by David Wilikofsky
Though Joanna Gruesome may have one of the silliest names of any band from the last decade, they were far more than a novelty act. The group put out two nearly perfect noise pop albums before finally disbanding in 2017; since then, its former members have reconfigured themselves into a seemingly endless stream of new projects. The Tubs, a self-described “Welsh boyband”, are the latest to emerge from their ashes. Founded by two of Joanna Gruesome’s primary songwriters, Wen “O” Williams and George ”GN” Nicholls (and rounded out by Wozza Warren and Matt Green), the group’s debut album simultaneously captures the magic of their previous project while carving out a sonic identity all their own.
It always felt like there was a darkness lingering on the periphery of Joanna Gruesome’s music, but lyrically it was more often than not buried beneath layers of guitar squalls. While there are certainly echoes of that band here (especially when Joanna Gruesome singer Lan Mcardle provides backing vocals), The Tubs have a much sunnier and less overtly noisy sound than their predecessor. The eccentric pop of Martin Newell or Lawrence are both good reference points, as is a British folk-rock master like Richard Thompson; these are songs more focused on jangly melodies and sticky hooks than controlled chaos. Although it’s a much brighter sounding album on the surface, the clearly audible lyrics paint a much different story. These are songs about squalor, mental illness and deep despair. They’re the sound of losing your mind (in the case of one song, literally) as the world gleefully continues to spin around you.
Perhaps my favorite thing about a Tubs song is that it doesn’t grasp for any sort of unearned, uplifting conclusion. In press materials for the album, Williams says “Having a compulsive disorder which makes me go bonkers isn’t my ‘superpower’ or whatever lol… it actually just makes me this irritating guy who smells.” There’s not some greater lesson or point to be drawn from their music; when they sing about being stuck in a repulsive life or being an ass-licker, there’s no solution proffered. Yet despite what some might describe as unrelenting bleakness, it never feels heavy. I’ve played this record more than anything else for the past month, and what sticks in my mind isn’t its darkness: it’s a razor sharp wit, catchy tunes and tight musicianship. It’s music that understand that beauty, despair and humor can all be felt in any given moment, refracting each one through its jangling melodies.