 
It seems to have been almost impossible to escape
the feel good factor that’s swept Britain
away on a magic carpet of gold this summer. It’s
been one big fat Corinthian-spirited party of
barbecues, bank holidays and Union Flags. Such
was the extent of the unrelenting delirium of
medal-fever that at one stage, it was even reported
that a number of Londoners began to experience
feelings of fondness towards Boris Johnson. So
with the grey and damp autumn now revealing itself
with all the subtlety of Chris Brown’s latest
tattoo, it’s somewhat fitting that Ed Gibbs
and co are back to drag us all kicking and screaming
into the darkness with their third full length
album, Empire of Light.
Opening the album is the single No Remorse, No
Regrets, a rip-roaring track, driven by Leks Wood’s
ever enthusiastic drums, those ever-present atmospheric
guitars and Gibbs’ trademark vocals veering
from full throttle Gordon Ramsey in “Fuck
you, that’s cold beef bourguignon”
mode to a heartfelt valentine serenade. And with
that, DSHS are back: here, have a punch in the
face and a box of Roses for good measure.
The urgency continues on VIII, the pace is nigh
on unrelenting, combining searing vocals, crashing
symbols and layered guitars before stalling into
a vicious breakdown that’s heavier than
Chris Hoy’s medal haul. It Rains Down is
a contemplative offering, parked neatly beside
The Waves and the Sea, the latter will no doubt
prove to be a crowd rouser at future shows with
its emphatic outro.
A breather arrives in the form of Salvation Lies
Within before they’re back to bone crushing
business on Crusader, the vocals once again carrying
you through barbed wire and velvet on top of spine
chilling, haunting melodies. The Verge builds
to an epic, chest out climax of gargantuan proportions
and End of Days closes the album in a similar
vein, an album closing track with the precision
of an OCD inflicted watchmaker. Name your stadium,
this could genuinely fill it.
Empire of Light is an intense journey. The songs
intertwine, almost bleeding into each other, so
much so that at times you find the organised mayhem
almost overwhelming – but that’s no
bad thing when you’re listening to a band
as technically accomplished and consistent as
this lot are. The riffs are brutal, the choruses
are bigger than a post-Olympic economic deficit,
and Gibbs proves himself as capable as ever at
boiling a fresh batch of throat nails. This latest
album will see DSHS continue to receive the same
level reverence they have clearly deserved thus
far, and it wouldn’t be an overstatement
to suggest that among British metal bands, they’re
peerless in all that they do.
DSHS have arrived in the nick of time folks, so
you can keep your open top bus parades, your Mo-bots
and your woolly, doe-eyed goodwill sentiments
of summer, Britain. I’ll be welcoming in
the Autumn with some barnstorming angst and a
packet of Strepsils.
5/5
Review by Jack Turner
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