Radio Free Alice’s debut launches them into the stratosphere on What’s In Between, acting as GenZ’s answer to Pulp and the Killers.
Say hello to your new favourite guitar band. Radio Free Alice have been hard-working over the summer in Europe and the States with guerrilla free shows and festival slots at places like Rock Werchter that went down an absolute storm, whipping up a crowd at almost every venue they’ve been to. Now, they finally have album number one released – and what a way to get things started. Lochie Dowd’s drums work with Noah Learmonth’s vocals to propel ‘Crying with You’ into an opening that captures what it is like when you’re drunk, you’ve had too many, and everything is moving maybe a bit too fast. The lyrics build whole worlds out of the band’s relationships, while the guitars groove with triumphant abandon – and it’s very clear that this is a band that have got IT. They will go far – and anyone who’s seen them live knows why.
It’s fun, snappy, fast-paced and a whirlwind. Jules Paradiso’s guitar and Michael Phillips’ bass really play to Radio Free Alice’s strengths, speedy and vulnerable – early on, ‘Undressed’ tackles the heartache of watching someone you want with somebody else: ‘your heart’s breaking in two, watching him unzip her dress’, the band calling to mind The Killers’ ‘Mr. Brightside’ with its blunt force.
Radio Free Alice may very well be Australia’s answer to The Killers, with a sound that evokes Hot Fuss, although their influences also reach back to The Smiths and Pulp. The Jarvis Cocker inspiration is evident on the sleazier tracks, as they talk about themselves at fourteen and fifteen, when you don’t really know what you’re doing in relationships and it feels awkward.
‘Kick in the Shins’ thrives off the guitars and the bass, grappling with being watched, knowing you’re being watched and the isolation that surrounds you – catchy, zingy and a delight. ‘in echo park, they really did me in / they died me up to some public bins’ – it zips and zooms. ‘I said the cavern club is now a Morrisons’: we get to tackle gentrification with the witty self-assured attitude of the 2000s-era guitar bands and their confidence that appears unmatched.
On ‘Lunch Money’, the Smiths-esque lyrics and intricate guitar work may not rival Johnny Marr at his best yet, but they capture the spirit of the legendary British outfit (dare we dream of a collab further down the line?). They already have established indie credentials here, enlisting Rachel Brown from Water from Your Eyes for the excellent ‘Big Ideas’ that works as a mission statement – Brown’s vocals working in perfect harmony with Noah’s.
In the second half of the album, ‘Bottleshops’ talks about the pressure of turning thirty and the failures of life – and the loneliness of working in the city. ‘You’re thirty years old and you’re in the basement … you haven’t seen a paycheque’. There’s room to breathe with the sequel to ‘Lunch Money’ (again, echoing The Killers by including sequels to their own tracks later in the record), as the focus shifts to other people’s judgements about avoiding the predictability of the 9–5.
’80s synth is also evident here – ‘The Intersection’ and ‘Four Leaf Clover’ recall bands like Simple Minds and New Order, accompanying the fading feelings that are slipping and sliding away. It’s an experimental album in the back end, showing the band trying to find their groove whilst also allowing for new things. It’s here, when the synths kick in, that they come across as Nation of Language-esque. On ‘Waiting’, they’re stripped back and focused on the everyday lives of working-class people. A tribute to the ‘tasteless people with very kind hearts’ that surround us all – it’s a wonderful closure.