Idles – Gift Horse Review

What a filtered and foul transition Idles has made over just three singles. It turns out nabbing LCD Soundsystem to appear on your track sets a tremendously high bar which cannot be vaulted. Still, at least listeners of this post-punk unit who are learning how to love again can nab Dancer and make off into the sunset with it. Those few who remain are left with Grace and Gift Horse, the latter being the latest and likely last single before Tangk releases properly. A piece where the production marks a real step down in quality and a ruinous moment for the band whose explosive attitude and fixation on the extreme is neutered beyond repair. Either tinnitus has finally taken its place permanently or Gift Horse sounds submerged in water. 

Look at it go, spiralling aimlessly as it denounces royalty as every right mind should. How we get there is fascinating. Gift Horse seems to have no connecting dots or lines between it, just a flurry of consciousness without the harshness or spite which cements Idles’ sound. Descriptive as ever but with no target in its sights before the very end, Gift Horse has the fluid motions and the repetition necessary to form a pre-chorus outrage though soon turns over to watch its man-horse compete and sprint around the place. Disconnected beyond repair and frequently challenged by itself. No mountain to climb, no clear target in sight and nothing to stop it from flailing away like a detached turbine, zooming off to collide with something for the sake of it. That is velocity for you and Idles has plenty of it. 

Or had plenty, that is. Gift Horse is a stern reality check for Idles. “All is love and love is all,” Joe Talbot reminds us. We did not need the reminder. Punk rock is keen now, more than ever, to keep its heart beating and out in the open, vulnerable. Gift Horse tries to put those old shields back up though for fear damage will be struck to the stuttered and styleless bridge following a lacklustre instrumental break. Idles are not on autopilot here, they are genuinely trying though the issue is they do not know what they are trying for. There is no aim and the panicked “fuck the King” at the end is delivered with confidence but a slim realisation from Talbot that this track has nothing to do with it other than denounce the obvious.  

Those early criticisms of being long in the tooth are easier to swallow when lyrics are not as toothless as this. Grace and Dancer survive on the brutalism deep in their hearts, paired with a dance-funk or monotone fever which elevates the heartbreaking flourishes. Gift Horse is awkwardly jutting out and its out-of-place feeling cannot be shaken. Empty lyrics and a valueless shell appear to cause real concern for the band as they fail to mount a meaty attack on the already explored imagery here. Grace did it before and did it better. Idles appear to be shutting themselves down all too soon and rather than strike while the iron is hot smash themselves in the legs, neutering their chances of broadening the horizons struck by lightning twice before this messy, tinny experience. Where is the bite? Gone.