Biffy Clyro - The Myth Of The Happily Ever After (LP + CD)

Biffy Clyro’s ninth studio album, The Myth Of The Happily Ever After, landed on 22 October 2021 through 14th Floor Records and Warner, and it feels like the band firing on all cylinders while staring down the last couple of years with clear eyes. They called it a sister album to A Celebration of Endings, and that frames it neatly. Same universe, different weather. Where its predecessor swung for the rafters, this one spends more time peering into the corners, pulling strange shapes from familiar shadows. The trio lean into the tension that has always made them compelling, the push and pull between feral riffing and tender melody, between mathy left turns and stadium-sized catharsis.

The opener that people keep returning to is “Unknown Male 01”, a slow-blooming lament that grows from sparse guitar and whispered regret into choral lift. It feels like grief set to a tide chart, each swell a little higher than the last. Simon Neil’s voice cracks just enough to keep it human, while Ben Johnston’s drums anchor the rising swell with those precise, muscular accents he does so well. The production puts air around the instruments, so when the choir arrives late on, it hits like cold night air at the end of a long gig. This is where the record’s heart sits, uneasy but resolute.

Then they turn the screws. “A Hunger in Your Haunt” is classic Biffy bait, all jagged riffs and a chant that lodges itself in your head before the second chorus. It is the kind of song that reminds you how they graduated from sweaty clubs to festival main stages without sanding down their weird streak. James Johnston’s bass growls through the verses, then opens up in the chorus like a floodgate. “Errors in the History of God” stalks rather than sprints, a mid-tempo thrum that finds menace in empty space, and the hook arrives like a flare. These three tracks formed the spine of the rollout, and together they map the album’s mood, bruised but defiant.

What makes The Myth Of The Happily Ever After more than a companion piece is how it retools the band’s instincts. The knotty time signatures and stop-start dynamics nod to the Infinity Land era, but the choruses feel learned from years of Only Revolutions and beyond. They recorded much of it back at their Ayrshire base, and you can hear the freedom of home turf in the way the arrangements stretch out, with synth textures and choirs shading the usual guitar-bass-drums punch. It is not a pivot to electronics, more a widening of the lens. The trio remain the engine, and the embellishments serve the songs rather than dressing them up.

Lyrically, Neil is in reflective form. There is reckoning, a lot of it, but also flashes of gallows humour and the kind of stubborn hope you cling to at 2am. He has spoken about this record as a reaction to what came before, and that shows in how it interrogates tidy endings, pricking holes in neat narratives while still chasing a big sing-along. That balance is why these songs feel built for both headphones and a field at dusk. You can pick apart the layers, or you can scream the chorus with your mates and let the detail wait for the second spin.

On wax, the dynamics breathe. The quiet passages pull you in, the crescendos bloom without harshness, and the low end has that chewy weight that flatters Ben’s kick and James’s bass. If you are trawling a Melbourne record store, or hunting through vinyl records Australia shops, The Myth Of The Happily Ever After vinyl is the copy you want to scoop up before someone else clocks it. It also pairs neatly with A Celebration of Endings if you are building out a little Biffy Clyro vinyl corner at home. Plenty of fans chase the set, and there is a reason Biffy Clyro albums on vinyl hold their place on shelves, they reward repeat spins.

If you prefer to buy Biffy Clyro records online, grab this one while it is still floating around at decent prices. Between those gut-punch singles and the deeper cuts that reveal themselves slowly, this feels like a band who know exactly what they are doing, still willing to get strange, still hitting the chorus like it’s the last one they’ll ever write. The myth in the title might be about tidy endings, but the music argues for messy, hard-won continuance. Put it on, let it unfurl, and see which version of yourself walks back out of the room when it’s done.