We live in a golden age for albums. Despite the much-vaunted “death of the album”, no artist desirous of an enduring career achieves it based on singles; the album retains its status as the chief declaration of an artist’s significance and ability. With the internet exploding the format-based preconceptions around what a record might be, the result is online works stretching out across multiple hours; albums continually changing form as songs are added in, sucked out, or further revised. We’ve escaped the obligation that it be two sides of vinyl, a double-LP, or a 74-78 minute CD in favor of the vessel fitting the content more precisely.
While certain artists continue to game stream stats by insisting on their albums being enervating, excitement-sapping hour-plus slogs through disparate grab-bags of demographic-ticking tracks, a heartening trend is an increasing number of artists embracing the sub-40 minute album. No longer needing to fill out a set run-time, the result is thrillingly coherent front-to-back experiences sheared of excess fat or unnecessary bulk, where every song has earned its place within the vision.
Nas’ eternally praised Illmatic was a perfect example of choosing one’s ten best and earning the rewards from creating something perfect. Rancid‘s Tomorrow Never Comes is a more recent example, delivering its tale of punk piracy at breakneck speed.
Jojo Orme, the creative spirit behind Heartworms, clearly took Wu-Tang Clan‘s line “Make it brief, son, half short and twice strong” to heart with a carefully curated discography that has seen her release one online track in 2020 (“What Can I Do”), a single – genuinely excellent – four-song EP in 2023 (A Comforting Notion), an also superb one-song flexidisc seven-inch (“May I Comply”) that same year, and now her first album, Glutton For Punishment. Contrary to the album title, these nine tracks are all pleasure and no pain. At 37 minutes long, it’s a precision-cut diamond of the highest quality.
Seeing a full Heartworms band take the stage to a packed house at Bristol’s Thekla venue on 22nd February, I wondered how such well-honed songs might evolve to fill an acceptable headlining slot. Again, Orme prioritized excellence over endurance, with the band running through the entire LP, mostly in order, with the seven-inch track and two highlights from the EP slotted in alongside a new addition referred to as “Beat Poem”, a few instrumental moments billowing and swelling in ways that took advantage of the live environment, but all over in a scorching hour ‘n’ change.
Experiencing these songs live and on record reemphasized how well-formed each one is; I imagine a lengthy process grinding each moment down to the perfect length, maximizing the impact of each element in isolation or combination. Take the single click and ambient rumble of the opener, “In the Beginning”: it’s a red herring, a pause for gentility that makes the full cinematic force of “Just to Ask a Dance” hit that much harder. The opening is a statement of intent, with thrusting strings, droning bass, and alarm tones, like being launched into an intense action film.
Glutton For Punishment is a series of tight switches and feints. The beat on “Jacked” whips the air in dry circles before one of the best lead guitar riffs of the past few years, and then we’re onward to pure steel tones underpinning a breathy, doubled vocal that grows into all manner of sharp spitting or drawn out syllables as the words demand.
While each song moves through distinct sections, it never feels like a streaming service playing previews; everything fits and grows intelligently out of the previous moment, endless movement, continuous drama, and provocation – in a world of songs built like basic boxes of 2×4 timber, this is next generation nanotech-engineering.
Even when the energy changes with the buoyant beat of “Mad Catch”, it doesn’t feel jarring. This is a singer who can make crystal-clear diction on the line “such misogynistic expertise, and you confide in past resentment” feel catchy and sleek. Again, the dark pop of “Extraordinary Wings” glowers without shedding Glutton For Punishment‘s hyped energy.
It’s Orme’s most pristine and unadorned vocal on the album, but there’s still visible craft in how she moves between syllables like steps up and down a stairwell. Using a choir to fill out the long outro line, “I don’t wish murder ’cause I got no right,” while Orme deploys her full range to dart and soar over the top is chillingly effective. This is an artist tying songs together with the intonation of ‘…dance, dance…’ as escape, exhaustion, something done until one drops.
In interviews, Orme has spoken of using the album to show her range beyond the post-punk niche she’s sometimes been slotted into. I admit I had some trepidation about whether that would mean abandoning the sounds that have already made her a rightfully hot tip for greatness, but that isn’t the case. For example, there are echoes of Kate Bush on a song like “Celebrate”, a definite expansion beyond 2023’s two releases, but everything here is an organic fit.
Glutton For Punishment is a highly intelligent, essentially perfect album. I think this is the only time in recent history that I have breached my English restraint, and I just decided to say this is an absolute 10. I even tried to see if the rating system would increase to 11. Having waited two years to hear what might follow the EP, it isn’t just a case of not being disappointed; I’m ecstatic.