Ritual- White Lies

Bigger doesn’t always mean better for Ealing miserablists

The emergence of White Lies’ Joy Division-owing gloom was hardly original in 2009. Interpol and Editors had it well covered. But debut album To Lose My Life...’s surprise stint at number one showed that there was something fresh and new about them, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

It was a great album filled with memorable hooks and eccentric optimism against the doom. Now they’re back and have done it all over again: just much, much bigger. This leaves a mixed bag.
At times on second album Ritual, they resemble a Ferrari without any wheels. It’s an impressive noise, but there isn’t really much point if it doesn’t move anywhere. Editors suffered a similar fate when they brought in the synths and stadium-aim, and lost something in the process. As well as borrowing their sound, White Lies seem to be on a similar trajectory.

First single Bigger Than Us is a perfect example of this, heavy on grandstanding, whooshing synths and gleaming production. Here it works. But while it shows them focused and onto something that works for them, but it’s a formula they too often stick to.

Opener Is Love is one of the exceptions. As well as the huge McVeigh vocals and swirling guitars, they also frequently stab violently, with a gleeful funk breakdown in the middle. For five minutes, the forward momentum is relentless and genuinely exciting. Ritual’s quality dips in the very next song, Stranger, which is filled with statements like “I’ve got a sense of urgency” and “I’ve got to make this happen” without actually achieving it.

And this is the main problem: it’s a wildly inconsistent record. To Lose My Life... was great for its song writing. Death was a tangible take on fear of flying, and Farewell To The Fairground was a living, breathing nightmare. Only occasional moments of “guilt smeared across your lips” show off the same skill here, and it never manages it for an entire song.

The initial thrill at the size of the beast soon wears off. Unsurprisingly, it’s the more Earth-based moments that stand out. The Power & The Glory still manages to be an epic, but in a more subtle and subdued way, with a backing guitar screech and late-night, skittering percussion. This brings relief from stadium-bait like Holy Ghost and ironically-titled Peace & Quiet. Hushed moments aren’t going to sell records, but they work in White Lies’ favour.

Individual tracks won’t stay with you, neither is the overall feel of the record. What they have got is singer Harry McVeigh. He carries far more detached power than his contempories, but let’s hope on record three they invest a little more human emotion, and remember why they so great to start with.

3/5

Best Tracks:
Is Love
The Power & The Glory
Bigger Than Us