decay and anguish; the forceful rapping acts as a catalyst for this darkness, as insidious as it is incisive. In the slow, jazzy trip-hop of “Whore”, meanwhile, the filtered female voice is sensual and enveloping, while the keyboards mix a subtle but moving blend of sweet and bitter: it's the track that closes the album's second part.

The third part of the concept is a little less convincing, but still proves vivid and engaging; it's opened by “Chaos”, which, despite its name, plays on the gentleness of its vocal lines, backed by firm but melancholy piano, staying consistently on soft, enveloping sonic textures, with the usual strings, Radiohead-esque falsettos and a gradual emotional expansion borrowed from post-rock. 

But overall the whole album sounds much fresher, more cohesive and more inspired than its predecessors — probably their best since their debut. Even when it cites its influences, such as Porcupine Tree (“Dangervisit”), Fleet Foxes (“Clones”), Garbage (“Kings of Speed”) or dubstep (“Razed To The Ground”), it does so this time in a genuinely personal way.

The sequel to the concept, Controlling Crowds Part IV, was released just six months after the original. This short gap was probably due to the fact that Griffith and Keeler didn't feel like putting out, all at once, a massive and hard-to-digest double CD running over two hours (which was indeed only later released, in a limited edition).

Part four naturally carries on from the previous record while also playing at reconnecting it with particular moments from the band's back catalogue, often turning up fresh ideas in the process, but losing the balance and cohesion previously achieved. With trip-hop diluted and scaled back once again, the work shows a greater post-rock influence, with its by-now stock climaxes, though it doesn't skip on electronic pulses, dreamlike touches borrowed from Sigur Rós and emotional ballads steeped in dreamlike, spacey journeys. The mood is generally relaxed and dreamy, with the romantic peaks of Noise reinterpreted through the more elaborate, melancholy arrangements of You All Look The Same To Me and the harmonizations and stylistic blends of Controlling Crowds.

As always, the album's opening delivers some of its most successful moments: "Pills", which catapults the listener straight back into the 80s with nocturnal synths, pulsing basslines, driving beats, enveloping atmospheres and the seductive voice of Maria Q echoing through the streets of a living metropolis lit by streetlamps, car headlights and the glowing signs of clubs; and "Lines", which plays more with disorienting sound effects and acid distortions, between cutting refrains, filtered synthetic beats and acoustic bursts, over which Rosko John's hard, pitch-black rap unfolds.

Overall the album remains thoroughly enjoyable, but it's a shame that on many tracks the band dilutes its best ideas by lingering too long on the continuous soft/loud sonic progression following the usual post-rock canons and their predictable climaxes, or borrowed from wave-revival bands. Still, the band brings its own class to enriching the listen with a succession of sweet, atmospheric keyboards joined by more dynamic beats, intermittent basslines, melancholic Hammond organs, keyboards now rarefied, now richly dreamlike. More psychedelic sounds return on “Come On Get High”, where the influence of Pink Floyd and a more ambient attitude are blended with trip-hop and electronica. “The Feeling Of Losing Everything” opens as a duet between Dave Pen's melancholic voice and a lo-fi piano that lends it a retro touch, before transforming into dense, ethereal cosmic electro-ambient, with string carpets accompanying electronic sprays. Finally, the album closes with “Lunar Bender”, a sweet, ethereal journey between space-ambient and the band's usual post-rock influences, with delicate arpeggios, velvety electronics and vast celestial expanses painted by the music.

The feeling is that Archive have essentially brought the discourse begun with Controlling Crowds to a close without worrying about overdoing it or resting on their laurels, even if the I-III chapters turn out to be the more successful ones.

In 2012, with With Us Until You're Dead (a concept album about love), the band displays both a strong sonic richness and a general discontinuity, which at times makes the tracks feel like pieces of an improvised collage. The sonic exploration of the two “Controlling Crowds” albums returns, along with the romantic-symphonic flourishes foregrounded on Noise and Lights, all immersed in a kaleidoscopic electronic matrix that places particular emphasis on continuous layering. This often comes at the expense of melodic immediacy, especially when the latter is given free rein and centres mainly on emotional climaxes underpinned by atmospheric orchestration. The absence of Rosko John and his unsettling, gripping rap is also keenly felt, as are the more markedly trip-hop sonic elements; in their place, there's an increase in synth-pop, big beat and new wave-revival touches. The result is an imposing album, at times even too much so, but always strongly emotional (at least as far as the music is concerned, while the lyrics occasionally slip into excessive sentimentality, redeemed however by the psychological tension, at times violent, lurking between the lines) and full of ambition. A great deal is thrown into the mix, but it doesn't always find the right balance. In particular, the band's fervent passion fails to reach the creative peaks and spontaneity of Controlling Crowds, occasionally slipping into the self-indulgence of their earlier releases. With Us Until You're Dead comes across as a less original album than its predecessor, more undermined by cliché, at times even kitsch, but redeemed by substantial rhythmic touches and splashes of elegant electronica. This is the sum of light and shade that runs through Archive's discography: a band constantly edging towards a masterpiece without ever quite touching it, at times even being pulled forcefully away from it.

After spending a lifetime hearing their music described as "cinematic", Archive finally decided to write a film score. They didn't want to be obvious about it, though, so they reversed the usual production process: their tracks came first, a genuine musical script, around which a film was then built. The task of converting their sounds into images was handled by the Spanish film collective NYSU. The result was Axiom (2014), a 40-minute film with an accompanying album, released on CD, download and DVD, as well as screened in select cinemas, including London's Roundhouse, where it premiered.

Having reached their eighth album, Archive heighten their epic streak, reaching new heights over the ten minutes of the title track, another tour de force, punctuated by bells and striking in its alternation between celestial ecstasy, underscored by angelic choirs, and misty landscapes where menacing beats and noise debris take root (atmospheres later echoed in the closing “Reprise”). But the record's real masterstroke is the following “Baptisme”, an unsettling piece suspended between Genesis of the Gabriel era and the most apocalyptic Marillion, in which the band's avant-garde sensibility once again manages to update prog's conventions, charging them with powerful electronic jolts, topped off by a despairing vocal, in the wake of 2009's masterpiece “Collapse/Collide”.

Echoes of the trip-hop era resurface, meanwhile, amid the pulsations of the seductive “Transmission Data Terminate”, softened by the vocalising of the ever-sensual Maria Q, the band's real added value ever since she joined the line-up back in 2006. It's a voice that weaves new celestial textures on the subdued “The Noise of Flames Crashing”, the calm after the storm, barely rippled by sinister electronic noises in the background. It's almost a feminine counterpart to the seraphic overture “Distorted Angels”, which distils another of their tender melodies over a soft bed of strings.

Axiom, in short, marks yet another bullseye for Archive, who can be forgiven the odd longueur and the tedious digression of “Shiver”, which should be the poppiest track of the bunch but ends up getting lost in an unremarkable arrangement.

On the following Restriction, the results are less convincing. The attempt is to craft an intricate mix of rock and electronica that simultaneously breaks away from past experiments, something akin to a cross between late-period Radiohead, early Porcupine Tree and late-period The Gathering. What comes out of it, however, is less inspired and at times overly derivative. The electronic drum passages seem too indebted to the lesson taught by records like Kid A; on tracks like “Greater Goodbye” the vocal lines too closely echo Danny Cavanagh of Anathema, whose influence also extends to the atmospheric guitars, alongside the pop melodies of Coldplay. There's no shortage of Prodigy and Massive Attack either. There are plenty of interesting ideas worth developing, but the tracks are too lacking in bite to avoid sounding repetitive in places and, in the long run, tedious. Once again, Archive come across as inconsistent, caught between creative brilliance and self-indulgent redundancy.

2016 saw the release of The False Foundation, which follows introspective paths, with gentle electronic symphonies turning the tracks into languid experiments devoted to contemplation. The electronic foundations remain the same, influenced by the ambient of à-la Brian Eno and the trip-hop of Massive Attack (in the lounge atmospheres, if not the downtempo beat), but the layering becomes sparser, also winking at the industrial of the more melodic, less distorted recent Nine Inch Nails. The moods are darker and more melancholic than ever, finding thematic and sonic common ground with the now-inevitable Radiohead, whose influence makes this probably one of Archive's most intimate albums. The band thus seeks a hybrid of atmospheric minimalism, electronic drones and their usual eclectic, colourful arrangements. Unfortunately the task proves arduous, and the Englishmen often become repetitive, or else end up diluting the melodic potential that repeatedly tries to break through, leaving the tracks little more than simple interludes, if not mere filler. Overall, the record doesn't sound particularly cohesive: in its more convincing moments there's the band's usual inconsistency, even within the same track, while the weaker ones retain a certain unfinished quality. The traditional contrast between the band's poppier side and its electronic, experimental one is preserved (leaving aside the "orchestral" and "rock" sides), but the underlying class is undeniable. It is, then, a transitional album, one on which to experiment with particular sonic solutions before bringing everything back together into a more unified, direct and melodic work, as Archive had already accustomed us to doing in the past.

The vast and varied discography the band has produced leaves room for countless interpretations. Boasting a considerable number of released tracks, spread across many years of activity, frequently leads an artist to feel the need to revisit past work and present it in a different guise.

With Versions, Archive too decided to give a fresh look to some of the most significant compositions that have marked their illustrious career. To mark their first twenty-five years of activity, and after the release of a genuine compendium tracing their definitive summa (the 2019 box set “25”), Darius Keeler and Danny Griffits ventured into the deep and ever-risky territory of reworking old hits and some unreleased tracks that had been included in the previous year's celebratory box. The tracks are completely stripped of their original lavish sonic trappings and appear, pared down as far as possible, laid bare and presented to the audience without the superstructures that had characterised their official versions. “Lights”, taken from the 2006 album of the same name, and the Oldfield-esque intensity of “Again”, reworked from 2001's “You All Look The Same To Me”, are exemplary cases in this respect. The excesses and overflowing nuances of the official versions have literally vanished, making way for spherical sounds, ethereal, stretched-out piano notes and distant surfaces of synthesizers or guitars that showcase whichever lead voice is featured.

In 2022, the band returned to the path of their previous album of new material with Call To Arms & Angels, a sprawling flow that unfolds (in the vinyl version) across a full six sides, alternating hushed yet tension-laden moments with thrilling rhythmic/melodic build-ups. Making the magic happen, alongside longtime producer Jérôme Devoise, is a decidedly expanded line-up ranging from rock to electronic instrumentation, also including double bass, violin, viola and two French horns.

The themes that inspire the record reflect society's mounting tensions, from the obvious pandemic to the rise of the far right in the West, but the approach taken is, as ever, oblique: lyrics and musical elements are allusive, often marked by repetitions bordering on the hypnotic, and build unease precisely through their circling back on themselves. Among the peaks of emotional engagement, the obsessive, super-progressive drum'n'bass of “Numbers” stands out above all, as does the long trance-rock ride “The Crown”, which reinterprets the Floydian splendour of “One Of These Days” in a darker key. The title of longest track, however, goes to the sprawling fourteen-plus minutes of “Daytime Coma”, more captivating than ever in its gradual crescendo — from the gentle piano undulations of its opening to the majestic agitation that takes hold halfway through. Something of a fish out of water with its own brand of luminous, pop-leaning character, “Freedom” is instead the album's most unexpected track: an almost r'n'b opening, still a touch shadowy, gives way to a chorus that seems to arrive straight out of some lost, classicizing late-Sixties single (thanks Pachelbel, for the umpteenth time).

An album that doesn't reshuffle the deck and won't win over new fans, but one that offers a rewarding journey whether experienced in a single sitting or savoured with due pauses and returns.

We await Darius Keeler, Danny Griffiths and co. for their next album, well aware we're dealing with one of the most kaleidoscopic outfits on the contemporary pop and rock scene.

The following chapter, titled Glass Minds (2026), picks up that idea of a journey and flips it in terms of pressure and perspective: after the marathon of Call To Arms & Angels, Archive lighten the load, open up space, and let the sound breathe and work over time.

The declared genesis revolves around "Patterns," a litmus test for a more controlled minimalism and a melancholy à-la Londinium, underpinned by the production (again with Jérôme Devoise) and by a use of brass also inspired by Elgar's "Nimrod" variation, like sudden warmth within an often glassy mix.

The instrumental opening of "Broken Bits," with echoes that sound like ship horns, reinforces the idea of a long, hypnotic voyage: a fascinating choice, but one that exposes the album to its most obvious limitation, an inconsistent discipline in handling run times. When the repetition turns magnetic, the album hits solid peaks; when the rarefaction stays suspended in mid-air, the length weighs more than it should, and stricter editing would have benefited the record as a whole.

Among the standout moments are the disillusioned motorik energy of "Look At Us," enhanced by Lisa Mottram's mystical, narrative vocals, the emotional high point "City Walls" (with an echo of the most caressing pages of Steven Wilson), and the urban fracture of "Heads Are Gonna Roll" featuring Jimmy Collins.

Overall, a good album - at times very strong - that confirms the collective's shape-shifting nature, able to change skin without losing gravity.

Contributions by Matthias Stepancich, Claudio Fabretti, Cristiano Orlando (“Versions” and “Glass Minds”), Marco Sgrignoli (“Call To Arms & Angels”).

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