The Dregs bite back and fight back, a triumph of dogged determinism.

Release Date: 25th April 2025

Label: Joy of Life International

Format: CD / Vinyl / Digital

It has been a bit of a momentous year for Benjamin Woods, once a.k.a. The Golden Dregs, but now the leader of the same named six piece band. Arguably, that transition arose courtesy being signed by 4AD, who put out his last record, On Grace And Dignity, the expectation that they might retain the same courtesy for this. We here had greatly enjoyed that record, surprised to see this new one slip out silently, on his own label, Joy Of Life International, via End Of The Road Records, and without the usual flourish a larger label can provide. (Indeed, hence the delay of discovery.) That blow might have been the kiss of death, were it not the faith of his bandmates and of the much smaller operation at EotR, all convincing Woods as to the worth of the project.

MADE IN LONDON

Although the band comprise much the same musicians he has used over earlier releases, there is another difference in that this is the first time Woods had worked with the band in the studio, previously having carefully put everything together himself, usually at his Cornwall place of safety, ahead then mixing in the additional contributions. Similarly, this music was all made in London; despite living in the city for several years, his childhood home had tended to call him back for his muse. For On Grace And Dignity, that had been by courtesy covid and lockdown. Do these factors, have they made a difference to the overall sound and substance?

Well, no, would be my initial answer, as the lush swirl of Big Ideas swirls out the speakers. Yes, there is a lot of sound here, possibly more than before, but a lot of it is a meticulous concoction of smoke and mirrors. Deliberately so, I’d say, rather than through budgetary constraints. You know that old trick in 60’s psychedelia, where whole rafts of sonic textures burst into the soundscape, disappearing just as quickly, with, all the while, the constancy of background voice, and simpler scaffolding of bobbing bass, and lilting guitars to maintain the skeleton. This atmospheric is typical Woods, typical Dregs, and it is here given centre stage.

Mind you, if we are talking instrumentation, the greatest instrument here is his voice, a world weary graveled groan, from which equally damaged lyrics flow freely. Big Ideas is a striking song, that begs attention, with a chorus as hooky as Peter Pan’s Captain. Backing vocals embellish his grit with candystripe colours and we’re off!

MAGNIFICENTLY MOODY

Linoleum picks up with similar bass and those same bvs. It is worth pointing out that Woods acts a bassist for the band, when not engaged on guitars and keys, synth or otherwise, which possibly explains the central pivot within each song that those deeper notes impart, often at odds with the gloomier textures provided elsewhere. Ted Mair seems lieutenant, across, also, bass and keyboards, with drums from Matt Merriman. Guitars come also from Michael Clark and synthesisers from Roderick Davy. Is that six? Not yet, but listen on.

Through the Roxy like Linoleum, if fronted by Jarvis Cocker at his lower register, next up is the magnificently moody Company Of Strangers. You’ll have clocked by now that 6th Dreg is likely Isabelle Armstrong, her higher harmony part of the wash of voices that permeate through most tracks, this included. The piano figure offers a degree of stateliness to the fragmenting beauty of this song, that element teased out by a tired organ wheeze in the background. And if you are hearing a slowed down Take On Me in the chorus, that is no bad thing. Imagining France then offers a near conventional slow ballad, if with, not for the first time, flickers of keyboard that throwback to the Beach Boys, if with a faded end of the pier ambience.

IMAGE & ILLUSION

The lyrics across this album are a mix of image and illusion, and never quite straightforward. You might expect The Weight Of The World to be a confessional on the edge, yet it seems more observational. So much so that the vocals are handed over from Woods to Armstrong, her smoky contralto as fitting as is his own lugubrious baritone elsewhere. As the song ends, the narrative switches from he to I: “You can take the lot, but only once you’ll find me crushed beneath the weight of it all“.

Oof, yet it isn’t even depressing, or that much, the intent carried by the rolling drums, the rhythm of a tumbril. There is also the first appearance of Woods’ sister, Hannah, “forever a Dreg”, on saxophone, her entry level parping a delight. There is also a smoky synth solo that snakes out, very Rick Wright (Pink Floyd) in its character. Roderick is also responsible for the blink and you’ll miss snatches of ambient sound, snippets of city life that he has captured around and about.

A CHAMELEON IN THE THROAT

A sotto voce background “one” beckons in the slightly raw Erasure, which wobbles into life over a lazily strummed guitar, echo on max, vocals deeper than deep. Piano gilds the wilting lily, it a time to stop other activities and reflect on what you are hearing. Or just reflect, the piano allowing excess thought to billow away. That mood is maintained for In The Headlights He, another song where you question whether the he is actually him. The chameleon in his throat now smacks of John Grant in the phrasing, possibly Josh Tillman, as hypnotic as either, a sense of knowing acceptance in the finality of the moments described. Needing a lift, Heron certainly provides something, a swirly chugging symphony of synths. God, I love this fella’s voice.

Over a lightly picked guitar and metronomic beat, Perfume is a slab of commerciality that hardlines the pop instincts that run through Woods’ writing. Hannah’s sax adds a lovely hint of unexpected Motown. The false ending leads to a coda which fanfares into a San Fran soft-rock psychedelic chorale. A Golden Brown jitter adds yet another left field influence into the now extensive pot pourri, for Heron, Woods’ voice the glue that holds it in place, even as a guitar solo crashes in with feedback distortion. Confused or conspiratorially agog? I hope the latter.

BARBED LYRIC

If penultimate track, The Wave, is the one, by default, of least lustre, and the most formulaic, the closer, also the shortest and the title track, is perhaps one of the quirkiest. Machined drums propel the piano and vocal, each subject to some minor distort and to background traffic noise, on which it ends. There seems little doubt as to whom the barbed lyric is directed.

“This is definitely a travelling record. I’d like to think it would work well in a car, played loud, driving towards a setting sun“, says Woods. How could he know that is just how this writer loves best to do his listening, and, you know, he is right. This is very much a road trip, his road trip, and I hope there are many more miles on his, and their, clock. If you can handle something so very idiosyncratic, yet with flashes of diversity that cross over any of the usual silos of genre: Roxy Music, Pulp, Pink Floyd, the Beach Boys and Aha all boiling in the pot together, this is for you. 4AD’s loss.

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