Horsey - Debonair

SOCK & BUSKIN TWISTED IN MOTION

Right now, there's nowhere in the world where music's better than the United Kingdom. There are cliques, circles, niche one-offs who're reinterpreting past styles for a modern age of festering anxiety. Many of whom coil around The Windmill; a now-infamous pub serving up new and noteworthy acts on a platter. Its acts thrive in left field, few more ostracized than Horsey and, namely, lead singer Jacob Read, better known as Jerkcurb. Sporadic releases and a reclusive nature have prevented his prodigious state from achieving the likes of his brethren King Krule, Geordie Greep, and Issac Wood, though his voracious presence and aptitude for nonconformity almost certainly guarantees an enduring, devoted cult-like following. Debonair is vindication as to why.

Formed in 2016, Horsey came out the gates running with 'Everyone's Tongue,' a raucous Art Punk cut ripe with adolescent attitude and abrasive fortitude. In spite of the depraved humor, the character and poise of 'Everyone's Tongue' painted Horsey as a band whose talents far exceeded their age. They were ready. Yet five years would pass before a collection of tracks would emerge showcasing the range, acumen, and dauntlessness contained therein. Why? It seems, much like Jerkcurb's similar rollout to Air Con Eden, Read's content living with his art rather than profiting off it. Even Debonair lacks appeasement, circumventing expectation around every corner, mocking accessible singles like 'Seahorse' with blistering knots like 'Sippy Cup.' No song sounds similar, almost purposely so. Apart from the two-part 'Wharf' (which is easily the most similar to Jerkcurb), juxtaposition aims to be as jarring as possible, incurring whiplash when pacing's thrown out the window. Take 'Arms & Legs' and 'Underground,' polar opposites forced to yoke. One, strident and messy with a gravely barrage ejected from a foul-mouthed sailor. The other, calm and reassuring, luring apprehensive followers in with innocuous mealy-mouth. It's highly reminiscent of Ween's code of conduct; Paradoxical without a net.

In my eyes, Debonair aims to prove an innate fact: People are complex beings. One-dimensional art is but merely a surface level depiction of what the artist wants you to see. Here, Read and company unburden themselves of all inclinations, warts included. Take 'Clown,' a filthy, ramshackle shanty best suited for antagonistic homeless vagrants heckling no one in particular. Butt that up against '1070' on one side, with its turgid theatricality akin to Phantom Of The Opera, and 'Leaving Song' on another, with its serene ambience akin to a Monet impression, and it's no wonder Debonair is an irreverent beast bursting with contradiction. Only one song epitomizes it all: 'Lagoon.' Accompanied by an equally-inexplicable video, the three and a half minute jaunt bounces with effervescent glee over giddy Piano Rock, before abandoning all momentum through some bizarre, 8-bit New Age acid trip. Who knows what it took to conceive such an idea, but I'm all here for it. Schizophrenic and incapable of standing still, Debonair won't celebrate consistency, but it sure will have something for everyone.