Reverend and the Makers – Heatwave in the Cold North Review

Dedicated to giving a leg up to those working their way through the music industry – regardless of musical quality Reverend and The Makers are making waves in the right way. A sense of community can be found in clips of their gigs through the hard-hitting efforts of a band reclaiming their space and sense of identity. Much can be said for the good Reverend, and while frontman Jon McClure is steadfast in his approach to Football Manager, he pulled himself away from the game to bash out Heatwave in the Cold North. Tributes to the indie era are endless on the ear and the middle-of-the-road status found in Heatwave in the Cold North is a disappointing traipse through the latest workings of a band that cites Oasis as their influence.  

Still, should anything more be considered for the lads who brushed shoulders with the plain toast of the genre? Kasabian this, The Stone Roses that. It is a shame Reverend and The Makers are a pale imitation of already dull music. Disposable music set to be forgotten and thrown away. Nothing much has changed since The State of Things, as broad a title as it is an empty vessel. Punchy percussion and the backing vocalists who float through this title track find themselves deeply set in the north and south divide. It should be no surprise this is the case, blanket and broad coverage with no real stake made beyond the obvious one. At least there is a punchiness and punctuality to this. 

Praise of this neutered variety cannot be delivered elsewhere on Heatwave in the Cold North. The likes of Letter to My 21 Year Old Self are insufferable. It is what it says on the tin, and it is hard to think of an artist more on the nose than Reverend and The Makers. Faith in the listener to solve the aim of this song and the purpose of its title is not on the cards, the band simply cannot take a chance. Vocal manipulation planted on McClure’s voice throughout this record is difficult to justify considering how little it adds to the process and layered instrumentals, drowned out by stifled and stuffy lyrics which try and fail to lean into the exploitative strings which tug at the heartstrings so hard you almost forget the embarrassing interjections on the glittery, stifled dreck of High.  While The Exception sounds as though it sampled the Mii Maker menu from the Nintendo Wii, the preceding track, Overthinking, gives its best “rejected beat from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” rendition. 

Holding out hope for the record to stop, for the internet to go down and buffer the stream, fell on deaf ears. No hope of such a potential drop in connection. Instead stick to the likes of 26 Thousand Days, as overly simplified as the rest of the tracks yet with no meaning or message to hear from. Ten songs have never felt so long. Barren of original thought and piercing the ears on the likes of I Hate It When You Lie and You Don’t Love Me, the whining tone set by Reverend and The Makers is as tough to swallow as the self-love presented by fellow Sheffield band The Lathums. Between them they undo the hard work of their contemporaries and influences – though all is not lost – Heatwave in the Cold North does, eventually, end.