The Sway. London. Late 80s. These words, on their own, conjure… well, honestly, a flock of pigeons taking flight in Trafalgar Square. Unexpected, right? That’s kind of the vibe of “When Worlds Collide,” a re-release that feels both unearthed and strangely present. This isn’t some shiny, manufactured product; it’s a chipped teacup filled with surprisingly strong brew.
The band—David Casson, Paul Hogan, Sean Kelly, James Kook, and, for this album only, Matt Smith on keyboards—has crafted something that feels intensely lived. The album delves into a difficult period marked by addiction, revealing struggles and their brotherly resilience. Alt-rock pop with indie rock flavouring for classification, right. Fine.
But the music! It dodges easy categorization. It’s the sound of resilience, sure, but also the sound of questioning. Of staring into the abyss and then, deciding to build a rather fetching little garden on the edge. Is this the soundtrack for conquering personal demons, Or baking a really good sourdough loaf during existential crises? Possibly Both.
The thematic core, apparently, revolves around shared experiences, struggles, and, rather endearingly, “brotherly love.” It’s a journey, they say. A messy, hopeful process of becoming. There’s joy, pain, fear of mortality, a search for meaning, which is a search we are all going through. Are we worthy? Do hummingbirds remember their dreams? These are the REAL questions!
And yet, amidst this exploration of personal depths, there’s a persistent upward glance. Hope. The unwavering choice to carry one anothers baggage. Which is brave.
“When Worlds Collide” isn’t about perfect landings; it’s about the flight, the turbulence, and the strange, unexpected beauty found in the spaces between chaos and order. Did the band intend to tap into the universal fear of clowns while simultaneously inspiring a deep craving for marmalade? I doubt it, but maybe they achieved it by chance. It will stick, I think.
