Black Country, New Road - Ants From Up There (2LP)

Ants From Up There arrived on 4 February 2022, just days after Black Country, New Road told the world that singer and guitarist Isaac Wood was stepping away. That timing could have cast a long shadow, but the record itself feels illuminated from within. It is the seven-piece at full tilt and full heart, released on Ninja Tune and shaped by a band that had been road-testing these songs until they breathed on their own. You can hear it in the patience of the performances and the way parts interlock, then bloom.

Black Country, New Road have always been a big-room band, even when they were crammed onto tiny stages. The lineup matters here. Tyler Hyde’s bass holds center while Charlie Wayne’s drums shade and surge. May Kershaw’s piano finds delicate counter-melodies. Georgia Ellery’s violin and Lewis Evans’ saxophone bring color and air. Luke Mark’s guitar sits like a spine, firm but never stiff. That mix lets the album move from wry chamber-pop to slow-burn post-rock without ever feeling like a genre exercise.

“Chaos Space Marine” led the rollout for a reason. It is the most dashing thing they have put to tape, a sprinting overture that announces a bigger palette. Then “Concorde” does the opposite, loosening its grip until the song drifts like the supersonic jet it’s named after. Wood’s voice rarely pushes. He leans into a weary tenderness, and the band meets him with arrangements that prefer lift to punch.

The record’s center of gravity, though, sits with the quiet ones. “Bread Song” feels like a confession whispered into an empty room, each line spaced out so the sting has time to land. The group lets silence do half the work. “The Place Where He Inserted the Blade” has become a fan favorite, and it makes sense when you hear it. The chorus sounds communal without ever forcing the singalong feeling, the kind of song you catch yourself humming while flipping through a crate of new arrivals and old friends.

“Snow Globes” is a lesson in patience. Wayne’s drumming turns into a storm of snare rolls that swell and fall, while the rest of the band holds steady like a lighthouse. It is both noisy and gentle, the kind of dynamic control that makes the last stretch of the album hit that much harder. Then comes “Basketball Shoes,” a twelve-minute closer that carries the whole arc. It starts hesitant, grows bolder, and finally breaks open. If you want to know why people still gather around full albums, not just playlists, this is your answer.

Context matters with this record. Wood’s departure, announced the week of release, gave the album an elegiac feel for many listeners. The band handled it with grace and carried on as a six-piece, but Ants From Up There rightly became the capstone of the first chapter. Critics heard that spark immediately. Publications like Pitchfork, NME, and The Guardian praised it, and the album collected one of the year’s most glowing Metacritic tallies. It became a touchstone of the early 2020s indie landscape, not because it chases novelty, but because it trusts songs to do the heavy lifting.

On vinyl, the record’s dynamics feel even more alive. Strings and reeds sit warmly in the midrange, the drums bloom, and quiet passages invite you to lean in. If you are collecting Black Country, New Road vinyl, this is the pressing to track down first. The Ants From Up There vinyl turns late-night listening into a small event, the side breaks giving you just enough time to let a lyric settle. It is the kind of album you recommend to a friend who swears new guitar bands do not make albums like this anymore. If you like to buy Black Country, New Road records online, you will find plenty of chatter from fans comparing editions, and most Melbourne record store clerks I have chatted with keep it in the staff-pick section. Even shops that focus on vinyl records Australia wide seem to reorder it as soon as it sells out, which is often. For crate-diggers looking to round out Black Country, New Road albums on vinyl, it sits alongside For the First Time as proof that this scene can still surprise.

Ants From Up There feels lived-in and carefully tended. It is a bittersweet document of a band in perfect conversation with itself, generous to the listener, and sturdy enough to carry weight. Put it on a turntable, let the needle drop, and you will hear why it became a modern classic almost overnight.