VLURE: Heaven Despatched – single assessment.

Out now

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As a paean to adolescence, a prayer to yesterday as ammunition to maneuver on, the brand new single by VLURE confirms them to be a band displaying no indicators of slowing down. Heaven Despatched certainly. By Ryan Walker.

What is that this? Neue Schottische Härte or one thing?

Hardly.

Scorching on the heels of their Minimize It/This Fantasy (could as nicely be Phantasy) single, VLURE don’t simply enmesh collectively kinds and smash them collectively as their very own vicious, vibrant, vitriolic concoction – somewhat they stretch past the borders of generic definition and do issues akin to how a pack of Droogs or wolves may inherit a disused fairground experience as their totemic HQ for world destruction.

Interested in the motion, all sabres and lasers reared to assault, it is a group with a definite imprint within the modern-day, enslaved to circumstance however by means of their maximal, sonic bombast, punch holes by means of the longer term that no licensed bygone timeline may simply solid them to the previous it was drawn on.

Glasgow’s VLURE has at all times had a expertise for twisting the rave tent and a rock ‘n’ roll membership into the identical fierce, frenetic helix. As a progressive home group each educated and tainted by the outlying industrial dystopia of varied estates and terrains that feeds into their feral, gang dynamic with a punishing post-punk edge (or is {that a} post-punk group with a punishing, progressive home edge?), they intention to unleash one thing heartfelt and hedonistic upon each launch.

A membership filled with punky ravers, or a rave filled with clubbing punks? Who cares.

Shimmering with a definite grit like a Rottweiler in an Adidas tracksuit and a pair of golden grills pasted to the fangs, they demanded our consideration from Shattered Religion to Euphoria. They have been singles taking pictures by means of with a buzzing bullet obliterating all that was unlucky sufficient to cross its trance-inducing grooves that would take an inch of pores and skin off a avenue freshly baked and blanketed with concrete.

Their new single, Heaven Despatched, is not any totally different.

Properly, the group has upped the electronica to achieve most, seismic stampedes making it one thing wholly monstrous. Techno drums thud onwards, unstoppable with a thoughts of their very own, programmed and pushed to dislodge tectonic plates underneath the ocean. Synth riffs spat from the identical hypnotic pot as Sister Bliss would summon up from the divine, neon underground seize and stab in opposition to the darkish. Glitchy Witchhouse vocals glisten and poo, adrift on the ethereal peripheries of outer area, about to vanish in moments of pure seductive cosmic rave power. Digital experiments that would trigger the sky to have an epileptic seizure bend the pinnacle off form, all tingling and luminous on the manufacturing facility ground.

Despatched from the guts and sweeps up all in its path, it’s a rolling, rollicking, rallying cry. It’s a name to arms as the most effective Ministry of Compilations typically are. Muscle machine capsules explode like firebombs in opposition to a clumsy grouping of roadblocks. Easy of their parabolic fervour: We Come 1, I can’t get no sleep, Lager (advert infinitum), breathe with me…it resonates on the identical wavelength as these timeless tunes proper right here – ”I’m heaven despatched, stroll with me”.

With assist slots underneath their belt with Bob Vylan and their largest headline present thus far at London’s legendary 100 Membership on Monday 4th December, it’s little surprise why 1000’s flock to turn into blinded and baptised by the impassioned joyride that explodes from the core of all of them. Youth as gospel. Adolescence as an power. Non secular iconography because the near-perfect template in opposition to which and into, actuality might be mirrored. Regrets rot the thoughts to a bit of candle wick. Response to the trauma and recognition of accomplishments. Ecstacy as the strategy for reaching some larger energy and the way drastically infectious, magnetic, and completely electrical and unifying that grand, collectivist assertion might be when hovering from the crunch of the chords set ablaze from between the legs (or palms) of this very group.

It’s Hamish Hutcheson’s army vocal – Invoice Drummond’s grim North when the KLF denounced it as such, planting his toes firmly on the battlefield with a thick Scottish accent leaping by means of the audio system that sit atop all of the climactic noise, taking us from one world to a different. On this case, a guiding mild giving us a glimpse into youth each misspent and bloody well-spent, the adolescence and the regularly corrupted innocence that comes with it paralleled on the platform of how a god may throw his angels into the ashtrays of the earth under.

They get up simply because the refrain to this tune kicks in.

~

VLURE are Hamish Hutcheson on vocals, Alexandra Pearson on vocals & synths, Conor Goldie on programming & guitar, Niall Goldie on & bass and Carlo Kriekaard on drums.

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All phrases by Ryan Walker ©

Photograph by Elliot Etherson ©