In the aftermath of the success of 2022’s Most Normal and its tour cycle, Gilla Band took some time off to pursue other endeavours. A little painting here, producing there, but like when you need a holiday after your holiday, the intervening break has done precious little to calm Dara Kiely’s frayed nerves. The blast of serrated noise that cuts a jagged hole through ‘The Angelus’ shows the band fully recommitted to chaos.

Kiely’s disintegrating mental health and experiences with grief provide much of the lyrical fodder, often delivered with unhinged word association or droning, disturbed repetition. In the midst of the fragmentary approach there are snippets of levity, like the nostalgic references to Davina McCall or Power Rangers on ‘Placeholder’ (though that song ends in lobotomised Coldplay terror). But mostly these songs are a window into schizophrenia (‘Alogia’), loneliness (‘Giraffe’), and depression (‘Jacobsons’).

It’s a challenging, often stressful listen, but the band manage to mould beats and guitars into fascinating, shape-shifting arrangements; sometimes even danceable (‘Giraffe’, ‘Jacobsons’) but always with the jolt of an electric shock. The percussion chugs into train-like rhythm on ‘The Megazord,’ locks into a clattering, motorik beat on ‘Crisp Pop,’ while ‘Computer Sadness’ and ‘The Gallop’ pulse with an unrepentant synthetic energy to match Kiely’s unintelligible dystopia.

Fortunately, ‘Giraffe’ shifts in its second half after a jazzy drum break and Kiely shares a rare moment where he accepts that those around him care: being chased out the door by his mam who wants him wear a decent jacket and brush his hair. Love takes all forms, but it’s a sweet image despite the intensity. And these glimpses of Kiely’s sentimental side are what stop the album from tipping over into relentless bleakness, along with a bit of ironic wordplay and gallows humour. There’s a big, loveable heart in their somewhere, you just need to strip away the static and mayhem to find it.