‘Males herbes, Creixent al nostre voltant, Llengües enverinades, Amb discursos inhumans, Manipulen i corrompen, La llibertat, Els seus cors podrits d’odi’ (A Cop De Falç) / ‘Weeds, Growing around us, Poisoned tongues, With inhuman speeches, Manipulating and corrupting, Freedom, Their hearts rotten with hate’ (With A Sickle)

Nationalism is a toxin that seems to be coursing ever more freely though public life, sowing hatred and proffering cruelly misguided panaceas.  Yet there is a much more positive flipside to the idea of belonging.  Ground-up pride in our locality and our community can be a powerful force for the collective good.  And it is this sense of place, framed through the rural anarchist traditions of Montserrat in Catalonia, that fuels Enyor’s deeply emotive second full-length, Sola D’Espart.  Indeed, the term ‘enyor’ speaks to a sense of longing, not just for that which has been lost, but even more importantly, the better futures yet to be realised.

As with their debut, there are no half-measures.  Every element is delivered with an impassioned sincerity.  The gruffly hoarse vocals, the warmly hazy guitar tones, and burly UK82 rhythms vividly conjure a very specific melancholy.  It speaks equally to the traditions of both late 1980s’ UK punk and more contemporary Iberian expressions.  Think, perhaps, of the guitar work of Frankie Stubbs braided through the anthemic stridency of say Enemic Interior and Gurs.

The mournful melodies and uproarious choruses will be what first seizes the attention.  Though, as you immerse yourself, the deft use of differing textures will be just as persuasive in bringing you back.  The cascading Stubbs-esque guitar work that propels the climax to Un Milió Més De Cops (A Million More Times).  The heart swelling layered group vocals that define Ceba Tendra (Spring Onion).  The jagged riffage of A Cop De Falç.  The fiercely dualling vocals of the climatic FTM.  It proves to be a thoroughly evocative declaration.