Squid have long been one of the most interesting bands to come out of the massive, UK-centred post-punk boom of the 2010s and 2020s. Technically skilled and incredibly versatile, literary and heady, revolving around an unconventional lineup featuring drummer Ollie Judge on vocals at the center of everything – they may not seem on paper to be likely candidates for such success, but three LPs have seen them establish themselves and grow in ways as interesting and intricate as their instrumentals and lyrics.
Squid’s latest record is simply entitled Cowards – as ever, they refuse to give up an easy path to whatever unifying themes may be present across the disc. Their debut Bright Green Field cited the stories of Anna Kavan; here the touchstones include Murakami and – entirely new to me – the novel Tender is the Flesh by Agustina Bazterrica. Their stop in Boston not only showcases these new tracks, they of course look back in their set to items from previous records – but it does begin in earnest with the track ‘Crispy Skin’ from Cowards, with that flesh being described most gruesomely in “pages and pages”.
Most of the band members play multiple roles throughout the set, including Judge himself. Despite being the center of everything as both drummer-timekeeper and vocalist, he can depart his station during songs like ‘Broadcaster’ without preventing it from becoming the most forceful song in the set thus far. Approaching the front of the Brighton Music Hall stage, his keys jangle as they hang from a carabiner at his right side. The ending of the song becomes even more unhinged than it was on its original recorded release. ‘2010’ features some delegation in the vocal role, and in general sees the band switching to and from moments of extreme intensity on a dime, with Judge often reaching forward to his cymbal to silence it, lest it ring out in perpetuity. ‘Undergrowth’ remains one of their grooviest compositions as a band, then they rise to the perilous crescendo of ‘The Blades’ as the penultimate song of the band’s main set.
‘Well Met (Fingers Through the Fence)’ employs some positively medieval sounds, while Judge almost paradoxically declares: “The future’s perfect from the back seat”. In one of the more transparent moments from the record – the last one in the album sequence, in fact – Squid highlights how things must seem alright to those willing to surrender to the current of our time, with the cannibalistic imagery of ‘Crispy Skin’ rearing its head once again.
With an encore break countable more easily in seconds than minutes, the band return for another pair of tracks. While it didn’t appear to me this way on the record, ‘Cro-Magon Man’, with its traded verses, swelling synths, and vocal harmonies, might be the most suitable Squid song to charm a massive, festival-sized crowd. And they conclude with the evergreen ‘Narrator’, the band at its level best. I always urge people to take a listen to the recorded version, which features an inimitable contribution from Martha Skye Murphy, but even in her absence the song exemplifies the band at its creative peak. Squid may not be the most easy band to decipher, but giving oneself over to their miasmatic lyrics and pointed, purposeful arrangements of sound most certainly has its benefits.
Photos and words by Collin Heroux