Cavalcade

"Cavalcade," the title track and opener of black midi's second album, announces a band leaping from feral noise-rock into something theatrical and demented. It begins with a serrated, lurching string-and-guitar figure that feels like a circus collapsing in slow motion, then erupts into Geordie Greep's manic, sprechgesang vocal — part lounge crooner, part carnival barker, narrating a deranged procession. The arrangement is dizzyingly complex, all whiplash tempo shifts, jazz-inflected angularity, and prog-rock density compressed into a controlled riot. This is post-punk's avant-garde wing pushed to baroque extremes, indebted to King Crimson and Captain Beefheart yet thoroughly contemporary in its restless, attention-fractured energy. The lyric paints surreal vignettes — a parade of grotesques, obsession, performance — delivered with unhinged commitment that makes the absurdity feel genuinely menacing. There's enormous musicianship beneath the chaos: the rhythm section navigates impossible turns with predatory tightness, the dynamics swinging from whisper to assault within bars. It's exhausting and exhilarating, music that demands you keep up rather than relax. For listeners drawn to the maximalist, intellectual end of modern rock, it's a thrilling statement of ambition. Cinematic, grotesque, and brilliant, it sounds like a fever dream that knows exactly what it's doing.