A Certain Ratio - ACR Loco (LP)

A Certain Ratio have been around long enough to see whole scenes come and go, but ACR Loco lands with the energy of a band that still likes to prove a point. Released in September 2020 on Mute, it arrived twelve years after Mind Made Up and felt like a jolt to the Manchester group’s already elastic legacy. If you came to them through Factory Records lore and that austere post‑punk tag, this one reminds you how wide their palette always was. Funk, Latin percussion, rubbery bass, trumpet lines that cut like sunlight through a warehouse window. It is a celebration and a tightening of their grip at the same time.

Part of the thrill is hearing the core personalities lock in again. Jez Kerr’s bass has that dry, insistent throb he perfected back when the Haçienda still smelled of new paint. His voice carries a calm, slightly sardonic pull that works even better when the rhythms start to sweat. Donald Johnson remains one of those drummers who can make a four‑on‑the‑floor feel human and a sideways funk pattern feel effortless. He drifts between kit, hand percussion, and electronics without fuss, so the grooves slide from alleyway strut to dancefloor engine. Martin Moscrop’s guitar chops and bright, stabbing trumpet are the finishing details, the colors at the edge of the frame that turn good jams into actual songs. Longtime associate Tony Quigley adds reeds and keys that soften the corners just when the rhythm section gets lean and mean.

The production is crisp but not glossy. There is space for air to move around the drums, and the low end is thick enough to make your speakers work, which is exactly what you want when you drop the needle on ACR Loco vinyl. The record swings from clipped, nervy post‑punk to humid, percussive workouts that nod to the Latin and Afrobeat fascinations ACR have chased since the early 80s. You can hear handclaps, cowbells, and whistles tucked into the seams, not as ornaments but as little engines inside the groove. When the horns step in, they do not smooth things out so much as sharpen them. The whole thing feels like a band playing to a room again, even if the room is in your head.

There is a lived‑in confidence here that comes from decades of near misses and cult praise. They were always too funky for the purists and too angular for the casual dancer, which is exactly why their records age so well. ACR Loco leans into that in‑between space. One minute you are in a tight clinch of bass and rimshots, the next there is a rush of congas and a trumpet peal that tilts the scene toward carnival. The band trust repetition, but they never let a loop sit still. Little switch‑ups arrive just when your feet settle. The bridge goes minor, a snare snaps sideways, a piano chord lands like a wink.

It helps that A Certain Ratio seemed genuinely re‑energized around this period. The years leading up to ACR Loco saw smart reissues and the ACR:BOX retrospective, plus a run of shows that felt like a victory lap and a reboot at once. By the time they walked into the studio for this album, the muscle memory had turned back into muscle. Critics noticed the uptick. The Guardian and The Quietus both heard the spark and tipped their hats, not out of nostalgia but because the songs punch above the band’s cult weight. That matters. It is easy for a veteran group to lean on history. ACR Loco sounds like the opposite, a set built to live next to new records, not just the old Factory spines.

I played it recently in a shop while a couple flipped through A Certain Ratio vinyl, and you could see the effect. Heads start to bob, someone asks what track is on, then the conversation opens into where to begin with the catalog. That is the sweet spot for a late‑career album. It keeps the faithful happy while tempting the curious into the stack. If you like to buy A Certain Ratio records online, you will be glad to know this one sits well with the classics. Spin it after Sextet or ACR:MCR and the lineage is clear. If you are a crate‑digger at a Melbourne record store or hunting vinyl records Australia wide, it is a safe blind buy.

In short, ACR Loco is the sound of a band aging into their strengths. No grand gestures, no museum polish, just taut grooves, nimble horns, and a rhythm section that still knows how to make concrete feel springy. For anyone searching out A Certain Ratio albums on vinyl, this is essential. It honors the past, but it moves. That is the point.