Squid - Sludge/Broadcaster (10") - 45RPM

Squid’s first move after signing to Warp in 2020 was a neat little flex, a two track 12 inch that put a fresh coat of varnish on their wiry post punk and marked a gear shift from the Speedy Wunderground singles that first turned heads. Sludge arrived mid year, Broadcaster followed a few months later, and together they play like a dispatch from a band tightening the bolts, testing the limits, and having a cheeky grin while they do it.

Sludge opens with that familiar Squid churn, a motorik bass figure that creeps forward while guitars ping and scrape around it. Ollie Judge’s voice, half bark and half narrator, rides the top like a drill sergeant caught up in a disco that has malfunctioned. It is tense but it swings, which is the Squid trick. Dan Carey, who produced the band’s Speedy singles and stuck around for these Warp cuts, keeps everything punchy and present. The drums have grit, the synths throb at the edges, and every squall feels earned. You can hear the lineage from those early nights at The Windmill in Brixton, but there is more space now, more control, and a better sense of when to hit the accelerator.

Broadcaster is the flip in energy. It does not sprint, it stalks. A steady pulse, eerie keys, and a vocal delivery that feels like a late night transmission coming through a fogged radio. The guitar lines stray into krautrock hypnosis, then snap back into sharp focus, and the rhythm section keeps everything coiled. Where Sludge leans into a sweaty release, Broadcaster stretches the tension like elastic. If you discovered Squid through Houseplants or The Cleaner, this is the track that shows how far their palette had widened by 2020, still jagged and anxious, but more cinematic in the way it builds a room around you.

What gives the pairing its bite is the way it hints at a bigger world. By the time these songs landed, Squid had gone from Brighton formed upstarts on Speedy Wunderground to a Warp band with momentum, and you can hear why. The lineup that powers the thing, Judge on drums and vocals, Louis Borlase and Anton Pearson on guitars and vocals, Laurie Nankivell on bass and brass, Arthur Leadbetter on keys and assorted textures, works like a single organism. They push and pull against the beat in a way that feels live even on studio wax. Carey’s touch is crucial too. He is known for fast, intuitive sessions and a love of the low end, and both tracks benefit, the mixes dense but never muddy, the bass given proper weight so those tight grooves actually move air.

Back in 2020, UK press latched onto Sludge quickly, and fans did as well, because it sounded like Squid, only clearer and tougher. Broadcaster got its own burst of attention, framed as the moodier cousin. Spin the Sludge/Broadcaster vinyl and you get that dynamic in a neat A and B, a small story you can hold in your hands. Warp pressed it with the kind of oomph that rewards a decent system too. On a good setup, the kick drum thuds like a heel on floorboards, the guitars scrape with a metallic sheen, and there is a little extra shade in the synths that streams do not quite capture.

As a record store staff pick, this one is easy to recommend. If you are crate digging for Squid vinyl at a Melbourne record store and you spot the 12 inch, grab it. It is the bridge between the scrappy thrill of the Speedy era and the widescreen ambition that followed in 2021. If you prefer to buy Squid records online, this is also a strong gateway, a compact hit that explains the appeal in ten minutes and change. Among Squid albums on vinyl, it is not a full length of course, but it holds its own as a statement, the kind of release you throw on before heading out, or when you need to shake a slow afternoon into life.

Little detail that sticks with me, the way Sludge seems to step off a cliff in its final stretch, then catches itself on a pulse that keeps going long after the noise fades in your head. Broadcaster does the opposite, it creeps in and sets up camp, then slips away without fanfare. Two sides of the same restless brain. If you are building a stack of post punk vinyl records Australia wide, Sludge/Broadcaster belongs in there. It is lean, it is nervy, and it still feels like a warning shot.