‘And she lets them drown, a path that only fools may go, and leads with hanging fruit so low, she lets us weave our deadened web, in the middle of her crown’ (The Witch)

I must confess that this my first encounter with Lung and I’m not sure anything could have quite prepared me for the sheer velocity and invention that the Cincinnati duo unleash on this their fifth album, The Swankeeper.  Structurally, their sound is a fusion of noise punk and elements of progressive post-hardcore.  Yet remarkably the fearsome battery that ensues is delivered by the simple partnering of cello and drums.

The cello is an absolute revelation.  Forced through guitar distortion pedals, you can’t help but imagine a vast, pulsing bank of amps as it sweeps from doom-laden slabs of riffage to more delicately dancing melodic interludes.  The drums match this repertoire step for step, all pounding fury before subsiding into more fluidly limber patterns as demanded.

The arch, darkly melancholic vocals add a further dramatic dimension.  Cellist Kate Wakefield is also a classically trained opera singer, which is apparent from the sheer power of her delivery.  The flourishes where she leans into this operatic background more avowedly, do take a moment or two to acclimatise to, but once you do there’s no denying the further emotional heft they imbue.

From the stark mantra of ‘You are worth the money’ (The Money) to the haunting refrain of ‘No, I won’t be caught burning flowers on your grave’ (The Magician), by way of the rhythmic fury of Fire Spell, this is an album that never ceases to grab your attention.  The highlight is, perhaps, the venomous cello riff that defines Sunshine’s Over – the moment that the drums drop out to leave just the cello and a mournfully matching whistle is absolutely banging.