Music review: O. Children

Joy Division meets Bauhaus with this London-based quartet that carried the torch for the post-punk movement. 

Source: Flickr

The London-based gothic rock band, O. Children, deriving their name from the final track of the 2004 Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds album Abattoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus, are a palimpsest of post-punk influences with a gritty and melancholic edge. Emerging in 2008 and signing with Deadly People Recordings, O. Children managed to scratch the surface of the indie music scene before breaking up after a series of artistic hiatuses.  

O. Children’s breakthrough single, ‘Dead Disco Dancer’, which features on their 2010 eponymous album O. Children is distinguished by its punchy hook and eerie synths, enveloped in frontman Tobias O’Kandi’s velvety baritone. The music video could have been an outtake from What We Do in the Shadows for all its dark eyeliner and deadpan cuts. Amid burlesque dancing and ambient lighting are playfully macabre lyrics: “Wake up, sonny, school is cancelled for the day / (The disco dancer’s dead) / (The disco dancer’s dead) / They found him at the tracks with a bullet in his head / (The disco dancer’s dead) / (The disco dancer’s dead).”  

Bonus track ‘Lily’s Man’, transports you to Slimelight’s heaving dancefloor, unfolding with a jaunty verve that teases more sinister lyrics: “I’m a killer in the eyes of the law / But to you, I’m a man / I’ve done some evil with a knife in my paws / But to you, I’m a man.” An acoustic version of ‘Lily’s Man’ was released in 2011, but the stripped-back track lacks the groovy panache of the original.  

The LP’s opening song, ‘Malo’ is the most sombre tune on the album, but also the clear standout—a haunting and mournful grapple with the fear of losing someone you hold dear, perfect for a late-night road trip. The bassline is vigorous, the lyrics charged with a plaintive resignation: “This sacrifice / Necessary / My soul can’t survive / It’s so weary” followed by the simple but desolate chorus: “If I lose you tonight / I lose you forever, Malo.”  

The album’s mid-section offers a touch of hope with ‘Smile’, a poetic number about finding happiness within: “Now dry your eyes / Make a smile and go outside / When there’s nothing else to do / Find the fun inside of you.” The listening experience is almost like waking up from a spell of cabin fever, drawing the curtains, and with a long yawn, going outside for the first time all winter: “Auburn sky / The kids have left the city / Oh, what a night / The crimson streets so pretty.” 

O. Children’s follow-up album, Apnea, was released in June 2012, and while decidedly more dulcet than their moody debut, at times falling into the trap of middle-of-the-road rock, it’s undoubtedly headed and tailed by strong contenders. Opening track ‘Holy Wood’ is incredibly atmospheric and certainly sets the standard, with a steady rhythm and a build-up of ominous riffs culminating in a crashing interlude of deep percussions.  

‘Holy Wood’ is rivalled by the closing track, ‘Chimera’, an enigmatic earworm that ends the album on a high note, redeeming a somewhat lacklustre midsection. The dreamy melodies of ‘Oceanside’ and ‘Swim’ are easy listening summer tunes, lending a softer edge to the band's discography. There’s a mellowness and free-spiritedness about Apnea that paints O. Children in lighter hues.  

Due to a series of personal and legal issues that O’Kandi faced in the years following Apnea, O. Children came to the regrettable but mutual decision to part ways, although O’Kandi has since embarked on a career as a solo artist, taking on his surname as a stage name. While the breakup was not acrimonious, it’s difficult not to feel a sense of indignation at the thought of what could have been achieved by rising stars who never quite got their big break.  

But to describe O. Children’s splash in the underground music scene as one of tentative success would be to do a disservice to the enormous potential that the band showed through their short back catalogue. Perhaps splitting up was the “necessary sacrifice” foreshadowed in ‘Malo’—a chance for O’Kandi to reinvent himself and grow as an artist with the added benefit that experience brings. In fact, O’Kandi’s creative rebirth couldn’t have been more fitting: “In an instance I decline / These advances in my mind / I was virile, full of hope / So I travelled on my own.”