Album Review – The Last Dinner Party: Prelude to Ecstasy

The confident debut of the London-based five-piece is the equivalent of being smothered in a red velvet curtain – in the best way.

Artists leading on its audience is a quirk of 21^st century pop, but it doesn’t always have to end in disappointment. Last year, The Last Dinner Party emerged seemingly out of nowhere with Nothing Matters – a gloriously histrionic love song that turns almost primal in its chorus (“and you can hold me like you held her/and I will fuck you like nothing matters”). In true social media form, the London-based five piece was immediately confronted with ‘industry plant’ accusations – predictable for a band comprising of women and non-binary people, but not entirely baseless. Indeed, it’s easy to be sceptical when a band arrives as fully formed as they have on their debut album, Prelude to Ecstasy.

Merging the baroque melodrama of Florence and the Machine’s 2011 album Ceremonials with the 70s sounds of Abba and Roxy Music (with some orchestral strings thrown in for good measure), this album is a confident one. But even amid the heaviness, it is polished, self-assured, and above all, fun.

The best tracks on the album come quickly and assertively: 80s synthesiser features heavily in Burn Alive, while the genre-bending of Caesar on a TV Screen is as good a modern take on Bohemian Rhapsody as any. Portrait of a Dead Girl becomes almost Beatles-like with its convergence of McCartney-esuqe guitar riffs, orchestral strings and clean drums. But the unrestrained theatrics becomes overwrought at times: ventures into musical theatre in Beautiful Boy and the Gjuha interlude seem misplaced and needlessly ornate.

The lyrics and vocal performances are, however, consistently impressive. Gothic and religious motifs punctuate the shamelessly hyperbolic lyrics that sway between acetic in Mirror (“I’ll leave you flowers but not my name”), to vulnerable in On Your Side (“when its 4am and your heart is breaking/ I will hold your hands to stop them from shaking”). All are delivered effortlessly by lead vocalist Abigail Morris, whose gravitas and eccentricity mirrors that of Kate Bush. Indeed, there’s something air-punch worthy of hearing notably feminine vocals against the backdrop of thunderous drums (Sinner, My Lady of Mercy), which if footage of their raucous live performances on the London circuit are anything to go by, is precisely the point.

In the era of dainty vocals and delicate pop, The Last Dinner Party have noticed a gap and are determined to claim it. With their impassioned explorations of rage, regret, carnal feminine desire and jealousy on Prelude to Ecstasy, they have done so beautifully, and unapologetically.