In confronting oppressive despair with the sort of spirit-immersing rawness which sails itself into a distinctly polar world of fascination, Vlure orchestrate their considered take on genre-twisted ground led by a lyrically gnarled compass and through unified camaraderie.
Harrowing, like a mechanically yowling overcoat stitched mindfully with intricate truths, Vlure act as a left-field bridge between veils, a dead eye contacted live-odyssey that must be unpicked and left to unravel naturally to be fully worn. As frontman Hamish Hutcheson and guitarist Conor Goldie dance between the ambition edged yellow-lines of wordless anguish and fourth wall breakages, this quintet get into the chest-pummelling pit of ambition, the boundaries of emotional vulnerability and confrontation pulled to the point of skeletal theatrics. It’s all made even more impressive by the fact they only have one digital single released.
From the sweat stained back-bone of spinal staircase post-punk to their high-anchored chain of synth, opening number ‘Desire’ was full of core-tarring euphoria which, like catching second-hand white light via reflection in a pool of dark matter, absorbed the senses of the masses. It’s overwhelming, but in such a good way.
Digging the rounded-flats of your nails into each ridged crack of palm, noting how the unrelieved pressure marks the surface with temporary tension over in an instant, it takes no effort to fully give all to this group.
There is nothing comparable.