Iceage - Seek Shelter

On their fifth album, Iceage continue their metamorphosis into poetic harbingers with a flair for the theatrical, leaving their scrappy beginnings firmly behind for better or worse. As always, there is a sense of urgency to the record, with the group even veering into Brit-pop bombast, like Oasis reimagined for red wine-guzzling literary fanatics. Elias Bender Rønnenfelt's signature drawl only further positions him as a prophet of sleaze, and the band remain as capable as ever, but it's hard to escape the feeling their rougher edges have been refined, as some tracks glide by a little too smoothly to become the kind of earworms they have crafted in the past.

Something that decidedly hasn't changed is their propensity for explosive openers, like "Shelter Song" and its massive chorus that manages to hit like a truck; even at midtempo, the Wall of Sound and soaring backing vocals are staggering. Despite a brief change of pace in the beautified "Love Kills Slowly," the energy travels right through to centrepiece "Vendetta." The track is all swagger -- it comes out swinging like something in between Happy Mondays and Kasabian, running the risk of becoming stadium-built lad rock, and only avoids such damning praise by virtue of Rønnenfelt's natural attitude. It is followed by a strange left turn in "Drink Rain," which channels Jacques Brel, and as admirable an influence as he may be, the song just doesn't land correctly, serving only as a distraction. The closing numbers pick up the slack, with "Gold City" standing out as a highlight. That is until the finale, "The Holding Hand," which proves Iceage still know how to end things on a high note. It's a fantastic feat of song writing; dripping in drama, it manages to squeeze angst out of tension rather than raucous energy, coiling itself around subtlety and then pulling taut in the closing moments before breaking down completely. Ultimately, this record is a triumph for the band, born out of strange times, and although it may not be their best, their blend of bitter and sweet still rings true. Iceage's rugged roots may be gone, and there may be fewer thorns, but Seek Shelter is still a rose by any other name.

Iceage - Beyondless

The fourth album by Danish punk upstarts Iceage is a study in sonic evolution, from the abrasive chaos of their debut to their more thoughtful 2018 incarnation. Their progression has been impressive, hopefully staving off the divisive nature that comes with changing direction; sharp turns are likely to perturb subsections of fans, but here the rudder was adjusted early enough that long-time admirers might have seen it coming since album two. Over time, space that has been carved out of the song writing has given way to the overall density of the lyrical content, meaning that while the delivery might not be as urgent on Beyondless, it lands with a new degree of clarity. Nevertheless, the album opens with all guns blazing, as "Hurrah" rattles off on people's insatiable, sometimes celebratory, relationship with violence, and does so in a sardonic explosion of gratuity. Leading straight into "Painkiller," the most prominent example of who Iceage are here; it's catchy, it's bombastic, and once it has its hooks in it won't let go, although all of this is still underpinned by Rønnenfelt's signature drawl. The rest of the record plays out with an abundance of dramatic flair -- even if the pacing gradually reduces toward the back half -- riddling the run time with the slow angst of "Catch It," the uneasy cabaret of "Showtime," or the call-and-response-baiting closer "Beyondless." It would be easy to lament the raw energy of previous Iceage records, but if they had continued in that vein they would have risked obscurity by now; instead, they're a band who refuse to stop moving and exploring their sound, emerging every time with a more refined approach to the music. That they can achieve this with integrity should be celebrated, except maybe this time with a bottle of red wine instead of cheap beer.

Liam Martin