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November 2018
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Honeyblood - Ready For The Magic

Surrender to the magic. Honeyblood aren't taking no for an answer.
Honeyblood - Ready For The Magic
Published: 8:49 am, July 14, 2016
Surrender to the magic. Honeyblood aren't taking no for an answer.



Banger



Like most things, music comes in all shapes and sizes. Depending on where you park your filter bubble, you’ll find yourself exposed to varying amounts of smart, obtuse, difficult or experimental sounds. In a world where we define ourselves by our tastes, it’s hard to tell exactly what peers like, love, or think furthers the ‘personal brand’. Increasingly, we move towards an amorphic hive mind, trying to look smart and cutting edge, all heart and soul cast aside in fear of looking, y’know, less cool.

But it’s all a mask. Inside everyone there’s a voice, screaming for something to really believe in. Something that sparks those teenage sugar-rush hormones that brought us here in the first place. We’ve never left them behind, they’ve just been desperately buried under a respectable veneer of preening insecurity. Honeyblood just blew a hole in all of that.

‘Ready For The Magic’ is the kind of calling card which sends all that nonsense straight to the dumper. Far from dumb, it’s brilliantly direct - a writhing, hundred mile an hour stormer that can speak to the mind but aims for something far more primal. From witchcraft to dancefloor dynamics, this is garage punk where the numbers add up to something more, but the sum is irrelevant. Whatever it is, the answer is right.

Honeyblood’s debut was a five star record that delivered a counterpart to the ‘how loud can we go’ two piece invasion. Craft and guile with a spine of steel and a hip check that never broke stride, it didn’t sound like a band who needed to fulfil any potential. It was a fully formed gem, polished to a sparkling finish. That they’re returning bigger, more brash, pushing the big red buttons like the apocalypse is no big shakes, proves their days as a best kept almost-secret are long gone. The bubbles are bursting. That’s a kind of magic. Stephen Ackroyd

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