There’s nothing particularly subtle about Amyl and the Sniffers. Nor should there be. Their music is loud, fast, and feral. And with Cartoon Darkness, the band doubles down on that barely-hinged energy but adds something I wasn’t entirely ready for: purpose.
This is still, unmistakably, the sound of a band that wears mullets and singlets like a uniform and plays like their amps are on fire – just like their countrymen The Chats (whose song Smoko lives rent-free in my head, and at least one another Richer Sounds manager I know of). But underneath the chaos and the grit, there’s a surprising amount of polish. Not in the overly-produced, lost-their-edge kind of way, more in the sense that they know exactly what they’re doing now, and they’re very, very good at it.
Amy Taylor remains the beating heart of it all. If punk ever needed a new face, it’s hers, contorted mid-shout, sweat and eye contact locked on target. Her delivery throughout this album is less a performance and more an exorcism. Whether she’s barking out lyrics like they’re trying to escape her throat or smirking through some brilliantly bone-dry lines, it’s hard not to be totally hooked.
The opener, Jerkin, kicks off with enough bite to set the tone immediately, fast, frantic and almost gleefully unrefined. There’s no easing in, no welcome mat. Just straight into the chaos with the musical equivalent of someone kicking open your front door and yelling “Get in loser, we’re going to the mosh pit.” It’s also got a music video so X-Rated you have to go their site to see it – no Youtube here!
And that energy doesn’t let up. U Should Not Be Doing That is pure scorched-earth punk, built around jagged riffs and Taylor’s brilliantly venomous delivery. There’s a moment midway through the track where everything drops to a near halt and then rockets back in, like the band paused only to reload.
What’s interesting, though, is that despite all the expected aggression and garage-punk/pub-rock belligerence, there are moments here that show real evolution. I’m Not a Loser is as close as the Sniffers come to introspection, still chaotic, yes, but with lyrics that hint at self-doubt and personal chaos in between all the bravado. It’s a weirdly touching track, like being yelled at by someone who’s just realised they have feelings and isn’t thrilled about it.
Musically, the band is tighter than they’ve ever sounded. The guitars are still gloriously raw, but they’re sharper now, every riff is a jagged little hook that embeds itself into your brain. The bass is huge, the drums are almost violently precise, and together it all sounds like the kind of band you’d want to see in a venue with sticky floors and no air conditioning – warm beer is optional.
Production-wise, it’s raw without being messy. Someone behind the scenes has clearly been careful not to clean up too much, but there’s just enough space in the mix to let each element breathe. The snare cracks like a whip, the vocals punch through the fuzz with clarity, and the whole thing feels like it’s constantly on the verge of falling apart, but never quite does.
Lyrically, it’s still full of that signature Amyl mix of punchy, punk poetry and casual nihilism. There’s plenty here about boredom, broken relationships, social frustration, and general existential irritation. But unlike earlier efforts, like Hertz and Security, there’s a slightly wider range of tone – some humour, some melancholy, even the occasional glimpse of optimism, though it’s buried under layers of attitude and distortion.
By the end of the album, I found myself weirdly energised. Not in a life-changing, ‘must reassess everything’ kind of way. Just in the sense of wanting to throw open the windows and turn the volume up louder than the neighbours would like an angry angsty teen…again. And isn’t that exactly what a great punk record should do?
Cartoon Darkness isn’t a reinvention of Amyl and the Sniffers, it’s a refinement. A little less feral, a little more focused, but no less furious. If anything, it feels like the band has finally figured out how to weaponise their chaos. It’s not the cleanest, cleverest or most complex album I’ve heard this year, but it might just be the one with the most heart. And sweat. Definitely a lot of sweat.
Author: Tom, Cardiff Store
