The Sunmills have, over the last couple of years, built a reputation for delivering a lively collision of indie rock and energetic funk, a sound found somewhere between the alt-indie anthemic punch of, say, Bloc Party and the relentless rhythmic drive of the Red Hot Chili Peppers. ‘Bird That Used to Sing,’ however, finds them stepping off that beaten track, going slightly off grid, and spending some time in calmer, more considered territory.
The funk energy is still there, but rather than becoming a focal point, it now sits deeper beneath the surface, something felt as much as heard – the epitome of the sonic glue, subtle yet without which the song would fall apart, as all great bass lines should be. The sonic spotlight is now deliberately diffused and scattered wider, allowing the guitars to take equal billing. Riffs have room to breathe, and melodies unfold without the need for constant propulsion. At the same time, the drums remain precise but refreshingly unfussy, providing a concise framework rather than anything more obvious.
Perhaps it is this relaxed approach that ultimately defines the song. There is nothing wrong with the band’s more familiar sonic attacks—they know how to fire up the listener, and I’m sure live, ‘Bird That Used To Sing’ would be wonderfully powerful and wilfully punchy—but here, on record, they resist that instinct, an approach which serves the song perfectly.
The song washes over the listener rather than drives them forward. It is a quieter kind of confidence, and one that suggests The Sunmills are just as comfortable letting a song breathe as they are raising the rafters!
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