Dry, clean, postpunk wit from South London, by Kurt Gottschalk

The Gang of Four revivalism of the early naughts got one thing terribly wrong. Bloc Party, Franz Ferdinand and their ilk did a reasonable enough job at aping the angular punk-funk sound, but lacked the rigidity. They weren’t fierce. They weren’t disciplined. They seemed to want to have a good time.

A generation later, London’s Dry Cleaning is out to reclaim the terrain. The band made a quick splash over in Blighty in 2018 with their first single, “Magic of Meghan.” Florence Prince’s lyrics, written the day she and her partner broke up and Prince Harry announced his engagement to Meghan Markle, may have proven more prophetic than she imagined at the time: “Messages from the public: Thank you for all you’re doing, we love you,” she intoned over an angular groove. “You’re just what England needs, you’re going to change us.”

After a couple of self-released EPs the following year, the band found a fitting home at 4AD—the British label behind albums by the likes of Blonde Redhead, Gang Gang Dance and St. Vincent—and a perfect producer in the form of longtime PJ Harvey producer and bandmate John Parish.

The result in New Long Leg. The band’s first full-length (out April 2 on vinyl, CD and download) is a propulsive 42 minutes with the knife-edge guitar of Tom Dowse slicing through the tight rhythm section of bassist Lewis Maynard and drummer Nick Buxton. But Shaw is always at center, deadly serious, reciting texts—as much monologues as they are verses—that manage to be focused and specific yet oddly ambiguous. “Do everything and feel nothing,” she repeats in lead single and lead track “Scratchcard Lanyard,” then, “I’ve come here to make a ceramic shoe and I’ve come to smash what you made / I’ve come to learn how to mingle / I’ve come to learn how to dance / I’ve come to join the knitting circle,” in a monotone like every day is doomsday, like she doesn’t care if you believe her. It isn’t until the album’s seventh song, “More Big Birds,” that she sings anything, and then it’s just a wordless sequence of “da da da” before returning to a soliloquy about being on top of household chores while feeling like her brain is no longer her own. It would almost feel as if she were mocking you for expecting her to sing a song just because she’s in a band, but it’s more like she doesn’t even notice you’re in the room. New Long Leg is a big, loud shiver.

Forty-two years ago, Gang of Four put distorted guitar over driving beats and sang about feeling alienated at the discotheque, feeling like a tourist at home. Dry Cleaning isn’t any more likely just to go out and have a good time, but they might be a bit more resigned to the dire inevitability of other people.