A vibrating guitar tone emerges slowly from silence, drums follow in like distant thunder, warning of the tempest that is to follow. After a full minute of crashing guitars and rapidly rising temperatures ‘Crash’, the opener to the debut album from Melbourne’s Press Club, suitably explodes with the fury and force of vocalist Nat Foster’s full-throated roar. Rarely has a first song been so well-named, but it is only the first of a series of bruising and unmissable anthems.
‘Late Teens’ perfectly captures the essence of modern life, where nothing can be taken for granted and nothing lasts forever. Greg Rietwyk’s guitar barrels each song along, a propulsive force of nature matched only by the ferocity of the raw, unpolished edge to Foster’s vocals. Anxious but not angsty, there is an electrifying spark that runs through the record, transforming these themes of turmoil into tracks that are both universal and personal. ‘Headwreck’ exists in the eye of an imperfect relationship, while ‘Ignorance’ drips with a desperate need to just be able to figure out what’s actually going on for once.
As the frenetic ‘Let It Fall’ rampages to its crashing crescendo, or as the title track morphs from a one-woman football chant into riotous scenes, the only certainty in an uncertain world is that these songs are going to be provoking absolute scenes coming to mosh pits near you soon. Capturing not just the mood of a generation, but its spirit of rebellion and resistance too, this is one club that the world will be clamouring to join.