Here’s a bizarre story to kick things off.

I was passed the Human and Kind EP last Thursday and I commented on how brilliant I thought it was. On Friday I unexpectedly bump into them at a house party - at their house. Life.

In fact, I think it beautifully sums up a comment that was made by Sean Harper on their track Paying the Price and the way it summarised the questions so many London residents have for themselves: “This place is toxic, awful people are everywhere, literally everything feels like a competition, the endless demands the cost of living in this city imposes upon me are making me a more stressed out, confused, paranoid, depressed person. Why do I love it here?”

He’s right. And no one really talks about it. There’s an unwritten rule that you have to love London despite being kicked by it repeatedly like an annoying step-brother you’d love to chuck out the window and never see again but you’re stuck with.

But there are moments like the party that you just know wouldn’t happen outside London.

There’s an undeniable current of opportunities and a constant unbearable fear of missing out here. So instead of escaping the city, you stay in it and find refuge in bands like Folly Group.

Ask me if I liked listening to over-distorted distorted drums (yes, you read that right) when I lived in quaint Wetherby and I wouldn’t even know what you were talking about. Here, it lets you know you’re not the only one that hates the way things are and gives you purpose.

You can hear the edge of London in their track Faint of Hearts similar to the experimental sounds and energy of bands like Squid, black midi and shame that are emerging.

They’re a refreshing thwack across the head to remind you that not all music crawling out of a two year lockdown is lacking passion. 

The Tooth of February. I had to check if my headphones were broken for some of the sounds; a brave jump into their next chapter. Stick around past 4:30 and you’re dragged into the chaos with them. I honestly cannot imagine the scenes of this one live.

On Human and Kind, you realise the guitars were a facade to pull in the unsuspecting listener, but the doors have closed behind you now and there’s two huge bouncers each side so there’s no turning back now.

It’s darker, grittier than some of their earlier work, but all you have to do is look around to realise why. They’ve created the earthquake at sea with this EP, they just have to ride the wave to see the true potential that I’m positive will follow.

In summary, a pleasant reminder that with grief comes growth and if things don't work the 'normal' way, you can create your own path and people will join you.

Just don’t listen to it with yer nan.