Track Listing

1. Reflection Of The Television
2. I Became A Prostitute
3. Seven Years Of Letters
4. Made To Disappear
5. Scissors
6. Room, The
7. That Birthday Present
8. Floorboards Under The Bed
9. Interrupted
10. Neighbours Can't Breathe, The
11. At The Burnside

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #2380 in Music
• Released on: 2009-10-05
• Number of discs: 1
• Format: CD
• Dimensions: .11 pounds

CD Description
'Forget The Night Ahead' is the follow up to The Twilight Sad's well received 2007 debut, 'Fourteen Autumns & Fifteen Winters'. The Scots cite their own homeland as a major influence and join the long list of fellow countrymen to break thepopular music scene such as Mogwai and Biffy Clyro. The second release comprises a darker tone than the previous effort, merging bleak lyrics and soaring layered melodies to create an intense follow up.

Customer Reviews

The soundtrack to your own personal nightmare
The first few minutes of Forget the Night Ahead; stentorian drumming, rumbling bass and James Graham's world weary vocal, freighted with existential angst, immediately evoke the spectre of albums like Joy Division's Closer and The Cure's Pornography, and those are handy reference points for this similarly uncompromising monolith.

I read recently that Graham sees his lyrics as occupying a folk tradition of storytelling, but like Interpol's Paul Banks or the National's Matt Berninger, his writing is literary while being tantalisingly oblique, yet unquestionably dark. Forget... is full of allusions to transgressions and the guilt that accompanies them, but the exact nature of those traumas is left to the listener's imagination. To me, this is an almost overpoweringly bleak record, but then maybe I'm just projecting. In a sense, Graham only gives you the rope, and it's up to you if you hang yourself. Whatever, he's still a fantastically evocative writer, and a tremendously compelling singer if you don't object to his thick Scottish brogue (which I don't).

The other unquestionable star here is Andy MacFarlane's guitar, from which he squeezes a bewildering sonic spectrum; a guitar hasn't sounded as much like a chill wind as it does on Seven Years of Letters, or a roaring inferno as it does during the crescendo of At the Burnside, since Kevin Shields last committed his genius to disc. He's also capable of matching Graham's confrontational intensity every inch of the way, creating a ear-bleeding din that's enough to send you scurrying for cover.

As you can probably gather, a feel good album this ain't, but I'll leave the last word of caution to Graham himself: "If you're looking for a record with a lot of hope and happy songs then f**k off". Indeed.