There are bands who mellow with age, and then there’s Skunk Anansie, who refuse to, managing to be perhaps the last vestige of actual ‘Britrock’ (NOT BRITPOP thank you Oasis).
Their new album, The Painful Truth, continues that defiant streak. It is loud, unapologetic, and blunt in both sound and message. If you were expecting them to settle quietly into nostalgia, this album proves they still have too much fight left in them.
The first thing that hits you is Skin’s voice. It has always been the weapon at the centre of the band, capable of flipping from fragility to outright fury in the space of a single line. On The Painful Truth that range is on full display. When she goes soft, it feels like the air’s been sucked out of the room. When she belts, it is explosive, commanding in a way that still puts most vocalists half her age to shame – and is probably a good reason this reviewer is so into female-led rock.
Musically, the band’s sound is as tight as ever. The guitars grind and snarl, the rhythm section locks everything in place, and there’s a sense of urgency that gives the whole thing momentum. They aren’t reinventing themselves, but they don’t sound like they need to. There is a freshness in the way the riffs crunch and the choruses soar, even if the toolkit is familiar.
Lyrically, it is a record full of frustration and demand for honesty. The themes are big ones: identity, politics, survival, belonging. But it’s delivered in the band’s typical way, gut punch instead of a slow musing. It works because there’s no pretence about it. It is messy, emotional, and very human.
The highlights vary depending on what you want from Skunk Anansie. There are tracks built for big venues, or maybe your local warehouse rock cave, the kind that feel designed for fists in the air and shouted choruses. There are others that slow things down, letting Skin’s voice sit right in the centre, stripped of distortion, just carrying weight with sheer presence. Those quieter moments are what stop the album from feeling like an unbroken wall of noise. They give you space to breathe before the next onslaught.
Production is polished as you might expect from a veteran band, but not overly so. Everything feels sharp and deliberate without sanding off the rough edges. The bass has grit, the guitars are jagged, and the drums crack through the mix. You can tell this is a record made to be played live. There’s an immediacy to the sound that feels less about perfection and more about capturing energy – but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t sound great through your chosen medium (mine being streaming)
If there’s a criticism, it is that sometimes the record feels almost too relentless. Skunk Anansie have always thrived on intensity, but across a full album it can blur together if you are not in the right headspace. The songs are strong individually, but the sheer emotional force of it all might leave some listeners a little battered. That said, I COULD argue that it just shows the whole album is strong, but it’s nice to have some stand out tracks to really go on about.
What makes The Painful Truth work is how authentic it feels. There is no sense that the band are putting on a mask or chasing trends. They are still themselves, still raging, still demanding to be heard. It is a reminder that music like this doesn’t have to fade into heritage status. It can still sound urgent. It can still matter.
By the time the album closes, you don’t necessarily feel uplifted, but you do feel charged. It leaves you with that familiar mix of anger and catharsis, like you’ve just shouted along at a gig and walked out sweaty and slightly euphoric. For a band with this much history, to still be creating that feeling is an achievement in itself.
The Painful Truth isn’t here to comfort. It isn’t here to gently play in the background. It is a record that confronts, that yells, that bares its teeth. And it is all the better for it.
Author: Tom, Cardiff Store
