If any band were to survive their first year in the thralls of a COVID-19 lockdown, it would be Honeyglaze. The South London trio formed mere months before the enforced isolation, with little opportunity to build up a head of steam. Singer-songwriter Anouska Sokolow, however, had written the majority of their material from her bedroom, and the group surfaced on a raft of tunes in 2021, buoyed by South London’s Brixton Windmill scene.
On their self-titled debut album, Honeyglaze wormed their way into the hearts of listeners with charmingly simple songs. Where contemporary Indie fluctuates increasingly between math rock and post-punk influences, the South London trio found themselves equipped with little of either. The songwriting was straightforward, honest, and genuinely refreshing. Forgoing overtly surreal imagery, Sokolow used tales of botched hair bleaching as an allegory for identity and parental expectations, with broad guitar strums to carry her point.
Yet in the wake of their first album tour, the band felt they had outgrown their naïve sound. Coinciding with a change of label (swapping Speedy Wunderground for Fat Possum), the new record, Real Deal, attempts to drive in a blistering new sonic direction. Honeyglaze’s pursuit, in collaboration with experienced producer Claudius Mittendorfer, comes at the risk of losing their idiosyncratic charm.
From the opening seconds of “Hide”, the new direction is clear; fervent anger is piled alongside the melancholy of previous works with a wallop of distorted guitar and drums. It’s an emotion that, over the course of the record, seeps from the music into the lyrics and back again, forming an inescapable whole. “I’m a person too you know / I’ve got things to say / I’ve got fucking feelings” snarls Sokolow on lead single “Don’t”, embodying this coalescence perfectly over a serrated guitar riff and gunshot snares.
Honeyglaze scatter this new ingredient throughout the record. “TMJ” sees the anger come into play momentarily, as the song builds to an overwhelming crescendo before settling back into wavering late night guitar plucks and a searching bass line. It’s the musical equivalent of the phrase “no more Mr. Nice Guy”. Emo-tinged arpeggios and Sokolow’s whistle-clean vocals are submerged as monstrous, sluggish distortion boils over, while Yuri Shibuichi’s drums pierce through tracks like “TV” and “Safety Pin”.
There’s a sense that Sokolow’s rage is a reluctant response to the iniquity of the world, as she later opines “I shouldn’t even have to have this conversation.” It’s rooted in tiredness and resignation, an anger that is in itself as infuriating as it is hopeless, triggered by presumptions around her femininity, exclusion, and creative exhaustion. Across Real Deal, her voice remains as sincere as ever, whether slipping into candid utterances, or delivering metaphors on “I Feel It All”. She is in complete control of her vocal fragility (a highlight of Honeyglaze’s previous effort), twisting it to express both the frenzy and the calm.
The focus will be on Real Deal’s clattering rock ‘n’ roll moments, but it should be noted that between the chaotic instances, Honeyglaze have refined their sound. The interplay of Sokolow’s guitar and bassist Tim Curtis is more intricate, and Curtis also provides countermelodies on songs like “Real Deal”. He works shrewdly, leading the songs seamlessly through transitions, playing small sequences in the spaces left behind. Though Sokolow may be the chief songwriter, the mark of all three musicians can be felt in elevating the songs to this level.
It’s unfortunate then, that this careening between fury and melancholy begins to leave one dizzy, and some of the album’s high points – “Cold Caller”, with its beautifully evocative chorus and tale of lonely telecommunication; the twinkling arpeggios and glorious minutiae of “Ghost” – eschew anger altogether. Elsewhere the grooving riff of “Pretty Girls” bounds into glistening chords, occupying the perfect middle ground, if only for a single song.
Though the themes explored here were present on their previous album, Honeyglaze have now made an effort to bring them musically to the fore, and the result is an album that simultaneously shakes your hand and slips through your fingers. Incorporating an emotion and sound from far outside their repertoire up to this point, the band are able to enthral all over again, despite this new element teetering on the edge of overuse. Real Deal, suggesting an attempt to impress in the face of doubt, is the sound of a band recognising and overcoming their own shortcomings, while maintaining what made them great in the first place.
