The solo project of Brightonian Thomas Marchant (who I realised after taking on this review happens to be the proprietor and editor of this ‘ere music blog - oof), God Ribbon exists in the lo-fi shoegaze wonderland inhabited by the likes of the Pixies (named alongside Radiohead as a dominant influence in interviews by the artist), Jesus and Mary Chain and the Wedding Present, but with a few unexpected twists in the tale. Soldiers is GR’s second long player after 2021’s Build A Whole New Town, with a title, aesthetic and tracklist that immediately got me thinking “concept album”. The cover art, we are told, depicts a Brighton memorial statue for the Royal Sussex Regiment - it is not clear whether this monument holds any personal or familial connection for Mr. Marchant, but from the title (with no corresponding title track) and themes throughout the album I sense that this was no randomly chosen image. So then, gung ho battle metal or Disposable Heroes despair? Let’s dive in.
We open with the sparse bedroom notes of Veteran’s Day, introducing a morose protagonist who “thinks that he’s a joke because he never earned his stripes”. He contemplates a teenage girl in his block of flats, cool in a revolutionary phase he himself has either abandoned or never believed in to begin with - “Some things we can’t control,” he rationalises. “The Veterans told him / we really had something”. Is he himself a battle scarred veteran or more of a would-be warrior?
The track opens out into the stomping rock of Rot, a maelstrom of masculine fears and frustrations. This is single worthy stuff with piledriving riffing and very satisfying progression from verse to chorus hook to atmospheric instrumental. The opening triptych concludes with the death waltz of Supply And Demand, as our subject is radicalised to the accompaniment of echoey piano and wailing guitars. “I’ll do anything to get in your grace”, he insists.
I confess to being relatively underwhelmed by Red Meat. The main takeaway here is the title-definining line “Charcoal smoke covers up red meat” as our protagonist’s passionate machismo is corrupted, darkened and consumed. But then Litterbugs turns the narrative back to the girl from the opening track (I believe), and the carefree times of innocence once shared with her. This is cool, a bit of distorted bubblegum rock that puts the developing narrative into context as we approach the midway point of the record.
There are Bowie notes to the crooning art-rock of I Got Rain, before Hear Me Out strips everything down to a solo guitar and lo-fi vocal with a cryptic lyric hinting at stolen valour and performative activism - “Duty calls and you’re not there”. The pounding pub-rock of Great Men expands on this thought while answering my previous musings on the cover image statue. “Big people on concrete boxes / grateful for the world they’ve saved”. “Don’t listen to the copper people”, Marchant warns.
Potato Eaters is an unexpected turn into folk-rock territory with acoustic strumming, brushed snares and retro colours. The theme here appears to be the lower classes historically exploited in doing the dirty work of those in power.
Moth Eaten is an upbeat jangle-em-up as our world-weary protagonist finds solace in online chat. Aw, bless. Then it’s back to solo guitar and (clean) vocal as the record brings us back into the daylight with Can I Say What I Want?. “There’s no need to be scared,” Marchant reassures us. “Everything can be repaired - soon.”
There’s a lot to unpack on Soldiers, it’s the kind of songwriting that invites and rewards repeated listening. Perhaps I’ve read too much into it, perhaps I’ve got the wrong end of the stick entirely. But then it is in the nature of the medium to find your own meaning in song, and there is a lot of meaning to be found here.
