After nearly two decades of dialing up the volume and the visual flash, on The Lash the Dirty Nil discover there’s space for grace amid the wreckage and clarity in contrast.
The Dirty Nil have always carried themselves like rock’s glitter-punk saviors with the arena-ready riffs, shameless bravado, and outfits that every rock and roller wished they looked as good in. But on their fifth album, The Lash, the trio trades in the rhinestones and lightning bolts for something far more primal. No color. No gloss. Just wood and strings, sticks and skins, and the howl of a band cracking their knuckles before they hit you.
Frontman Luke Bentham found his muse in the unlikeliest of places… the basement of the Vatican. “There was a bronze relief called The Horrors Of War - two guys fighting over a knife,” he explains. “That image ended up guiding a lot of this record.” That image creeps through every note of The Lash, both in sound and visually. Designed by UK artist Jack Sabbat, the album cover looks like it was ripped from a 1980s punk zine or jean jacket back patch with its skeletons, battle axes, and medieval mayhem in stark black and white. “We were just tired of color,” Bentham says bluntly. “This is a palette reset. Trim the fat. Make it harsh and simple.”
The band ditched their longtime producer and turned to upstart engineer Vince Solivari, a power violence aficionado and KISS devotee who captured their new sound in just two weeks at Hamilton’s Boxcar Sound. The result is their most stripped-down and honest album since their 2016 debut, Higher Power. “Vince is fluent in Simpsons references and heavy riffs. He just got us,” Bentham laughs.
Lyrically, The Lash finds Bentham leaning into cynicism with a smirk. On the scorching “Rock N’ Roll Band,” he skewers the romanticism of the touring grind. “Someone else is getting rich, not you!” he snarls. “It’s a therapy record,” drummer Kyle Fisher jokes. But the jokes mask some real wounds. “Gallop Of The Hounds” is a break-up song turned guitar inferno, with Bentham’s shredding and Fisher’s rhythms circling the drain of emotional fallout. “Spider Dream” drops the distortion for a dreamy, delicate detour. This is a band that’s smart enough to know that if you shout constantly, people might tune you out. But if your shout comes among a lulling hush, that’s when you really get their attention. “We’re enjoying the darkness,” Bentham says. “At least for now.”