Squid: Cowards – An Inky Exploration of Evil
Image Credit: Warp Records
Squid’s slippery tentacles are encroaching Britain’s underground rock scene with their newest and perhaps most invigorating album, Cowards (2025). Previously synonymous with Brixton’s Windmill scene, the Brighton five-piece have since evolved from their maximalist, math-rock sound to a much more coherent and mature album-craft. Lead singer and drummer, Ollie Judge, remarked that it was a relief not to have to “perform with a calculator.” Cowards takes a vigilant step-back from the leftfield virtuosic musicianship, complex polyrhythms and sophisticated guitar melodies integral to their previous releases, Bright Green Field (2021) and O Monolith (2023) and instead offers a sweeter approach. With their musical talents already established, a newfound simplicity facilitates a much more sustainable way of approaching music.
“Am I the Bad One?” Cowards takes us on a journey through the human condition, wrapped up in tales of evil and cowardice, and leaving us in a state of self-reflection. What does it mean to be human? Judge deconstructs our humanity in the investigation of evil. Cannibalism, murder, exploitation, corruption, and greed all permeate through Squid’s inky introspection into the cowardly self.
No, ‘Crispy Skin’ is not a song about calamari, but instead takes inspiration from Tender is the Flesh, a novel where cannibalism and human domestication becomes the norm in a dystopian society. The song sets the conceptual tone for the album, spineless complicity and the rationalisation of evil. Embarking from the domestic troubles of their previous work, Squid internationalise their social commentary, as the murderous “true American” navigates a hypnotic Tokyo suburbia in ‘Building 650.’
Subsequently, Judge deconstructs our humanity in ‘Cro-Magnon Man’, contrasting modernity and technology with our pre-ancestral human nature, singing about the “chemicals that turn tomatoes red.” ‘Showtime!’ exposes the exploitation of artists, the track emerges in the characterisation of Andy Warhol and his egotistical abusive behaviours. Finally, ‘Well Met’ takes the metaphorical form of the town of Dunwich, on the coast of Suffolk. As the beaches and cliffs characteristic of this town gradually erode and disappear, so do all the aspects which make us human, as we gradually separate from nature.
While Judge hypotheses this dystopia, the musical elements strike a stark juxtaposition to the lyrics. For example, ‘Cro-Magnon Man’ features industrial guitars, code-like keyboard arpeggios, and dreamy vocals, combined with Judge’s pre-human lyrical concepts; all hinting at the notion of the de-evolution of humanity through technology. ‘Fireworks I’ features a harpsichord, juxtaposing the “playful, childlike, and whimsical” with evil and cowardice. Successively, ‘Fireworks II’ dissects the selective memory of humanity. In an interview with Bandcamp, the group addressed this song as a love letter to evil, saying “sometimes you live in a fantasy land,” but “we’re all guilty.”
Cowards introduces woodwind, horns and strings to the band’s repertoire, providing a warmer and heartier timbre. Despite this, Squid’s masterful musicianship is not lost, offering moments of elaborative performance but more subtly. Experimenting with a more traditional sound, by shedding the layers of sophistication, Squid offer a more focused perspective into their lyrical affirmations. The dynamics range not from quiet to loud, but instead sparse and dense, as the band builds in and out of its musical motifs. Cowards demonstrates the normalization of evil, juxtaposing lush, tasteful baroque pop with existential, apocalyptic language.
The band’s hard work certainly pays off in the album, demonstrating that Squid are certainly one of the most verbose and eclectic rock bands out there, leaving an ink-mark on the underground rock scene. However, while impressive, the album seems to lack a direct substance. The continued multifaceted nature of their songwriting does tend to alienate some audiences, while also serving to make their work less memorable, or even catchy. Squid could be even more explicit and articulate in their musicianship, delving deeper into the best aspects of their songwriting by focussing on developing coherent motifs. Nevertheless, Cowards demonstrates the band’s ability to maximise their creativity and conceptually organise their work.
The diversity of Cowards is what makes the album so great. In just 45 minutes, Squid deconstructs humanity through a sequence of otherworldly dispositions. Meanwhile, the contrast of hearty natural orchestration and technological synthetic instrumentation emboldens Judge’s lyrical assertions. Squid’s more conventional approach to song-craft, juxtaposed with Judge’s outrageously evil lyrics exemplifies the complicity and cowardice of humanity.
Through listening to the album, we become more accustomed to the shocks of evil, resulting in our self-cowardice. Cowards is not telling the story of a coward, but it breaks the fourth wall, making accusations of not just humanity but also the listener. We are all aware of the evils of the world, so what are we going to do about it? Ignorance is bliss, and through cowardice, “The future is perfect, From the backseat.”
Written by Seb Coltrane
