mclusky embody the oft-overused term “uncompromising” in the truest sense. Fronted by vocalist/guitarist Andy “Falco” Falkous from their inception in 1996 until they went on hiatus in 2005, then reformed 11 years ago, the British post-hardcore trio’s unwaveringly rollicking, raw sound is only matched in ballsiness by the political screeds Falkous rips into in much of mclusky’s material. That’s fully evident on the band’s fierce, fourth full-length (and first for Ipecac Recordings), The World Is Still Here and So Are We. Falco sends up British politicians and commoners in general for their corrupt and lazy approaches to governance and engagement, respectively. “A lot of people…like to be wise after the event / A lot of people—most, in fact—are wiser after time has passed,” he crows on “People Person,” midway through the band’s latest outing.
Nonetheless, when Falkous touched base with me to break down the new record on a song-by-song basis, he notes that mclusky recorded it “over a few gorgeous weekends in an inspiring place by a gang of fantastically attractive human beings.” He continues: “I suppose the title implies some kind of return after a long time away whilst also sounding like something of a threat, but it wasn’t until typing this sentence that I realized that. We didn’t have a plan or overarching concept for the album. It turns up the way it turns up, and the purpose of the studio time is to make it sound as coherent as possible, whatever the songs have decided that they’re going to say. The only condition is—and nobody has ever said this; they don’t need to—that we can play the songs live.” He then adds, tapping into a sarcastic tone that also permeates the consummately entertaining record: “OK, there is one other condition, but I’m not going to tell you what it is.”
Fortunately for us, Falco didn’t leave the rest of his feelings about the album, created with vocalist/bassist Damien Sayell and drummer Jack Egglestone, to mystery. Without further ado, we present you with what Falco had to say about each track on the propulsive, attention-demanding The World Is Still Here and So Are We.
1. “Unpopular Parts of a Pig”
The story of this song is that it happened—and completed itself—in exactly the time it takes to listen to it. It descended from the ceiling. We were rehearsing in an unfamiliar, not-great-sounding room with shitty amps, and I think it was fighting against these factors which made the [song] happen. The words are about how we talk about the parts of animals, and relationships. It’s probably about many other things on a subtextual level, but we don’t have time to go into all that here.
2. “Cops and Coppers”
This one rolled in as a joke on the back of an incredible drum fill, the kind that would have appeared ridiculous performed by the original cast of Bugsy Malone. I think I had to talk Damien into liking it, which is fine. I love singing like I do in this song. I’m basically taking the piss out of Sting and accepting the rapidly narrowing parameters of my dreams in the same moment.
3. “Way of the Exploding Dickhead”
Damien plays guitar on this one, and he loves to slide (note: not “a slide”). I play bass, and I just about hold on. Trying to explain a song that struts this much, which is so physical, would be silly.
4. “The Battle of Los Angelsea”
Damien pretty much wrote this one at home, and I excreted over the top of it. My understanding is that the lyrics are about the [May 2010] plane crash that Nigel Farage didn’t die in. We’re not death celebrators in this band by any means, but I think we could have made a hard exception in that particular case.
5. “People Person”
This song gave me tinnitus, but fuck it, I love it too much. If I had my way, this song would last for hours, building and building, but it turns out people have got stuff to do. It works so well live already—it says things without saying things. Some people feel personally targeted by the lyrics, which is [maddening]. Nothing [in this song] is about you. Nothing.
6. “The Competent Horsethief”
Originally, this song was about Boris Johnson, but then I started to enjoy it, which meant that I forgot all about his rancid tomato-gout face. I sang this song in the studio whilst my tinnitus was at maximum volume, and it cured me of giving a shit.
7. “Kafka-esque Novelist Franz Kafka”
We’ve all been there. “Kafkaesque” here, “Kafkaesque” there. “What about that Franz Kafka, eh?” “Kafkaesque enough for you?” This one is fast—you always need at least one really fast one [per album] (we’ve got two). The lyrics are about a disgraced TV presenter over here, or rather, the reaction to his disgrace by various political/social camps. It’s all very bloody intellectual—and powerful—as you’d imagine.
8. “The Digger You Deep”
This is an example of Damien and Jack talking me into liking a song. They were right to do so. I’m wrong twice a year. I accept that. Again, you can’t explain a song that struts like this. Your virginity would grow back.
9. “Auto-Focus on the Prime Directive”
I can’t remember if the title of this song is something Damien said or nearly said. One of the two. He’s always self-improving, that guy, or taking the piss out of his own attempts to self-improve. I used to hate singing this song, but it turns out that’s just because I didn’t have any words before, and making them up on the fly is always stressful. I realize that in the choruses of this song, I sound quite demented, but let me tell you, I’m a shell of a man.
10. “Not All Steeplejacks”
Ideally, we wouldn’t have had another quiet song on the record, but this was too good to leave off. As is often with mclusky songs, there’s just one bass line, but you’ve got to know when to start and stop. That’s the trick. If I explain the words, someone will punch me, and not in a sexy way.
11. “Chekhov’s Guns”
The best thing about being a musician in a somewhat competent band is being present at the birth of songs like this, in the moment that the first notes appear and are acknowledged by everyone, usually imperceptibly. I feel very lucky. More than all the other songs, this song is about death. Everyone writes about death, don’t they? The B-52’s, Steve Vai, everyone. Also, two references to Russian art/literature on one album—incredible. Someone in this band has definitely read a book.
12. “Juan Party-System”
I went for a walk on a fine studio morning, and when I got back, Jack and Damien had recorded this thing. I put some guitars on it, and that was it—done (although I’m fucked if I can remember what I played). I think this one works because of the inverse relationship of subject matter and nursery-rhyme melody. Also, every record needs one bad pun.
13. “Hate the Polis”
It’s sad when haters hate—in a profound sense, we only have one life—but somehow even sadder when the hated decide to tell you how little being hated bothers them, which is simultaneously not at all and with every fibre of their windswept soul. I thought I’d write a song about being lost in fandom. I like the lyrics so much that I almost quoted some of them here, but I stopped myself. So please tell everyone I’m cool.
