ALBUM: "Letters From the Underground" - Levellers (On the Fiddle Recordings, 2008)

There was an interesting article which appeared in American satirical mag The Onion during the run-up to the 2004 Presidential election. Largely eschewing the acerbic humour for which the publication is famed, author Jacob Ainsworth instead posed a simple but potent question: “Where Are You Now When We Need You Most, Rage Against the Machine?”. In a climate of fear, reactionary politics and widespread disillusionment with the powers-that-be, never it seemed had a country needed a single band more. Zack De La Rocha's acrimonious split from the quartet after a decade of rocking and rabble-rousing had left a gaping hole in the mainstream's ability to bring underground politics to the masses - indeed, one need look only at the fairly muted response to George W. Bush's dubious instatement as President across most of the major media outlets to affirm the fact that an outraged American public lacked a very definite focal point for their defiance.


Since the decline in their commercial stock around the turn of the century, one could argue much the same of the Levellers. Back in the 90s you could not only count on the band to be ranting and raving about the burning issue du jour on each of their albums, but would most likely bump into them on the street waving a banner with the rest of Britain’s concerned citizens. Inevitably, perhaps, the revolutionary zeal couldn't last - I distinctly remember Mark Chadwick telling me around the time of their major-label blowout Hello Pig that he felt there was only so many times you could discuss political issues before starting to feel that you were bludgeoning people over the head. That the band would begin to mellow as the individual members found their priorities shifting wasn't an entirely unwelcome development - in actual fact, they were often at their most affecting when addressing matters of the heart. Nevertheless, their absence as cultural figureheads was notable to social justice campaigners. Where was their raucous outcry at the fall-out from 9/11, the invasion of Iraq and the Downing Street memo? They were still here, you knew they weren't happy about it, and in actuality the band continued to trade in a fine line of defeatist outcry somewhere under the radar. But without a massive chorus, a visible presence and the attention of the masses, they were no longer considered key figures for the counter-culture to rally around.


A recent feature in The Word pitched the sextet as a prime example of Ramones Syndrome: that elite collection of bands who just never seem to change. In truth, though - and this is a fact evidently pointed out to them by their new manager a few years ago in what can only be described as one of the most deserved kicks up the arse in recent memory - the Levellers should never be ashamed of their history. Hardcore-hero-turned-social-commentator Henry Rollins admitted on his recent tour to finding himself bewildered but energised by the fact that he seems to get more vitriolic with age. On this evidence, the Levellers seem to be feeling very much the same way, with the new LP slotting in nicely between the youthful vigour of Levelling the Land and the battered anger of its 1993 follow-up. Even a fleeting glance at the record's song titles - Death Loves Youth, Accidental Anarchist and Burn America Burn to name just three – should give you a fairly accurate indication of their agenda this time around. With the exception of catchy heartbreak anthem Before the End (a real standout), the lyrics are politically driven throughout and the album’s closing track, Fight or Flight, is even faintly reminiscent of Motörhead. Make no mistake, they’re pissed off. And by god, it makes for an absolutely cracking listen.


That they’ve never sounded more confident or self-assured speaks volumes for the renewed sense of purpose of a band entering into its third decade and realising that it still has something important to say. Rollicking opener The Cholera Well – Dirty Davey with a serious bee in its bonnet – sets the pace and tone with blistering intent. As ferocious as any barnstormer from their heyday, the track sees Jon Sevink’s fiddle restored to its rightful place at the forefront of the charge as drums race, guitars slash and the bassline bounces. Mark and Simon's vocals sound particularly frenzied on these faster numbers, with lyrics spilling off the page as if years of pent-up frustration have finally rediscovered their natural outlet.


And yet maturity serves them well this time around as compassion and understanding accompany age and experience. The album's finest moment arrives midway in the form of Behold a Pale Rider, a mournful and poetic ballad reminiscent of Mouth to Mouth's stirring centrepiece, the elegiac Far Away. Gone are the days when the band could be accused of reckless sloganeering in their lyrics; instead the track represents a genuinely moving attempt to come to terms with feelings of collective responsibility for the tragic events of 7/7 as Simon sings, "Millions cried sweet Mary / A million more cried tears of shame / When they saw what they had done in the name of all their hopes and fears / When they realised what they became".


Whereas previously it may have seemed like their weary latter-day anthem Wake the World represented the last gasp of the band's weathered political conscience, Letters From the Underground tackles their previous failures head-on and burns with the feeling that they must now attempt to improve the world for their children. It’s heartening that R.E.M.'s recent reawakening and the long-overdue return of Rage Against the Machine seems to have had a knock-on effect in popular culture that may yet direct the spotlight back towards this most vital of acts. Their zippiest and most consistent offering since 1995’s Zeitgeist, Letters from the Underground is exactly what long-term supporters of the band have been secretly longing for since the sonic curveball of Hello Pig and their well-intentioned but muddled subsequent output. However, to say this marks a return to form is to sell their achievements short; it's a rousing assault on apathy that for newcomers will prove as vital and exciting an introduction to the Levellers as any of their early recordings. It’s time to believe again.