The word ‘benefits’ has been at the forefront of public discourse over the past few weeks as the government continues to sideline the most vulnerable among us. This phenomenon reflects a broader trend in the West, where iniquitous tech bros are reshaping society in unsettling ways, contributing to a rise in techno-feudalism, a decline in empathy, and an escalation of populism that manifests in our daily lives. Fascism and genocide are now part of our sprawling daily visual diets, with a layman’s Lex Luther seemingly presiding over this new societal totality, peering down at us through a k-hole haze while revelling in a troubling mix of power and incompetence. As they plot their escape to Mars, the rest of us are left trying to navigate this new hyper-normality. In this fractured reality, can art really help us?
If there’s any radicalism left to be found, it lies in the conviction that art has the power to help us seek answers. Although it may not yield direct solutions, it can empower us to shout back against the pixelated void of cultural indifference. The new Benefits album is a noble stance resonating like a frequency in the abyss. In contrast to the blunt acrimony of 2023’s Nails, Constant Noise seeks a dark euphoria through the nuanced interplay of light and shade to address collective trauma. Or to put it simply, it’s an apocalyptic rave.
“Dance like a fool as the world falls apart,” asserts Kingsley Chapman on ‘Continual’, a track that cements his connection to a lineage of socially conscious speak-singers that poeticise and politize the everyday, resembling something akin to Underworld fronted by Simon Armitage. Benefits maintain their Northern English identity, but Chapman broadens his lyrical scope to address a pervasive Western malaise intensified by political complicity in foreign atrocities. He captures the prevailing sentiment of frustration: “It is easier to tell the world to fuck off and die,” he articulates, succinctly expressing the deep-seated misanthropy arising from years of perceived insignificance, adding, “but no one is asking why.”
Expanding their sonic landscape through a lens of 1990s club-style technicolour, the synthesis of spoken word and machine music is almost proto-singularity – talk-speak in the realm of the hypernormal – foreshadowing the fusion of man and machine in an AI-driven world. ‘Lies and Fear’ scores Bob Vylan’s caustic energy; Chapman’s metrical tirades often resemble the sprawling diatribes on Fat White Family’s ‘Today You Become Man’. Elsewhere, ‘Burnt Out Family Home’ takes an unexpected but necessary turn with its measured pace, like a metaphorical hangover, or reflective pause, from the tetchy hedonism of the album’s previous tracks.
Constant Noise is a clarion call for unity in spite of the digital distractions. It addresses the challenges of a new era marked by post-truth media manipulation which threatens to undermine collective action. While Nails considered the potential for a better world amidst disorder, Constant Noise redirects attention to the urgent task of repairing the fractured connections within our society. At times, the message may feel on the nose, but to articulate an appropriate emotional response, such directness may be warranted in an era where division reigns. Werner Herzog once said it best: the poet must not avert his eyes. You have to know in which world you are living.
