INCARNATE
reviews
EXPOSE
(review by Peter Thelen) "With Incarnate, Panic Room have further refined and defined their vision, topping all their previous efforts." READ THE FULL REVIEW HERE 
WHERE WORLDS COLLIDE
(review by Tim Hall) "Unmistakably Panic Room, but with their sophisticated sound it’s a record with a wider crossover potential." READ THE FULL REVIEW HERE 
WHO IS SAM LEWIS?
(review by Sam Lewis) "Epic, slow burning... another excellent album" READ THE FULL REVIEW HERE |
UBERROCK
(review by Michael Anthony) "Panic Room’s secret weapon remains the supremely gifted Anne-Marie Helder, whose voice can stop angels in their tracks...." READ THE FULL REVIEW HERE 
PROG ROCK MUSIC TALK
(review by Jim Lawson Sr.) "A superbly constructed album... music of the highest quality" READ THE FULL REVIEW HERE 
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THE MIDLANDS ROCKS
(review by David Waterfield) "Another excellent addition to an already impressive body of work." READ THE FULL REVIEW HERE 
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DAVE COOPER - "Happiness Is The Road"
Journeying on down the road with Panic Room
'It scarcely seems possible that it's only been a little over 5 years since Panic Room released their first album, Visionary Position, and played their first live shows. So much has happened in the intervening time: so many shows, and a reassuringly steady stream of great music – and now we have some more to get our teeth into, as the band's fourth album, Incarnate, is ready to be unleashed. My favourite bands tend to be the ones where you're never really completely sure what you're about to hear when you press play for the first time, and Panic Room most definitely fall into that category. To paraphrase a line from Tolkien, it's a dangerous business, pressing play on a new Panic Room album. You settle back in your seat, and there's no knowing where you might be swept off to. And that, of course, is the joy of it.
It's immediately apparent that Incarnate is a very different beast to Skin as Velocity kicks in with its anthemic guitar riff from new guitarist Adam O'Sullivan, the 'new boy' well and truly taking the reins from the off. The song talks about the joys and hazards of travel – physical and spiritual – and sets out the albums stall with style, the soaring choruses interspersed with reflective verses, slowly building momentum throughout the track, as if the listener is travelling themselves, being drawn onwards, faster and faster towards... what? Well, that is the pleasure, after all: the journey is the goal, not the destination. Happiness is the road, right? Or, to harken back to my Tolkien riff, the road goes ever on and on...
Panic Room have always been a diverse band, and Start The Sound ensures that Incarnate maintains this tradition. Driven along by a rolling drum part and a pizzicato string part, the lyrics talk of our fear of taking leaps of faith in our lives: personal or professional, sometimes we need to stop second-guessing ourselves and take the plunge. Anne-Marie is at her confessional best here, but as we all know, it's easy to get swallowed up by the sheer scale of what you're embracing. “I don't know where to start” she whispers over the song's coda, a sentiment everyone can surely identify with.
And so we come to the title track. Incarnate kicks off with another cyclical guitar motif, a steadily building pulse that builds up until the drums arrive with the body of the song. Pleasingly sparse at first, the song slowly ramps up its momentum, driven by Anne-Marie's vocal – for me, one of her best to date as she sings with assurance of her own musical inspiration: “I was blind to my calling / The melody inside / The spirit in the shadows / That has always been denied”. Incarnate is concerned with manifest destiny, of our tendency as people to be driven by – or run away from - our various “callings”, whatever they might happen to be. One of the longer tracks on the album at a little over 7 minutes, the band get plenty of room to stretch out in the latter part of the song, with sturdy keyboards and a gorgeous extended slide guitar part alongside strings and the usual consummate turn from the rhythm section that really shows off Gavin's knack for effortless fills that help ramp up the tension.
Nothing New is something a little new for Panic Room, almost a progressive blues of sorts. We've all heard the laments from lifelong music fans who've become lost in the dusty recesses of their own record collections: “they don't make 'em like they used to”, or “there's nothing new under the sun”, “all the notes have been used” and so on. This mindset is what Nothing New addresses, lyrically speaking: its central point being that song-writing is a product of individual talents colliding and as such can't be approached like a mathematical formula. “We are original / With so much to say”, sings Anne-Marie. And she's absolutely correct, of course. In a world where it's “cool” to be cynical, it's great to hear a song that shows the cynics just where they're going wrong.
The first half of the album – and it's easy to think of Incarnate as “side 1” and “side 2” - is closed out by Waterfall, a playful song that is introduced with the sound of cascading water and then picks up that rhythm and runs with it. Opening with a playful Supertramp-style repeating keyboard part which is replicated by drums and guitar in turn, this is a sprightly, instantly endearing song with a lot of energy. Anne-Marie sings of a happy, carefree relationship before being joined by stirring strings – and if you're not out of your chair dancing around the room by this point, you're made of stone. There's some drama as the music drops away leaving Anne-Marie accompanied by piano before the rhythm picks up once more and we're off again, lost in the swirling waters. “There is magic at the waterfall / Come and join us as we dive”. I couldn't agree more. A lovely song guaranteed to plaster an enormous smile on your face.
Into Temptation takes the record in a very different direction. Less sprightly than Waterfall, this song is more of a siren's call. It tells of the problems that arise when relationships become somewhat obsessive: it may feel good to drown in the pool of that relationship, but you're still drowning. Built around a deceptively simple groove from Gavin, the other band members all add their own colours. Yatim stands out in particular here, with a playfully springy bass part the late Mick Karn would have been proud of, as does Jonathan's use of two totally different keyboard parts – a big cinematic synth background over which he picks out organ parts that really add to the mood, both celebratory and slightly eerie, as befits the subject matter. Adam joins in on guitar, taking up a repeating pattern that serves as a tension breaker before the song builds up then dies away like the surf hitting a distant beach. This is an utterly beguiling song, managing to be lushly arranged and utterly intimate at the same time.
All That We Are takes up the blues mantle offered by Nothing New and dials it up. More traditional in feel, the easy comparison is with Sam Brown: indeed the song feels rather like Sam's much-loved hit song Stop, rhythmically and to some extent vocally, as Anne-Marie deploys her biggest vocal fireworks on the album. Singing of the best and worst of human nature, especially our tendency to make most of our problems ourselves but get through the tough times because of each other, Anne-Marie reminds us of what makes us human. It's a masterful lyric, sung with evident emotion – and the icing on the cake is Adam's wonderful less-is-more extended bluesy guitar solo, the sort of thing that makes you realise that if Adam remains part of Panic Room's future, guitar corner is in very good hands.
Searching compounds the introspective mood. “You left without a trace / Like a falling leaf blowing through the forest”, laments Anne-Marie; and this song treads a fine line between heartbroken lament and understanding reassurance as it continues, assessing the subject of the lyrics's decision to leave, leaving confusion and bewildered acceptance in their wake. Another departure for the band here, as the solo is taken not on guitar or keyboard, but by harmonica: an unexpected but highly effective inclusion that really adds to the bitter-sweet flavour of the song. Adam cannot be restrained for long, though, and turns in another lovely solo at the end of the song as the song fades into the distance. This one's going to be a real heart-breaker live.
Close The Door brings the introspective mood to a head, being very nearly as sparse at first as Velvet And Stars was on the last album. After tentative strummed acoustic guitar opens the song, though, the rhythm section arrives, along with piano and a delicate synth part that hovers over the rest of the song like a mist. Anne-Marie turns in another stunning vocal here, asking us to “close the door / don't let the world inside”, shutting away the concerns of others to allow the blissful present to continue a little longer. You know, a bit like that feeling we all get the day before we go back to work after a happy holiday! Augmented by swelling strings, this is entrancingly romantic and peaceful, a real “less is more” number.
But it's the lull before the storm. The closing track, Dust, is a bit of a monster – as we have come to expect from closing tracks on Panic Room's albums. Opening with portentous thundercloud piano and an eerie vocal, it strikes a very different mood immediately. “Can you see me? Are you listening?” asks the spectral Anne-Marie. Slow-motion drums arrive with Twin Peaks-style guitar whilst Anne-Marie sings of “engines and aeroplanes” - an echoing of the travelling metaphors of opener Velocity, although here we are at the end of our journey. Some squalls of guitar from Adam stir the icy waters. Magnificently moody, this beast of a track slowly rouses itself, steadily building inexorable tension that is abruptly released by a wordless duet between Anne-Marie and Adam's fevered guitar, collapsing into a dark, echoing void inhabited solely by Jonathan's Gothic piano. It's hard to imagine a song more at odds with the earlier Waterfall. Intense? Most definitely. Magical? Undoubtedly. Dark? Unquestionably. It's a hugely memorable but deeply unsettling note to end the album on. But it's OK – pressing play will start the album from the beginning and turn all the lights back on.
As everyone knows, though, an album is more than just the songs, more than just the sum of their parts. Each of Panic Room's albums contains songs that are very different to each other, but manages to have its own identifiable mood and feel. Visionary Position was cinematic and atmospheric; Satellite earthy and energetic, whilst Skin felt darker and more reflective... So how does Incarnate feel? Intimate and confessional, I would venture.
It's by turns joyous and sobering, but throughout the album there's a feeling that you're inside the minds of the songs protagonists like never before. This feeling is amplified by the production, which picks up where the fine work of Skin left off.
When things are sparse, you can hear the squeak of the strings, every breath Anne-Marie takes at the mic; when the band cut loose, there's the feeling that you're listening to a live band, and as everyone who loves Panic Room knows, that's where they really excel.
With some bands, you feel over time that you know what to expect.
Four albums in, Panic Room are still keeping even the die-hard fans amongst us guessing.
That's a rare and beautiful thing, and long may it continue.'
