It’s time for the Bar Stool Preachers to drop some woke on you. That’s the first line of the first song and a fitting introduction to the fourth studio album by the ska-punk rabble-rousers from the south of England.
I was trying to think of a suitable genre to box the new album in, but much like everything they’ve done, it’s tough. Woke-punk doesn’t really work. Ska-punk might be most fitting, but for some tracks, it’s much less ska and much more punk. They veer from heavy to upbeat, always with catchy hooks and melodies, and it’s tough to pigeonhole them at all.
Time Of Our Lives has that distinct BSP ska-infused punk beat, a ‘woo-ooo-ooo-ooo’ singalong and catchy verse, and it’s not alone: Heartbeat Baby is another instant classic. The newest single, Singing Along, feels more balls-out punk, while SOS is heavier still, more aggressive and, dare I say, a bit Hammer House of Horror at times (you’ll see what I mean). All are uniquely BSP, great in isolation, but part of the overall ride that is Party Eternal.
Often on an album, the singles stand out, and those who pay attention to the alternative circuit will already know Party Eternal, Plastic Romantic and my pick of the three, Pick a Side. It was the first single they dropped; written by keyboardist Alex Hay, it’s a barb at a band who stormed off after having a Palestinian flag thrown on stage. They’re not named, but a bit of research suggests that it was the Sleaford Mods, a band I find genuinely hurts my ears. Dropping some woke not just on you, but on the hypocritical industry as a whole.
The band stop short of naming the antagonist of the song, which is unusual, because the rest of the album doesn’t pull any punches about the state of the country. They’ve never been afraid to say things other bands might not, never scared of alienating anyone in the pursuit of likes. TJ, the distinctive deliverer of singalong vocals, the elite narrator of the Party Eternal story, has general vitriol in his voice as he spits the line, ‘Saying both sides the same when clearly they’re fucking not.‘
That’s a beauty with this album. Sometimes you feel as if you’re being told something, in no uncertain terms, as with Pick a Side, but at other times, you feel you’re being shown something, like a door is being opened and you’re getting a glimpse inside. We’ve seen it before with Lighthouse Keeper, and that introspective, slow wander through the mind of the songwriter appears on Party Eternal in the form of The Closed Door.
I’m not just a ska-punk fan; I like a bit of Celtic punk as well, so imagine my delight when the final track, a collaboration with the excellent Rumjacks, popped up. It’s as good as it sounds, like mixing bacon and eggs, beer and fags or tea and biscuits. I do hope the title, This Is Goodbye, merely relates to the album and is not some deeper message to the listener.
However, it’s all well and good having meaning, purpose and desire, but the basic question I ask myself about any album is this: is it good to listen to? Music can have as much meaning as possible, but if it’s just noise, or it’s delivered awkwardly, then what’s the point, right? The previous BSP albums have all had purpose, but they’ve been good musically as well, and you can have all the ethics you want, but if your sound is shit, people ain’t going to come and see you.
I’ve had access to Party Eternal for a few days now, listening while I wash up, having it in my ears while I run, even dropping it in the background on a particularly problematic drive to Bolton in the rain. It’s good music: foot-tapping, sing-along good. The band construct their songs achingly well, making them catchy. Want proof? This morning, I woke up (woke, geddit?) with Heartbeat Baby going around my head, and I couldn’t quite place it at first. In a couple of days, Party Eternal’s tracks have become an earworm, burrowing not into my head for a day, but setting up shop, papering the walls and settling down for a long stay.
I can only liken it to getting a new pair of your favourite, most comfortable branded trainers. When you have an old pair that are just so comfy, and yet the new design comes out, and you slip them on knowing that while they’re different and fresh, they’re just the same. That’s Party Eternal to me. Different cover, different messages, different feel to each song, but somehow, still the same Bar Stool Preachers.
Is that a positive thing? I think so. I hate it when bands try to do something they haven’t before. A band gets a core audience because people like their music, and when they drop an experimental drum and bass album or something influenced by their gap year in India with heavy use of sitars, they can see sales dip and wonder why. The Bar Stool Preachers don’t try to reinvent the wheel with Party Eternal; they just spin it again in a new and invigorating way.
I’m slathering on like a fanboy and the truth is, yes, I do like the band. I like their music. I like how they’re distinctive, with recognisable vocals, uniquely able to combine serious lyrical sermons with memorable tunes and hooks. The real taste test will be in their live shows, because, as I’ve said before on my blog, the magic with this band is the flesh.
I feel 95% of the songs on Party Eternal have been written with a live show in mind: that back-and-forth, the melodies so easy to connect with, the messages to believe in, to wake up with in your head, to sing at the top of your voice on the M62, taking you back to the sweaty dance floor in Bedford, Wroot or Scarborough that belong to you and cannot possibly be recreated entirely on CD or vinyl.
Once I got back from Bolton, still with these tracks in my head, I sat down and watched some Reading Festival on the telly. Big festivals these days are soulless, empty, all about being seen to be there. A Bar Stool Preachers show isn’t at all like that. It’s old school; it takes me back to a time when it was about you and the band and banging songs, not reflected through a mobile phone screen, but lived in the moment and filmed only in the sinew of your being to stay with you forever, timeless.
This last week has been old school because I’ve listened to an album, no shuffle, no picking the best songs, but absorbing the band’s vision, front to back, time and again, just like the nineties. Give me that over the designer wellies, dance routines and sanitised shit Reading served up every day of the week.
To sum up: Party Eternal is an album of great tracks waiting to find their true calling in a venue, or on a stage in front of a field of fans (Ey Up Mi Duck 2027…). Unlike some bands where the live show overshadows the studio stuff, it’s a great album to play around the house or whatever, but I know it’ll come into its own when it’s being dangled in front of you like a carrot on a stick by the energetic, enigmatic and effervescent TJ, backed by the tight ensemble of ska-punk-woke-punk magicians that are the Bar Stool Preachers.
I’ll find out on Saturday as I get to see them again at Wroot. Party Eternal indeed.
You can preorder Party Eternal here before it drops in October