Cloud Nothings - Last Building Burning (LP)

Cloud Nothings made their name on tension that snaps like a guitar string, and Last Building Burning is the moment they leaned back into that bite. Released in October 2018 through Carpark Records, it felt like a pointed pivot after the more polished Life Without Sound. The Cleveland band were already a fearsome live unit, but this one chases that onstage chaos with a grin and a bloody lip.

A lot of that energy comes down to how it was put to tape. The band tracked the album in a quick burst at Sonic Ranch in Texas with producer Randall Dunn, best known for heavy, atmospheric work with acts like Sunn O))) and Earth. They recorded across eight intense days, and you can hear the room in the performances. Guitars scrape and clang, cymbals bloom, and Dylan Baldi’s voice sounds like it’s pushing right up against the red. Baldi talked about wanting a record built for the stage, and you can feel that philosophy in the arrangements. It is rugged, direct, and gloriously resistant to tidying up.

On an Edge opens like a shot. Jayson Gerycz, one of the most relentless drummers in indie rock, sets a heart-in-mouth pace before the band locks into a sprint. Then Leave Him Now hits like a blunt note passed between friends. It is a plainspoken plea to walk away from a damaging relationship, delivered over riffs that keep tugging forward. In Shame melds that ragged force with a hook that sticks, the kind of chorus that makes sense roaring out of club speakers and car stereos alike. The Echo of the World twists the tempo and lets the guitars chatter like teeth, building tension without losing the thread.

At the centre sits Dissolution, an eleven-minute tall glass of feedback, repetition and nerve. It starts as a lean rock song, then mutates, each section pushing a little harder until the whole thing opens up into a serrated drone. Live, it turned into a set-piece and a dare. On record, it is the clearest statement of purpose here, proof that the band can go long without losing the plot. So Right So Clean adds a colder, brooding hue, with Baldi sounding both weary and wired. Closer Another Way of Life is a surge of light through the cracks, capped by his repeated “I’m alive” that lands like a fist on the bar at last call.

The production suits them. Dunn keeps the tones thick but never muddy, so the bass has weight and the guitars have scratch, and you can always pick out where Gerycz is throwing his sticks. It does not chase lo-fi grit for its own sake, it just captures four players who trust each other enough to lean in. That trust pays off in the little moments, like the way the band drops under a line so the vocal bites harder, or the half-second of air before a chorus that explodes.

Critics heard the spark. Outlets like Pitchfork and The Guardian praised the band’s return to their more abrasive side, and fans quickly circled standouts like Leave Him Now and Dissolution. It sits neatly next to Attack on Memory in the Cloud Nothings story, not as a retread, but as a reminder that their melodic sense gets sharper when the edges are rough.

If you’re crate digging and you spot Last Building Burning vinyl, grab it. The pressing carries real punch, the kick drum thumps your lounge room and the guitars have that sandpaper detail you want from a loud guitar record. It pairs well with other Cloud Nothings albums on vinyl too, the sequencing here makes side flips feel like a breath before the next sprint. For collectors in Australia, it is often easier to buy Cloud Nothings records online, and plenty of local shops ship fast across the country. If you prefer a browse, any good Melbourne record store should either have it or be able to order it in, and it belongs in the same section you check when you’re on the hunt for noisy, hook-forward vinyl records Australia wide.

Last Building Burning does not waste your time. It comes in hot, leaves a scorch mark, then gets out. Put it on when you need a jolt, or when the week has dulled your edges and you want them back. Cloud Nothings vinyl tends to get heavy rotation at home, and this one more than earns its sleeve wear. It is a lean, bruised, and oddly life-affirming reminder that urgency can still feel like a new idea.