St. Paul & The Broken Bones - The Alien Coast (LP)

St. Paul & The Broken Bones have always been a band that hit you square in the chest, but The Alien Coast finds them twisting the knife in new ways. Released 28 January 2022 on ATO Records, their fourth studio album strides out of familiar retro-soul and into a shadowy, groove-heavy space that suits them surprisingly well. The Birmingham, Alabama outfit still revolves around Paul Janeway’s elastic voice, that streak of gospel-steeped drama he can conjure from a whisper to a yelp, but the palette around him gets wilder and more cinematic.

The singles told the story early. The Last Dance slinks in with a pulsing beat that nods to disco and post-punk more than the Stax muscle of their debut, while Minotaur swings a heavier club, all fuzzed-out low end and stalking drums. Then Love Letter From A Red Roof Inn shows the other side of the coin, a motel-room confession that leans into the hush, Janeway sounding vulnerable and a bit threadbare. Those three poles sketch the record’s range, and the rest fills in with nervous synths, itchy guitars and the kind of late-night horns this band can arrange in their sleep.

What’s striking is how cohesive it feels even as they throw so many colours at the wall. The rhythm section drives it. Jesse Phillips’ bass is chewy and insistent, and the drums have a clipped, almost mechanical snap that keeps even the dreamier songs on their toes. Keys and guitars swirl rather than strut. When the horns arrive, they punctuate instead of lead, like neon signs flickering to life on a rainy street. It’s a shift from the throwback punch of Half the City or the widescreen reach of Sea of Noise, and it works because the band plays with a dancer’s sense of tension and release.

Janeway has spoken in interviews about leaning into restless imagery, history, and the feverish corners of the mind, and you can hear that curiosity. The Alien Coast feels like a night spent awake, mind racing between old ghosts and the glow of your phone. There are hints of krautrock’s motorik pulse, a whiff of psychedelic swirl, even the occasional nod to Afrobeat patterns in the guitar and percussion. Yet it never sounds like a costume change. This is still the same eight-piece from Birmingham, the same voice that can break your heart on a bridge, just set against a different skyline.

If you came for a tidy collection of singles, you might be thrown. The songs lean into atmosphere and flow, so the record works best start to finish. That said, The Last Dance is a clear favourite, a track that begs for a crowded floor and dim lights. Minotaur hits harder than you’d expect from a band often tagged as soul revivalists. And Love Letter From A Red Roof Inn stays with you, the kind of song that makes a long drive feel longer in the best way. Put those three on a playlist and you get a neat little map of where St. Paul & The Broken Bones were heading in 2022.

On vinyl, the low-end heft and the air around Janeway’s voice do wonders. The Alien Coast vinyl pressing gives the bass room to bloom, and you catch the grit in the guitar textures that can get lost on tinny streams. If you collect St. Paul & The Broken Bones vinyl, this one earns its spot, not just as a marker of the band’s evolution but as a late-night play you’ll reach for when the house has gone quiet. I found my copy after a dig at a Melbourne record store, and it has become a steady companion for those half-awake hours.

For anyone looking to buy St. Paul & The Broken Bones records online, it sits nicely alongside their earlier work, and it’s a solid entry point if you prefer mood over flash. The Alien Coast treats the band’s past like a springboard, not a cage, which is why it keeps revealing new corners with each spin. If you’re building a small stack of St. Paul & The Broken Bones albums on vinyl, make room for this next to Young Sick Camellia. It’s a record about unease and motion that still finds its groove, a reminder that even the anxious parts of the night can feel alive when the right song is playing. And for anyone hunting around the vinyl records Australia scene, this is one that rewards a proper turntable session, lights low, volume nudged up just enough to feel that pulse in your ribs.