The Maccabees, Marks To Prove it and the Elephant & Castle in the room

The South London quintet has often been accused of sheepishness. They're a comparatively shy bunch, but it is the claim that they are followers rather than innovators that wrankles. The latest record is distinctly Maccabean as they seem to settle further into their own skin. It is broadly similar to Given To The Wild – which is no bad thing – yet it condenses and simplifies what they are best at. Naturally a more assured set of tracks has emerged, at least in production if not content, with clamorous tearing climaxes in "Marks To Prove It", "Kamakura" and "Spit It Out" set alongside soft-edged "Something Like Happiness", "Silence" and the finale "Dawn Chorus".

It’s as though Orlando and co. used to have something which they could tenuously hold onto in previous albums, but here they’ve lost it and the new music is more about grasping but not quite reaching. They have written a series of cautionary tales, almost in resignation. However the act spins full circle as this self-examination appears to cement a sense of identity rather than prove they no longer have one. According to the band, the recording process was more arduous than anticipated, with long hours spent in their Elephant & Castle-based studio, writing within the same walls and drawing from the local hustle and bustle.

Evidently, in their music videos to date, the surrounding South West London ribbon development is a source of inspiration to the band. The otherwise ‘unsightly’ roundabout which is the backdrop for so many London bus switch-stops and passers-though is glorified in the visuals accompanying Marks To Prove It. Urban sprawl affects the aesthetic of an area as well as its indigenous makeup. A rejuvenation project is set to gentrify the transport hub and force a radically altered identity. So much for the London housing lecture – tune back in for the punch line. You could argue that The Maccabees are reacting to changes around them by staying true to themselves. Resisting a modernity that insists on "marks to prove" ones existence; to "take a photo" only to "come back years on/ and wonder why you took it", the songwriting reaches out for things that last, things that you can hold on to.

With a total of 41 minutes across 11 songs, there’s a general sign of tightening up on any excess basggage they were carrying. When things around you are changing, it seems they are sticking to what they know. The filmic quality to song construction remains. "Marks To Prove It" has a discordant sequence that spirals downwards disturbingly, like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. "Ribbon Road" begins with an eerie silence slowly filled with a metallic rattling like old railway lines, while "Spit It Out" opens with a delicate combination of haunting vocals and keyboards before the drums slowly clamber into view as they form the shape of the song... this shape admittedly does look a bit like early Arcade Fire.

In the second half of the album there is an exponential increase in the brass section. This works really well on "River Song", spilling over into "Slow Sun" with the added element of bluesy guitar and returning for "Dawn Chorus". On "Slow Sun" Weeks sings “cup of tea for ya / there on the sofa” with the refrain “that’s real love”. From the tone, this is more like something they don’t have any more, a lament. “Heaven forbid there is opportunities missed” and “when you’re scared and lost / don’t let it all build up” are lyrics that are saddening not only for the sense of loss, but put with the entirety of "Something Like Happiness" which imagines what happiness must look like to others, underlines its absence.

Marks To Prove It is not a crowning glory, but it is an accumulation of all the things that we enjoy from The Maccabees. It has a romping titular single, which has the same vibe as "Feel To Follow", also a great single, so all good. Then there are the tender, reflective and gently unfurled tracks that backload the previous album too. It’s the same but slightly more so. Solid and satisfying.