Porridge Radio are making quite the impression with their new album, Every Bad. Their first for the ear-perking Secretly Canadian label, the young squad do have more experience than meets the eye. This is their fifth full-length project, just so happens to be their first professionally-recorded one, and the Brighton-based band truly present something different to the grossly-generalised term ‘indie rock’. And I get it, there are thousands of other bands out there that play the ‘indie rock with a twist!’ card as quick as a reality dating show, but Porridge Radio’s habit of incorporating noise-rock, as well as pinching art-rock’s love for making things challenging, hands us a compelling case.



Right off the bat, the star of the show is frontwoman Dana Margolin’s eccentricities, not just vocally. The monotonous drone of her singing voice borders on spoken word at points, though it fosters a ghoulish character that inspires curiosity. Exhibits such as the chorus of ‘Don’t Ask Me Twice’ could convince that she’s dead behind the eyes, fatigued by life’s trials and tribulations. Yet, this is countered with tracks like ‘Nephews’, where she is equally unafraid to prod at her demons with a heap of sarcasm as she is to reach the breaking point of her breath, to get her words across just so. Margolin’s overly-pronounced English accent casts light on her very personalised writing style, which is almost always speaking in the first or second person, full of ‘I’’s and ‘You’’s. It’s unclear who Dana is addressing, but because of the powerful conviction in her voice, when she asks a question, you feel compelled to answer.



And ask questions the band does - the LP tries to deal with the uncertainty of self that has become a regular topic of interest to young people in the 21st century. From the first track, ‘Born Confused’, whose words read like a mental transcript rife with competing thoughts. An epistolary ode to a now-former lover, Margolin signs off with a single phrase repeated ad nauseam, ‘thank you for making me happy’. The line regurgitates as though she’s attempting to speak it into becoming true, to dodge some hidden truth perhaps. It’s a risky creative choice for sure, however, the subtle progression of flourishing strings and distortion, as well as some shrill vocal overlays splash more colour over the scene. Strategically left unresolved, the band add more detail to the concept by skipping to the next track before reaching a conclusion. On ‘Don’t Ask Me Twice’, the backing band conceptualises confusion into many different elements, leading off on a staggered groove conducted with jerky guitar and click-clack percussion. As they move away from this repeated motif, we watch as her frustration audibly grows and calms before becoming numb to the feeling. Inevitably, every stretch away snaps back into its original mould.



Every Bad can be split into three neat acts - the boisterous and post-punkian introduction, the lulled mid-section, and more metaphysical back end. Sonically, their broad range makes direct links difficult to draw, but the fact that they are listed on the same label as Stella Donnelly, and were set to support Car Seat Headrest in a now-cancelled (obviously) US tour, does hint at some common interests. Like those artists, Porridge Radio’s greatest asset is their ability to bring straightforward compositions and lyrics to life simply through their performance. ‘Sweet’ seems to be a harmless piece of typical uni-rock, if not for the short and raucous bouts of fury that are unloaded at the flip of a switch. In addition, ‘Long’ calls toward dance-punk with syncopated drums and streaks of subtle synthwork, closing the opening foursome on a high.



Things slow down and really lumber during the middle act of the record, as the quality of the songwriting dips noticeably. It does start well with ‘Pop Song’, a welcome change of pace on the record that halts the high-voltage buzz for a softer light to frame Dana’s more spaced-out vocals. A slow burner at five minutes, she tells of the need to escape her home life to grow again, a rare instance of clarity as syrupy guitar chords enter the mix. Comparatively, the ensuing cuts do little to earn their place in the tracklist. ‘Give/Take’ is, in some measurable way, passable if redundant, but to begin with the icky ‘one, two, three, four’ refrain in the verses seems like cop-out lyricism, and the band do little to pull it back to a win. Even though ‘Lilac’ does an easy pro-kindness message to rally behind, the “I don’t want to get bitter, I want us to get better” coda feels incredibly preachy, and manages to stick out even in the midst of one of the loudest crescendos on the album. This type of naive sloganeering feels it should be transmitted only through a cloud of cheap recreational marijuana, and with ending every line with ‘...maaaaaaan’.



However, the record does pick in the final third and what’s more, it continues to surprise and expand the group’s palette. Consider the silvered strings that pop in for just a brief moment on the breakdown of ‘Circling’; this little baroque texture does just enough to throw a curveball on the listener’s journey, and would have worked great on more tracks here. The song itself chronicles a tale similar to that on Björk’s ‘Hyperballad’ - of a tormented romantic forced to a hidden place every day to exert her negative energy. Margolin’s area of respite is the sea, which calls back to the band’s Brighton upbringing, and is soundtracked with a separated outro titled ‘(something)’. The sheer aimlessness of the title belies its detailed immersion, where her vocals are dunked in autotune, swirling in a whirlpool drone, the tension of holding her breath underwater rising through smothered noise. It's these art-rock moments of instrumental storytelling that will bury themselves into the memory of listeners.