Album Review: Mogwai - Hardcore Will Never Die, But You Will

Alright, alright. We're not trying to suggest they actually invented the whole damn thing. It’s probably best to give the nod there to the mighty, frightening breakers of ground, Slint - or maybe those wonders of drone, Tortoise. But it is fair to say that the sly, maniacally-grinning face of Mogwai is indelibly stamped over a large portion of some of the greatest guitar music of the last decade-plus: both that of their own making and the indebted output of a bunch of your favourites - from the fake movie soundtracks of Godspeed! to the unintelligible but austerely haunting magic of Sigur Rós. Mogwai have been more or less continuously blazing a trail since ‘97, simultaneously scaring the uninitiated with howls of infinite guitar and very adeptly avoiding taking themselves all that seriously - regardless of how 'serious' they may sound (a trait many of their post-rock contemporaries would do well to heed).
 
They’ve made at least a couple of genuine bona fide classic records (right now I’m saying Young Team and Mr Beast, but hey, they’re all pretty good), all the while somehow managing to remain relevant and interesting within a style of music that, by definition, pens acts into a stylistic corner and dares them to break out. Well, break out Mogwai frequently do, and on their seventh studio album the Scots have done so to spectacular effect.
 
In spite of its title, Hardcore... doesn’t weigh as heavy with dread - or even tragedy - as some of the band's earlier work. In fact, for a great portion of the record the tone is positively light - in the glistening waterfalls/shooting stars/peacock feathers sense of that word, rather than it being indicative of any lack of depth or content. The cheekily-titled ‘White Noise’ teases us in with a Battles-like guitar shimmer, and proceeds to whirl beautifully in the direction of one of those bittersweet crescendos that, yeah, you'll probably see coming, but can barely wait for nonetheless. When those lilting, somehow overwhelming keyboards glide in at around the three-minute mark, the effect is little short of transcendent.
 
Krautpop then breaks neatly into little bits on ‘Mexican Grand Prix’, while the brutal-but-beautiful ‘Rano Pano’ is arguably the most Mogwai-by-numbers cut here - and really the only one that could provide any fodder for the "They all sound the same"-brigade. Needless to say, it’s a steadfastly immense blitzkrieg of sound; there's still no one that can scale the side of a burning planet with a guitar quite like these boys. Tracks like ‘Death Rays’ and the gorgeous, slightly saddening ‘Letters to The Metro’, meanwhile, find the band in full-on cinema-of-the-mind mode, conjuring sepia-tinted images while triggering half-forgotten - or perhaps half-invented - emotional memories as their guitar lines gently, and then horrifically, weep.
 
Bashing, brooding closer ‘You’re Lionel Richie’ (arf!) stands astride the gulf of post-rock cliché and genuine rock invention with some knowing aplomb, capping a stately seventh venture into long-playing glory for the Glaswegians. The bands that ape them can but look on in awe at their glittering body of work – as should we all.