Snow Patrol ‘Fallen Empires’

Snow Patrol
‘Fallen Empires’
Fiction

With an anthology of crowd pleasers under their belts, Snow Patrol are moving ever-closer to being regarded with the comfortable fondness of an old jumper. The kind of inoffensively warming jumper to be nestling in a drawer marked alt-rock-pop, nestling somewhere between the mothballs of the forgettable and the silky blouse of the near exceptional. The kind you can always rely on to come up with a predictably rousing number likely to bring a smile to cynical faces. That was, until the sleeve of that jumper came and socked us round the chops with ‘Just Say Yes’ in 2009, an unforeseen dance-pop single from the band from who we thought we knew exactly what to expect. Ahead of this record’s release all the talk has been of change, now, finally, Gary and the gang are back to give us an indication of just how different Snow Patrol are in 2011. Amy Hanna checks in with ‘Fallen Empires’ to examine whether or not we need a new metaphor…

‘I’ll Never Let Go’
The throbbing bass and brawny guitars on show here are burly and strong enough to pick you up and carry you to some place safe. Primal wailing and whooping riffs rub up against reverb, in a clever disparity between digital and tribal. The sheer power of ‘Fallen Empires’’ opener is comes as a surprise, have Snow Patrol started as they mean to go on?

‘Called Out In The Dark’
Not quite. We’re brought back down to earth by the Gary Lightbody we’re more accustomed to hearing; his familiar weaving vocal flits over pumping synth. ‘How the heavens they opened up, like arms of dazzling gold, they washed away our histories’, his lip-quivering delivery transforms a Casio first-go-at-techno into a very amenable hybrid. ‘Called Out In The Dark’ is an expansive rite of passage trying to step into the shoes of a much bigger boy.

‘The Weight of Love’
There’s that stomping rhythm again, the stamping feet of a musical tantrum that howls, ‘We’ve changed now, and this is what we’re doing so pay attention’. And pay attention we will, to this poignant love tryst. The brooding power of Gary’s vocal knocks you for six, and is a reminder of how beautiful the word ‘love’ can sound in an Irish tongue. Building to a grand ending, the layered vocals are at risk of veering into Broadway territory, but with a wandering guitar hiss, relapse quickly back to the powerful side of lovely.

‘This Isn’t Everything You Are’
It’s easy to be snatched up and strung along by the slow building piano and strings that do everything to lull you into thinking you know Snow Patrol, before drawing on something altogether more cerebral, profound and meaningful. Gary’s reluctant lyrics will leave this desolate poem residing in the deeper recesses of your mind.

‘The Garden Rules’
Have Snow Patrol have taken something that works and ‘Run’ (sorry) with it? Or have they repeated it to the point of futility? Either way, giddy guitar slides and intoxicating warbling create an ethereal nostalgia that fosters a heart-wrenching climax and a lingering aftermath.

‘Fallen Empires’
Core-shakingly low reverberating vocals are hauled straight from the lungs of Iron & Wine’s Samuel Beam, while an impossibly quick guitar frenzy is gripping, especially when combined with a pounding bass that commands your insides to beat in time with it. Iridescent nods towards the orchestral contrast with a grand intensity that hints at regeneration. A chaotic ending of discordant robotics leaves the title track thrashing about wildly.

‘Berlin’
Now for some respite from the hectic clamour of the album’s first half – saccharine guitar picking and airy, twinkling rhythms in this schmaltzy lullaby. The choral ba-da-ba-ing will test your concentration before the dextrous drop of that bass drum, reminding us not to get complacent, we shan’t be treated to this uplifting bravado all album through.

‘Life-ning’
‘Words of reassurance, but only if they’re true, just a simple kindness, no vengeance from the Gods, this is all I ever wanted from life’. The familiar softness of Gary’s velvety timbre is innocent and loveable. If this delicately simple number is at risk of wandering down the path into dull, then its sheer beauty is the spring that catapults it back into the realms of riveting. Refracted acoustic picking undermined by a lingering orchestral build are laid bare beneath confessional vocals, making for a track that is exposed and brutally honest.

‘New York’
Sombre violins and a hymnal drone endure a feather-light woodwind melody to build something wishful and longing. Tender as a post-coital embrace, Gary’s cracking vocal builds with the heaving drum pulse till the whole song splinters into begging desperation (‘Come on, come back, come here’).  Bleak, sincere and utterly compelling, if that scene in movies when someone goes running through airport security to take hold of the love they nearly lost ever happened in real life, this would be the song that played in the background.

‘In the End’
The sound of tolling bells, electric palpitations and yowling pave the way for a meandering chorus that is just too polished to excite. It chugs along the tracks of the tame, and over-repeated phrases, vocal and instrumental, are clues that nothing was really risked here, and as a result, no new ground is covered.

‘Those Distant Bells’
As keys amble behind lofty guitars, this edges towards being a mere keepsake of the Snow Patrol of yore; its fragile emotion broods tentatively. Achingly frail harmonies teeter over melodies that unfurl into a distressing plea for acceptance.

‘The Symphony’
A punchier beat and echoed whispering vocal lift us back towards toe-tapping dance. Deep bass and jangling guitar hint at something quite excellent, but a foreseeable sequence of perpetual ‘oohs’ and the beeping of an old Atari are a clumsy grope around the thigh of synth pop, and keep this buoyant number firmly grounded. ‘Wooden floors whisper, and they creek, under your sockless feet’, endearing, but of little consequence.

‘The President’
‘I’m aching cold, I’m aching from the bones, the very blood of me’. The resonance of Gary’s desperation is echoed in the high notes of the guitar, the sporadic piano flutters and drums muted to a whimper. ‘The President’ smoulders with the glow of exhilaration, but is stripped naked, leaving us with something hauntingly beautiful.

‘Broken Bottles Form A Star’
Weightless as birdsong, and as pleasingly unpolished, this dips a toe in the pool that Sigur Rós built. Hyperactive notes are fast-falling droplets onto fragile strings. The precious title delivers what was promised, a delighting surprise akin to finding a fiver in an old pair of trousers. This is hectic, unprecedented and exactly what was needed – a fine finish to an album that documents this often-pigeonholed band’s attempt to shake the shackles of genre.