White Lung say farewell with the blistering Premonition

But five albums in, and they are calling it a day. Closing their time out with Premonition – an album five-years in the making with babies, pandemics, and social unrest encompassing the incidental hiatus between this and 2016’s Paradise – the blistering sounds are as sabre-toothed as ever. Kenneth Williams' guitars fall, trickling before the torrential choruses – propulsed by Anne-Marie Vassilou's drums – that signify Mish Barber-Way’s sermon. It's an enrapturing dance of light and darkness; the ideas of motherhood and new life, with the harsh realities of the world waiting – enough to make God chain smoke – colliding. And it’s within this sweet-spot that White Lung find, and harness, their energy, with the melding of these notions finding its apex.

While the most cinematic, visual moments ("Date Night" centres around God driving drunk through LA FYI) stand out, the real heart of Premonition lies in the low-lying ones that sink their way into your soul and project themselves from the inside out ("Girl", "Under Glass", "Bird") reflecting the innocence and development of life. There's similarly something fitting about White Lung's fusion of anger and love stepping out into the world, given in the time they've been gone, everything's been shaken and ready to below akin to a vat of cola with a barrel of Mentos dumped in and sealed up tight.

Premonition also works as a celebration of a band who’ve approached music with a high-velocity elegiac understanding. While its lacerating speeds are equivalent to such Gonzo landscapes the omnipresent One careens through, it's in this wake of destruction – and also rooted in the core of the albums ideas and ultimate message – life carries on as it always has.