Glaswegian mob Humour first came to my attention earlier this year with ‘Neighbours’. The paranoia-induced number blended post-hardcore blasts with a post-punk twist. It’s also the opening track on their debut album, ‘Learning Greek’. Framed as a way for frontman Andreas Christoloudis to come to terms with his Greek heritage, the album draws on Greek poetry, mythology, and culture, weaving in themes of loss, grief, and the fear of death.
Musically, Christoloudis, along with guitarists Ross Patrizio and Jack Lyall, bassist Lewis Doig, and drummer Ruairidh Smith, navigates an uneasy blend of jangly slacker rock, jagged post-punk, and unhinged post-hardcore. It’s threaded together by subtle intensity. Tracks such as ‘Die Rich’ and ‘Plagiarist’ lean into Humour’s off-kilter tone, pairing it with a sharp melodic structure.. The latter disorientates through writer’s block, being one of several examples of how personal the album is to Christoloudis. Whereas ‘Die Rich’ stirs with a thick rhythm section. Along with ‘Dirty Bread,’ it lyrically dwells on later-life material possessions. These reflections stem from Andreas’ grandfather, who would buy paintings daily in Athens as a way of finding comfort in routine despite the looming presence of a military dictatorship.
Throughout, Andreas writes from the perspective of various characters. For example, the aforementioned ‘Neighbours’ sees a man convinced that mischievous creatures are causing him to suffer in his flat, driving him to burn it down. ‘I Knew We’d Talk About it One Day,’ with its wiry guitars, sees an ageing soldier weigh up to confessing to a long-buried crime. ‘It Happened in the Sun’ hauntingly twinkles as a countryside serial killer confesses to his actions before meeting his own demise. Meanwhile, trepidation seeps through on ‘Aphid’ as its character nears death.
Christoloudis’ own existential anxieties come to the forefront on ‘I Only Have Eyes’. Tackling his depression head-on, he feels like “an unremarkable ghost” at his sister’s wedding. As his band mates supply a gentle strain of melancholic dream-pop, with Scottish singer-songwriter Theo Bleak providing a melodic reprieve.
Even though Christoloudis’ storytelling could be considered the focal point. Its often lyrical bleakness is countered by an engaging sound that serves up the occasional rampant hook (‘Memories’), stirring indie-rock, or stutturing post-punk (‘In the Paddies’). Ultimately, ‘Learning Greek ‘is a compelling statement of intent, proving Humour can’t be pinned down to a single sound while crafting layered, thoughtful songs in the process.
‘Learning Greek’ by Humour is out now on So Young Records.
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