e latest postcard from e Chills' epic journey is an album about "consolidation, re-grouping, acceptance
and mortality," claims the chief Chill. "Hopefully a kind of Carole King 'Tapestry' for ageing punks."
Wow! Are rock bands allowed to grow old gracefully and assess the world's and their shortcomings in the
process? Is it possible to swerve the obvious and make something that's bittersweet in tone but harmonious
on the ear? Of course it is.
On Snow Bound lost heroes are lamented, relationships are re-evaluated, atonement is sought, mortality
is mulled over and fake news is undercut. It's serious stu , the thoughts of a dysfunctional 50-something
wrestling with maturity and discovering that their post-punk DIY beliefs still have a real voice that resonates
between the fans of their early years and which can now pass down to the next generation.
Casting our minds back, we can recall that e Guardian mused, " ey sound almost like the musical
embodiment of autumn," when confronted with Silver Bullets. ree years on, Snow Bound nestles heartily
in its own winter of discontent. And all this with a humalong melodic verve, Phillipps' gi for the tempered
dalliance of verse and chorus and those gorgeous euphoric organ lls. Let the soul-searching commence.
