REVIEW: Tropical Fuck Storm—Fairyland Codex (2025)
Another top class record, and one delivered under the most trying of circumstances.
Of all the bands that have come my way this past decade, I can’t think of many who hit quite as hard as Tropical Fuck Storm. And they’re one of those who when you first see them in the flesh, it makes so much more sense.
Don’t get me wrong. The albums are all pretty great, but until you actually see it up close, it can be a bit dark and gnarly. A bit impenetrable. But once you see them all going at it, it unlocked the records in a big way. I’d entirely missed out on The Drones. Who knows why—I would have loved them—they just never appeared on my radar. Had I have, I’d have been all over TFS. Instead, it was like watching Better Call Saul having not seen any of Breaking Bad. A weird way to go about it.
But as luck would have it I’ve managed to see them three times over recent years, and each time they impress me all the more. They’re a proper band: every component is crucial to the whole, and it’s hard to know where to look. There’s so much going on.
Of course it’s been a hell of a time for the band, with Fiona’s cancer treatment. There was every reason to doubt things could carry on. But carry on they have, with their first studio album since 2022, and a record that firmly cements their reputation as one of the finest alternative rock bands currently out there.
TFS have always struck me as a slightly terrifying band. The menace in Gareth Liddiard’s fractured, wonky, wiry playing alone paints uniquely savage sonic imagery. Throw in his gravelly snarl and Lauren Hammel’s whirlwind drumming and the yelping drama of the twin backing vocals of Eric Dunn and Fiona Kitschin that chime in to give a sweet urgency to any given song.
What you’re got on Fairyland Codex isn’t necessarily any particular departure from their sound, but there’s a definite evolution. A refinement; a broadening of everything. There’s added tenderness, yet greater anxiety and stress in here—hardly surprising, given events. And that adds a realness to it. You feel the energy of the songs as if band’s literal lives depend on it, and it’s very moving as a result. They haven’t gone on about events, but nor do they need to. They let the songs do the talking.
That said, you can hear the intent openly in several songs—most obviously on Stepping On A Rake, where Liddiard delivers unwavering support in the face of the unknown outcome (“Don’t worry about money/Don’t worry about being alone/Don’t worry about what’s coming/Some things are not worth knowing” with the open hearted final line “When we first met I loved you straight away”).
After that we get the Erica Dunn sung Teeth Marche (“Bad luck/Sick fuck…./Can you recover?/You can’t recover/Teeth marks/In my heart”) and the epic Fairyland Codex, with its dark rumination that "A village in hell/Is waiting for you/A village in hell/Is there is you choose/If I were a betting man/My bookie would say you’re screwed”. It’s raw stuff, no doubt about it. After a few minutes of gloomy pontifications and the realisation that “we can’t live here anymore” the song explodes into a writhing mass of tormented backing vocals and a heavy crescendo. It’s punk blues, and the band have never sounded so alive. Seeing them do this stuff live is going to be brutal.
On Dunning-Kruger’s Loser Cruiser, the misery of having to deal with all this shit in the public eye has Liddiard and the band with the simple wish for a “a private life/Give me a private life/Just commuting and computing/Living like an ant”. Rarely has the band sounded so wonderfully unhinged. I’m not sure how this would go down with a first time listener, but to the initiated, this is supremely feral. It’s what we’re here for.
But despite sounded so burned out and tormented, they still have the muscle memory to deliver a banger of a tune like Bloodsport—another sung by guitarist/keyboard player Erica Dunn, and maybe one of their most instantly accessible tunes of their career. “Oh I’m so sorry/There’s no room for your thone/I’m so sorry/There’s no real halo” goes the hook. No wonder they reach for Stayin’ Alive sometimes. They have a pop sensibility available when they need it.
One of the softer moments on the record (and perhaps their most tender song ever) comes with Bye Bye Snake Eyes, with its clean acoustic riff and sweeping strings. The heartfelt “your eyes take me/Where I want to go”. A dangerous love song if ever I heard one.
I’ve always had a feeling that Tropical Fuck Storm have encountered an unfair share of murderers over their lifetime, or at least give the impression of having done so. So when final track Moscovium features the throaty cry of “Murderers/Murderers” several times during the song, it’s instantly the most TFS-like song ever, all squalling guitars and crashing drums. They do drama like nobody else at this point.
This band just doesn’t miss. Another top class record, and one delivered under the most trying of circumstances.
