In the current day and age of being a music fan, few things can scare you, put you on edge and make you feel uncomfortable. Few things can put you on the floor and taunt you, putting you in conflict with everything you morally stand for – community, principles etc, then isolate you at the final moment of conflict leaving you in a crippled mess. This lack of anything substantial in the vein of what I would believe to be ‘punk’ has lead to a current malaise in music emotion, it is hard nowadays to feel bonded to something, disgusted by something or in awe of it. Lyrically, Fat White Family have been a reminder that punk music and what it means to be a ‘relevant’ band is so much more than a posing facade demonstrated by some quasi-indie guitar fanatics. Fat White Family have become our saviours against all things ‘safe’, they have shown that punk music is not just a whimsical, commodified fad that washes right over you. For some, safety is a preference as it is something that provides security and escapism from your own reality. Escapism is good by all means, however only in small doses and occasionally, just maybe, you want so much more.

Fortunately for us, Fat White Family have returned with their sophomore effort, Songs for Our Mothers and it is every bit as terrifying and confrontational as you hoped. The difference being, this time they have delved into the history of you and they are here to remind you of everything about yourself and your society. As opposed to their debut, Champagne Holocaust which made references to American culture (see ‘Bomb Disneyland’), this one is fiercely tied up with scraping out the brutal history and current situation of the modern day. Finding the balanced line between crass and pleasure, they have a real knack for tapping the pulse and putting you at the point of moral interrogation.

What Fat White Family do well is they fall into a particular class of artists that hold the likes of The Velvet Underground and The Brian Jonestown Massacre in account. The existential nihilism presented by Fat White Family is something that harks back to the likes of The VU and their ultra real presentation of the sleaze in 1960’s New York – from drugs, to prostitution and beyond. Looking at references in Songs for Our Mothers, this ultra-realism could be evidenced with reference to the death of David Clapson in ‘Tinfoil Deathstar’, the diabetic ex-soldier who was refused benefits by the Government. Or, the track titled ‘Goodbye Goebbels’ and the references to Goebbels’ final moments in the bunker with Hitler himself. When a band titles a song ‘When Shipman Decides’ or ‘Love Is The Crack’, it is impossible not to get up and take notice.

Taking the album opener and the lead single off Songs for Our Mothers, ‘The Whitest Boy On The Beach’ is a flux into the Krautrock dystopia that tailors the general feel of the album. Something about the motorick beat points towards something in the vein of Neu’s ‘Hallogallo’. Indistinct, distant vocals bobble around in the distance with the pulsating energy of drums and synth vibrating below. This stands as one of the more upbeat songs on the album however, fear not, it is more an invitation to the satanic proceedings that follow, just see the video for the aforementioned single and take note of the fierce military imagery and hanging cattle carcasses.

On the third track in, we are hit with echoed calls of ‘Duce’. The haunting vocals resonate around an unsteady tribal rhythm acting as some sort of Devilish marching band. Yelps and hushed noises are thrust across from different angles as it acts as a song that would feel right at home on The Velvet Underground’s White Light / White Heat. Freakish and terrifying in every respect, you get the sense that now Fat White Family are laying a path for the onslaught that will follow.

Topics such as abusive relationships frequent the album and nowhere is this imagery more evident than in ‘Love Is The Crack’. ‘Love Is The Crack’ exists as a woozy, haze of a song. It is as enticing as it is horrifying, a lethargic, sedated slip into nothingness and the references that litter the song suggest the fraught relationship between the two main songwriters, Lias Saoudi and Saul Adamczewski – ‘Love is the crack / Of somebody else's whip’. Lias recently commented within an interview with Loud and Quiet that tensions were high between the two brains behind Fat White Family. This topic of discussion furthers with the intense references to Ike and Tina Turner within ‘Hits Hits Hits’ – a relationship that was similarly plagued with abuse is now treated in such an interesting manner by Fat White Family. Okay, what may begin to emerge at first sight is that Songs for Our Mothers is a crass, undignified decision to use shock tactics within lyrical references to do nothing more than just cause unnecessary offense. I argue it is more than that though, essentially ‘Hits Hits Hits’ can be interpreted as an ironic poke at themselves, it is an egotistical projection that in turn is nothing more than slight self-deprecation and dark humor. Musically, the song feels the tidiest of the bunch, the cleanest cut. For a change, vocals can be recognised without extensive strained listening, similarly the song appears to be in clear cut sections with a sound verse, chorus and bridge. Sounding like a slightly sedated Talking Heads, it captures the essence of groove and perhaps draws on the 5am moments at parties where somebody feels the necessity to forcibly play music to get you dancing one last time.

‘Tinfoil Deathstar’ emerges towards the back end of the album in its Suicide like manner, it merges the rhythm and beat of punk music whilst incorporating 80s synth aesthetics. It appears like some sedated disco where you are kept away and locked outside, refused entry. It is the type of song that would fit in an upcoming Tarantino flick, take him away from his Spaghetti-Westerns and put him back on track into the likes of Deathproof and you’ve found ‘Tinfoil Deathstar’ a home.

Taking from the interesting themes is the track: ‘When Shipman Decides’. As ghoulish and drugged as the poison the murderer himself used, it sounds like the eerie backwash from far flung sailor songs. It is something The Pogues would be proud of if somebody slowed them down, almost to the point of reverse.

Another frequented topic for Fat White Family since their coinage back in 2013 is the idea of Facism and in particular Nazism, just see debut LP title Champagne Holocaust for obvious reference. Once again, on first sight you may fall prey into thinking that all this is either unnecessary offence or some obscure Nazi fetishism. ‘Goodbye Goebbels’ is a track that imagines the final moments of Goebbels and Hitler’s relationship and Saoudi suggests that it is a slight poetic look at the relationship:

‘So one more refrain 

Before our names

Are buried in shame’

However take the image of being ‘The Whitest Boy On The Beach’, feeling all insecure and it soon seems a far cry from any sort of Neo-Nazi white supremacy. ‘Goodbye Goebbels’ exists as a song that is a sleepy lullaby hummed to you through the tobacco charred lungs of Lias and co, the closing line ‘I bid you adieu’ could not be timed anymore perfectly.

So ultimately, on first listening Songs for Our Mothers can appear like unnecessary offence for purely narcissistic reasons. Exceptionally hateful and scathing, using shock tactics for nothing but egotistical purposes. There’s more though, there’s so much more. Taking a step back and tying in the band’s personalities and their exceptionally dysfunctional persona, it appears as more interesting social criticisms and sharp, haunting reminders of our pasts and our own histories. Saoudi recently argued that material is there and public figures are there, each and everyone of them is at the mercy of artistic use.

Culture is essentially the provider of material that begs to be questioned and toyed with. What did you expect from Fat White Family though? They are there to scare you and leave you twisted on the floor, just see their live shows as prime examples of the merciless chaos they can discard. This is a band made to jar you and leave you questioning and puzzled, this may just be the most thought-provoking start to 2016 we could have hoped for.

Tom Churchill

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