The Overload

The product of producing something so relatable that people find solace where you once only saw pain. Sack off therapy, just stick this on.

At its heart, The Overload is a hugely impressive debut bubbling with sardonic wit, wisdom, anger, and compassion.

A debut album bursting with character. [Feb 2022, p.37]

Yard Act’s influences never overwhelm their own personality. ... It may be early to start taking notes on the Album Of The Year, but the smart money says The Overload will be there or thereabouts.

It can range from snarky and contemptuous to comforting and reassured, but every time you listen to The Overload you notice and feel something new.

A little bit Sleaford Mods, a helping of The Fall and a dash of Pulp, the group craft smart vignettes of modern life with a confident, witty delivery across their debut full-length, The Overload.

The Overload is quite the debut.

The decade this outfit have spent in other bands pays off in a record that’s raucous and fun, incisive and – as it winds to a close – profoundly heartfelt, as vocalist James Smith apologises disgustedly for the sins of British foreign policy.

The Overload is a starting point for a number of routes, rather than a perfectly formed end in itself. Certainly, there are flashes of a smartness and depth to Smith’s writing that go beyond scabrous one-liners.

The Overload is a very fine debut from a group that sound like they think they are smarter, funnier and fiercer than all of their peers, and just might prove to be.

Their time in a diverse array of groups on the Leeds scene results in a record that’s at once funky (‘Dead Horse’) and spunky (‘Witness’, ‘The Incident’) – even when they slip into cliche (‘Rich’) they sound better than most.

An exhilarating record by a band not only thriving under pressure but already finding new ways to adapt to its force. [Feb 2022, p.80]

It's a little front-loaded as the first three songs are by far the most immediate (except Witness and Pour Another) and memorable. But luckily, Tall Poppies anchors the closing songs with its six-plus minutes (nothing else exceeds four), painting a grim portrait of dreary, provincial life without being condescending (ahem, Model Village) or reductive (Glory Days).

It’s a confident debut LP from a young band seizing its moment and cutting the tension with a chuckle.

Interestingly, the near-constant use of spoken word doesn’t ever become grating. The band have a knack for making their instrumentals minimalistic enough for the vocals to always feel natural while also unique.