Wunderhorse welcome their gilded age on Midas

A bold statement certainly, but one bolstered by the evidence on offer. The solo project of frontman Jacob Slater, in the wake of his previous band Dead Pretties and after a personal recovery sojourn in Cornwall, Wunderhorse's first offering was a fully solo affair. 2022's debut, Cub, held a lofty amount of ambition, it introduced the DNA of Wunderhorse as a grunge-bathed project that harnesses singalong moments with songwriter-focus and cryptic lyrical quips.

Not ones to hang around, their second album is an evolution in every discernable direction. Recorded in Minnesota at the fabled Pachyderm studios (Nirvana, PJ Harvey), Midas is their first offering as a bonafide band. With Slater joined by Harry Fowler (guitar), Jamie Staples (drums), and Pete Woodin (bass) the four-piece are swiftly becoming a force to be reckoned with. After the rousing success of Cub thrust the group into a rigorous touring schedule, including supporting the likes of Fontaines D.C. Pixies, and Foals, they've become a tight unit. Toning down the production in favour of a more rounded vision, one that’s a band in totality – Midas.

Trading in dissonance and the might of a band running in unison, the opening title track gets down to business with a flurry of chord progressions and a barked chorus with the simple yet effective: "Midas / YEEEEEAH / Midas / LA LA LA LA LAA". Short, sharp, to the point, Slater and his bandmates are undoubtedly effective at trimming away any fat and leaving the leaner joints to do the heavy lifting.

"Silver", another leading single, totes a similar cut-the-crap frame of mind, "I was crooked from the cradle" Slater exorcises from within, a theme that feels concurrent throughout Midas. The driving "Rain" finds Slater urging "Do you feel the rain?" as the band keeps the maelstrom swirling around his voice, which throughout the album often breaks or finds strained moments that sparkle in the dust and dirt they kick up.

It's an album that, for the most part, holds vulnerability at its core. Ironically enough, its sparsest moment comes with "Superman" as the album takes its darker turn into Slater's mind. Following its predecessor's fragile claims of greatness, "July" brings out a howled refrain of "I'm ready to die" as a tidal wave of music crashes around him. But the vulnerability is a shadowy spectre that haunts Midas, with references to questioning self such as on "Emily" ("Inside this machinery / Everybody's crazy / Not me, maybe"), while "Arizona" heartachingly rounds itself off with "And I'm sorry if you suffered / When they turned out all the lights". Slater is adept at wrenching every available feeling from a short stint of words, a talent that's gestated wonderfully as the band have found their feet.

In a world where seemingly less is more, now that it's everything all at once, Wunderhorse are a call to the past that beautifully evokes the best of band culture; four unified minds digging into the meat and potatoes of some chords and well-yowled poetically mystical lyrics and garnishing them with screeching noise and the sparkle of something greater at play ("Aeroplanes"'s dying moments features a perfect example of cementing a crescendo). The only facet they seem to be lacking is a want to be a part of the zoo of it all, which for all intents and purposes, gives them that clandestine edge. They're far more content to let the live show and records speak for themselves while they craft solid songs that evoke emotion or help wail them away. Less is more has never sounded so good.