forest-swords

Yes, we get it. Echo, cavernous reverberations, skittery, slow-mo beats – it’s urban claustrophobia, it’s beautiful decay. However, for a record clearly aiming at the dubby, low-end textures of Jamaica and, erm, Croydon, Dagger Paths makes a pretty big oversight in not including any bass in its first half, and the result evokes less suburban paranoia, more bedsit tedium. It doesn’t help, either, that the majority of the tracks here are indistinguishable from each other, with attempts at neither the epic nor the intimate, each with the same sound palette as its predecessor. But the real flaw with Dagger Paths is that its repetitiveness doesn’t carry a consistency that can often excuse limited imagination. While plenty of bands cover up the plumbing of one idea across an entire album with dynamism or a sense of overall cohesion, Dagger Paths’ monomania feels listless and plodding. Sure, there are occasional moments of enjoyment in the second half, but it’s not worth the wait.

Sam Walton

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