It’s been odd seeing the band Sea Power getting some mainstream attention this past year. Up to now, liking their music has felt like being a member of a lovely, bizarre cult. You might find them appearing on Countryfile, recording brass band versions of their songs, or winning a Bafta for the music of the video game Disco Elysium. They have played gigs in a Cornish slate mine, London’s Czech Embassy, picturesque pubs and village halls, often with a giant dancing polar bear in tow.
It’s hard to guess where they’ll pop up next, so maybe it wasn’t that surprising to hear they had been invited onto GB News, Good Morning Britain and even Russia Today to explain why they had chosen to change the band name from “British Sea Power”. They turned down the requests, preferring to outline their position by writing an article in the less antagonistic Guardian last August. They said: “We imagined a youngster at a European festival in the 21st century looking at the programme and seeing a band name including the word ‘Hungarian’ or ‘Russian’ alongside ‘Power’. It would likely send your mind in a certain direction – quite possibly to the isolationist, adversarial nationalism that has recently taken a hold around the world. We’ve always wanted to be an internationalist band.”
It puts them alongside the artists formerly known as Lady Antebellum and the Dixie Chicks, and the record label formerly known as Young Turks, in not wanting the implications of a potentially problematic moniker to overshadow the music. And the songs on this seventh album deserve all the attention. Reuniting with their early producer Graham Sutton has resulted in some dynamic, grandiose anthems, particularly Transmitter and a stirring ode to one of their favourite subjects, the natural world, on Green Goddess. The menacing, propulsive rhythm of Doppelganger would sit well beside the work of the well-hyped younger generation of post-punk bands, such as Fontaines D.C. and Yard Act, but there’s also a mournful maturity to Lakeland Echo that befits a more experienced group. The long, layered song is named after the local newspaper that brothers Yan and Neil Wilkinson both delivered as boys, while the moving video features hazy footage of the fells and their late father.
“It’s not for everyone,” Neil repeats as the guitars swell. At this stage in their career, Everything Was Forever seems likely to keep them at cult status, but those in the know will recognise one of their best works.
