ItвЂ™s the BugвЂ™s best yet, possibly the most ferociously realised and immensely moving music Martin has ever made, and still touches on those initial cravings and impulses that first propelled вЂLondon ZooвЂ™ into your world like a pipe bomb through your letterbox. The aggression, the attitude, the vertiginous scope and subterranean incisiveness, the destabilising unsettling frenzy of The Bug sound is marshalled to perfection throughout but вЂFireвЂ™ is no mere reanimation of the BugвЂ™s past вЂ“ for Martin, the album is both a response to the unique circumstances of the past year but also a chance to reflect his own journey from reclusive sound-obsessive to family man, and his thirst вЂ“ in a period of enforced hermetic isolation вЂ“ for contact, for the mayhem that can only happen between people, noise and bass, the derangement of the senses that has been BugвЂ™s method and trajectory ever since it first crawled out of LondonвЂ™s deepest corners in the late 90s. Kevin MartinвЂ™s first solo full-length album under The Bug moniker for seven years could not be better timed, and could not be more needed: вЂFireвЂ™ вЂ“ the third exhilarating part of an incendiary urban triptych, that began with 2008вЂ™s explosive вЂLondon ZooвЂ™ via 2014вЂ™s mind-melting вЂAngels & DevilsвЂ™ вЂ“ is fourteen tracks that immolate the synapses, flail the body, that cinematically take you from arcing evocations of a bleak lockdowned city-scape to swooping deep-focus close-ups of Martin and his collaboratorвЂ™s psyches at breaking point.

Parallels find the fire discogs