Review: Sugar Horse ‘The Grand Scheme Of Things’

Like the instinct to root for your hometown team, I always keep an eye out for bands with connections to my life. That spurious connection is what first piqued my interest in Bristol-based sludge/art rockers Sugar Horse. The band has spent the past nine years since its inception in 2015 making life difficult for themselves by creating uncompromising left-field and artistic post-metal.

Having had the chance to cover some of their output (the brutal split with savage Danes LLNN released earlier this year), they were one of the bands I went out of my way to catch at this year’s Desertfest and did not disappoint. So when the opportunity to get my hands on their new sophomore record from Pelagic Records, The Grand Scheme Of Things, I had to jump at the chance.

The subject matter of their second full-length is as equally dense and explorative as the music. It seeks to create a mediation on the journey towards death and how life continues after it. Inspired by vocalist Ashley Tubb’s relationship with his adoptive father, who passed away as the band began working on the album, Sugar Horse have attempted to create something that lasts and hits hard on an emotional level.

Having spawned a twisting and brutal debut with The Live Long After, it might come as a surprise to hear that The Grand Scheme Of Things opens with three gorgeous, drifting moments of euphoric, muscular but indie/shoegaze style rock.

Beginning with the title track, Sugar Horse introduce themselves with muted, deep thumping drums as Chris Howarth’s bass slithers under the guitars and growing synth in a delicate, light, dreamy soundscape. Tubb’s vocals are quiet and float with a melody that opens up into a glorious pop-like sheen with an epic feel that echoes the production of eighties stadium rock.

As the second half of the track kicks up the weighty feel with fuzzier, crashing chords, more authoritative drumming and a defiant edge to the vocals, it is clear the band are looking beyond mere snarling sludge metal and this ride will be something different.

The Shape Of ASMR To Come seamlessly slides into this lush, fuller sound that rises and falls like a breath that still retains that indie and eighties rock sound. The swirling atmospherics soar over the harder and lower-end dramatics, which soften the impact and give more attention to the candid lyrics and heartfelt vocals as they intone the refrain of ‘Hallelujah’. The music then drops out for the tender, passionate lilting middle section only to return to the ethereal drone with redoubled power.

The gentle vibe of Corpsing continues with restrained, almost acapella-clean vocals, nakedly raw and honest against the light organ and stripped-down percussion. Breaking out into a meandering solo and joined by a multi-layered choir, the band show that they are capable of by transcending their labelling. Pushing the space rock they have done in the past to a bigger conclusion while backing up their claim they are capable of being more than just a metal band. Not even the abrasive edge that begins to emerge on the guitar can dent the beauty of the opening trio.

it is clear the band are looking beyond mere snarling sludge metal and this ride will be something different…

Mulletproof is the first sign of the facade beginning to slip. The organ reverb starts to take on an unsettling, discordant edge and the echoing distance vocals lose their rich, tender gloss for a track that spends most of its time unfolding before the drums stamp and Tubb’s descends into screaming. When they exploded into full-on hardcore-laced sludge just shy of three minutes in, they lurch with angular, hard-hitting intensity, the pounding riffs and smashing cymbals backdrop a growing growl.

Split Beach swerves, pulling back into that lush indie sound with steady, slow drums and trilling gossamer light notes. The gorgeous, pulsing bass resonates with a determined pressure as the vocals are a sombre baritone until they collapse into twisted darkness and hammering rhythms. As Tubbs roars and hollers, the off-kilter smash and grind of the main riffs along with the stop/start chugging dynamic breaks down into intense screaming. The band deconstruct and rebuild, coming back more visceral and hellacious with violent stabs of malice.

New Dead Elvis features distorted vocals over the thick sound. The slamming main riff comes with heroic clean singing that opens up into a churning chaos of electronics and screams. The space rock drone collides with jackhammer fretboard abuse, banishing the previously chilled vibe with nightmarish distress and highlighting the dichotomy of the band.

The pairing of Jefferson Aeroplane Over The Sea and Office Job Simulator add to the schizophrenic vibe; the former has a stirring, bright sound and floats with grace and poise. The plaintive vocals drip with sadness and nostalgia over the airy synth wave feel. Whilst the latter is a moody, darker-edged number that tries to follow a similar path until it gets dragged further into the darkness with rabid and messy detours into brutality.

Space Tourist closes the album with a tumultuous mix of the lush beauty of the band at their most vulnerable, melodic and downbeat as well as slow, thick and grinding. Clocking in at nearly twenty-five minutes, the thrust of the track runs for a little over four minutes and is then followed by twenty minutes of droning electronics.

Truthfully, that is the one complaint I have about The Grand Scheme Of Things. I get why they felt the need to do it with the theme of the album and the nature of their musical discourse, but the sheer length of the execution means that after a while, it gets cut off unless the album is just background noise.

That is a minor gripe though as Sugar Horse have produced a more balanced and interesting album than their debut. It furthers their mission to create complex, interesting music that defies the self-depreciating claim on their Bandcamp that they are ‘A decidedly average band’.

Label: Pelagic Records
Band Links: Facebook | Bandcamp | Spotify | Instagram

Scribed by: Mark Hunt-Bryden