There are still moments of dingy post-punk and wheezing saxophone on “Hamburgerphobia” and “Pink Shell”, but on a majority of these songs Marshall strums his guitar with a new lightness, the warm tone shimmers like a Cocteau Twins song. With sombre meditations on losing connection, being lost in the vacuum of space and eating a burger by yourself in a park, Space Heavy is King Krule’s least abrasive album. The word “space” is mulled over in these songs like a sore tooth, almost as if the album was spurred on by a conversation that began with: “I think we need some space”. The album was written on these commutes and orbits around a fractured relationship, opener “Flimsier” begins with an ending: “you called it a day/ and now it’s through”. Seaforth, for example, is the name of a seaside town outside of Liverpool, the city where Marshall has been living part time for the past two years, “train to the coast/ 4 hours a week” he deadpans on closing track “Wednesday Overcast”. This album feels like Marshall’s most immediately autobiographical. As a single it’s a perfect stage setter for Space Heavy – an album about a relationship crumbling set to some of the warmest music Marshall has recorded. On the track, it felt like the clammy anxiety of 2020’s Man Alive! had turned into stoned bliss: “We sat and watched the planet die in urban burn / We sat and smiled with no concern” he sings. Whereas King Krule’s past three albums have felt submerged in murky water, “Seaforth”´s jangly riff and the sound of waves on the shore hinted at the nihilistic troubadour from South London coming up for air.
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