In 2011, Wild Beasts cemented their spot in a select group of “critical darling bands” by releasing their third acclaimed record, Smother. The band seemed to be teetering on the verge of some big opportunities, but they also seemed to recognize that with growing popularity comes added expectations: in order to please more potential fans, you’ll probably have to adjust your sound; in order to play bigger stages, you’ll have to be, well, bigger.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with a band becoming popular, but Wild Beasts’ fourth proper, Present Tense, is very aware of the skepticism that can come with the fame. “Wanderlust,” the record’s first single, addresses the circumstances of vogue, directly flipping the bird to bands that are quick to cash in on what people want to hear.
If I were Wild Beasts, however, I wouldn’t be too bothered by the prattle. Because on Present Tense, they still sound like an art-rock band making art-rock for art-rock’s sake; it doesn’t take a statistician to figure out that records don’t sell like they used to, and Present Tense (like the rest of their albums) is very much a singular, front-to-back experience. Yet whereas Smother was a sonically and lyrically intimate listen, Present Tense feels intensely inviting. The Beasts have sold their guitars and bought synthesizers, made their drum rhythms groovier, and — for the most part — abandoned their sense of all-encompassing dejection.
As a result, we get passion on “Mecca,” lust on “Sweet Spot,” and ravishment on “A Simple Beautiful Truth.” The range of emotions that Wild Beasts’ cover over these 11 tracks is extensive, and all of them are brought into clarity by front men Hayden Thorpe’s and Tom Fleming’s direct lyrics. Their decision to drop the mega-cryptic metaphors in favor of something more straightforward is not unlike what The National did on last year’s Trouble Will Find Me — which, due to Matt Berninger’s undisguised lyrics, is perhaps their most potent record yet.
Nevertheless, the two most potent tracks on Present Tense happen to be the ones most encompassed in allegory: “Daughters” is a study in feeling owed something greater, as told from the perspective of our collective children; “A Dog’s Life” looks at what it means to live a purpose-driven life by depicting a dog’s final day. Both tracks subsist off of Fleming’s baritone delivery, and both tracks explode into rich, low-pitched synth jams before they cease to exist. Present Tense moves seamlessly between songs such as these and Thorpe’s R&B-fueled numbers, thanks to the record’s absolutely superb synth tones and drum grooves, and the duo’s theatrical vocal compatibility.
As stunning as the entirety of Present Tense is, nothing on the record comes anywhere near matching the power of closer “Palace.” The song relishes in bliss, as Thorpe sings about both accepting the situations we’re in and having the ability to recognize the beauty in them — regardless of where we think we ought to be in our lives. From the first repeat of the uplifting synth loop, it becomes clear that “Palace” isn’t characteristic of Present Tense, but it sure is the crux of it. And for a band that has yet to really dabble in exultation, it’s a well-deserved euphoria moment. Plain and simple, it makes me feel all the feels.
Present Tense‘s emphasis on desire — on what we want, what we need, and our lack of control over either of these yearnings — makes it feel utterly human and universally relatable. I can’t imagine anyone who’s enjoyed Wild Beasts’ previous efforts being turned off by Present Tense. I can, however, see this being the record that brings them a whole new heap of fans. Wild Beasts have voiced concern over how some bands ascend to the top of the pile. With Present Tense in hand, they appear properly armed to make a run at it themselves.
Present Tense