Porridge Radio's new album: "Waterslide, Diving Board, Ladder To The Sky"

Porridge Radio’s debut album, 2016’s Rice, Pasta And Other Fillers, was recorded partly in their drummer’s shed. That was out of necessity, rather than DIY puritanism, and the band haven’t hidden their ambitions. “I wanna be Coldplay, obviously,” singer and principal songwriter Dana Margolin deadpanned to NME when promoting 2020's Every Bad. There would be no tour to promote that record, for obvious reasons, which didn’t prevent it from earning glowing reviews and a Mercury nomination. With gigging out of the question, Porridge Radio simply knuckled down and worked on their follow-up. Another refreshing triumph in a climate dominated by vanilla post-punk chest-thumpers, it’s likely to lift Porridge Radio, if not yet to stadium status, then at least another few rungs skywards.

This is particularly impressive given Margolin has joked about her tendency to avoid writing choruses. While not entirely true, there is something in that. Instead of adhering to rigid formulas, her catchy songs tend to ebb and flow in more interesting and unusual ways, using deceptively clever instrumental embellishments and powerfully placed group singalongs.

Back To The Radio is an anthem which builds and builds for four cathartic minutes. The verses to Trying are linked by bouncy passages in the spots where a chorus might have been, and it never feels like anything is missing. Birthday Party does have a chorus, made of six repeated words. Each time Margolin insists, “I don’t want to be loved”, the less believable it becomes, which was surely her intention.

This third album is a touch plusher, again, with its palette expanding on Every Bad’s aching indie sound. There’s a piano ballad, for instance, with melodies to rival John Lennon or Cat Power at their finest. Elsewhere, The Rip veers into pumping synth-anthem territory, as if hoping to soundtrack a sequel to Nicolas Winding Refn’s Drive, with added alt.rock pizazz.

Taste and touch appear fairly frequently in the lyrics, complete with references to bitterness, nausea, itchiness and rot. Perhaps a more credible stadium-level comparison than Coldplay would be The Cure. Margolin’s voice has its similarities to the heart-on-sleeve howl of Robert Smith, flailing away in the face of mortality’s complexities. The acoustic-based title track could be her answer to The Cure’s more delicate moments. Whether they are the next Cure, Coldplay, Smiths or something else entirely, one thing’s for sure. Porridge Radio have come a very long way from the garden shed.

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