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The Sounding Board

The Bug Club’s new album, Every Single Muscle, is strong

A weekly column where New Music Tuesdays live on. Conversation is encouraged in the comments.

Every Single Muscle

Every Tuesday, the Sounding Board is a space for a short-ish review of a recent-ish release and conversations about new-to-you music. We’ll get things started with a write-up about a newer, likely under-heard album, and invite you to share your music musings in the comments.

Somehow, the Bug Club returned.1

Less than 12 months after their last long-player, the U.K.-based band is back with a new, very good and anatomy-fixated album, Every Single Muscle.2

It would be impressive enough if vocalist-guitarist Sam Willmett and vocalist-bassist Tilly Harris cranked out 10 to 12 songs for the album. Still, Every Single Muscle is an 18-song behemoth as towering and odd as the looksmaxxed cow with a John Kricfalusi-style mug on the album’s cover. 

<iframe style="border: 0; width: 100%; height: 120px;" src="https://bandcamp.com/EmbeddedPlayer/album=2409822967/size=large/bgcol=ffffff/linkcol=0687f5/tracklist=false/artwork=small/transparent=true/" seamless><a href="https://thebugclub.bandcamp.com/album/every-single-muscle">Every Single Muscle by The Bug Club</a></iframe>

Every Single Muscle puts its super-sized tracklist to good use. It’s a keyed-up, eclectic and fairly goofy album in the spirit of virtually anything by Ween, Bee Thousand by Guided By Voices and Double Nickels on the Dime by Minute Men, who were recently in the Bug Club’s heavy rotation.3

There is a decent bit of sonic variety on Every Single Muscle — blues scales, lurching metal riffs, distorted weirdness, nimble bass lines and rumbling low-ends — but Willmett and Harris don’t cycle through as many styles as those estimable comparators. The Bug Club, with very few exceptions, makes high-energy, hook-heavy oddball indie rock with coed harmonies and the occasional tag-team vocal volley. All roads lead to a catchy chorus and tasty riffs, even if it’s a bit of a walk to get there. That’s especially true on Every Single Muscle, which is slightly rowdier and musically more homogenous than last year’s excellent Very Human Features.4

Still, Every Single Muscle clearly shares a sketchbook sensibility with totemic weirdoes.

Some of its songs are obscene doodles, like “How Can We Be Friends,” which repeatedly poses the question, “I’ve never seen your penis, so how can we be friends?”  Some are funny-poignant multi-panel comics, like “Make It Count,” which might include the most anxiety-riddled depiction of an apparently successful sexual encounter outside of a Woody Allen movie.5 A few, including the self-explanatory  “Look Like Me,” and improbably “Miss Wales 2012,” are self-portraits.6

Whether the tone is sweet, spicy, sullen or strange, anatomical depictions abide as another unifying force. Sometimes they’re the primary lyrical focus of the song as in the case of the LP’s title track, which is built around a half-assed litany of major muscles the group possesses. Anatomical references can also sneak in as an odd bit of marginalia.7 The physical-mindedness can be clinical or complementary, but is more often messy, off-putting or unexpected. Still, it’s never quite as lewd as it threatens to be. A song titled “My Uncle Warren Drives a Passat” will include an unfavorable comparison to a greyhound’s penis, while one called “Shiny and Wet” is a reference to crying. It’s a lyrical preoccupation that will keep lyrics listeners on their toes. 

Willmett and Harris somehow manage to make every impish impulse rock. Every Single Muscle’s every is defiantly constant throughout.  That, coupled with some fairly short runtimes for most of the album’s songs, helps the sprawling tracklist pass relatively quickly. Still, 18 manic songs are a bit of an endurance test for a single sitting. It’s not that tracks 12-18 are completely fungible, or even much weaker than the rest of the album, but ‘Semo-Automatic,” with its pummeling rhythm and a chorus about breaking guitars, would have been a great place to wrap things up while staving off a bit of desensitization. 

It’s a bit too much of a good thing, but by definition, that means there’s a lot to like, especially if the LP is consumed in chunks. Every single song on Every Single Muscle is worthy of adding some manic quirk to someone’s playlist. That’s ultimately quite a flex. 

  1. I actively dislike Star Wars, even the good ones, but “Somehow blank returned” is wonderful shorthand for an improbable reemergence. ↩︎
  2. Released May 29 via Sub Pop, the label I’ve been reliably informed is going out of business. ↩︎
  3. It’s hard to know how much of this AMA to take seriously, but the Minute Men thing seems real. ↩︎
  4. Covered favorably last year in this very space. ↩︎
  5. I’m naked now, when I turn around try/ not to stare at my testicles and penis/ I’m naked now, when I turn around try/ not to stare at my vagina and breasts./ It’s probably best if you just tell me where to/ look. Tell me what to focus on./ Tell me what I’m doin’ wrong. Just tell me where to/ look. Tell me what to focus on./ Tell me what I’m doin’ wrong. That’s absolutely/ perfect. Well done./ We’re having fun, right? That’s absolutely/ perfect. Well done./ We’re having fun, right? Is the second verse and chorus of the song. The line breaks make more sense set to music. ↩︎
  6. Per the Sub Pop copy for the album: “Every Single Muscle gets off to a full-throttle, chugging start with ‘Miss Wales 2012,’ referencing a competition both Tilly and Sam have actually won. Dead serious.”  ↩︎
  7. It’s a proud tradition. ↩︎