Young Fathers - Dead (LP)

Young Fathers’ first proper album landed in February 2014 on Big Dada, and it felt like a weather change. Dead pressed into the room with a mix of bruised hip hop, cracked soul and a punk streak that made most tidy genre tags useless. The Edinburgh trio, Alloysious Massaquoi, Kayus Bankole and Graham “G” Hastings, had already turned heads with Tape One and Tape Two, but Dead was the one that stuck its neck out and won the 2014 Mercury Prize, beating a shortlist packed with names. It was a surprise to some, sure, but play it front to back and the decision makes a lot of sense.

What hits first is how physical it sounds. The drums don’t just keep time, they shove. Bass lines wobble with a rough warmth, like they were coaxed from gear that had seen more flats and practice rooms than top tier studios. The group have often worked largely on their own terms, and you can hear that here, a tough, homespun texture that never turns murky. Voices stack and trade places, with harmonies that nod to gospel and hooks that stick, then peel back to leave space for lines that glance at faith, power, family and the grind of daily life. There is a lived-in economy to it, no wasted motion.

Low is the gateway for a lot of people. The kick hits like a heart under pressure, and the chorus has a haunted lift that sneaks up rather than belts. Get Up moves like a street procession, handclap rhythm and chant pulled tight, the sound of a crew egging each other on. War does what the title suggests, march time drums, a mood of warning, but there is empathy in it too. No Way barrels forward with a crackle that recalls post punk energy without copying the style. None of it feels tidy. That is the point. Young Fathers build a world by scraping colours together and finding beauty in the scuff marks.

The three voices are the engine. Massaquoi can turn a melody honeyed and weary in the same breath. Bankole brings flint and fervour. Hastings cuts through with lines that read plain and land hard. They pass the mic without showboating, more like a conversation that happens to rhyme. The writing keeps circling back to belief and belonging, then swerves to something wry or tender. It is a mix that felt new in 2014 and still sounds near future now.

Critics heard it. The Guardian praised the intensity and invention, while Pitchfork leaned into the way the group twisted pop shapes into something weirder and deeper. If you care about where UK rap, indie and modern soul were heading last decade, Dead sits near the start of a thread that runs through a lot of adventurous records since. That Mercury win cemented it, not as a one-off shock, but as a marker of a shift toward acts that blur lines with intent.

On vinyl, the album breathes. The low end sits a touch rounder, the percussion feels more tactile, and those layered vocals find a little more air. If you are hunting for Young Fathers vinyl, Dead vinyl is the place to start, the one you can hand to a mate who thinks they have the band pegged and watch them double back by track three. And if you like filing your shelves by narrative, it links neatly to what came next, so it plays well alongside later Young Fathers albums on vinyl.

There is also something to be said for how grounded it is in its city. You can picture Edinburgh in winter, the sense of old stone and cold light, but the music never turns dour. It is full of life and side glances, and it keeps finding lift in rough corners. That makes it easy to return to. Every spin catches a new detail, a background shout, a rasp of a drum head, a half-sung line that suddenly feels central.

If you’re about to buy Young Fathers records online, make sure this one is in the cart. In a Melbourne record store, I’d shelve it in the staff picks with a little card that just says start here. For anyone deep into vinyl records Australia wide, Dead earns its spot by force of character alone. It is a debut that still sounds like a fresh argument, and it proves its point with rhythm, grit and a chorus you find yourself humming on the tram home.