EP HIGHLIGHTS – “Tongue”, “Where Is Gone?”, “You Miss Me”, “Japan”
If you’ve been here from the start, Fontaines D.C. will always conjure up gritty, political poetry and clashing, driving rhythms. Third album Skinty Fia, the defining breakthrough moment and fan favourite, gave them their first number one record in the UK and Ireland in 2022 – but can they improve on 2024’s commercially reaching pop masterpiece Romance?
For the last two years, blunt spoken word and jagged guitars have taken a backseat to dreamy, 80s-style synths and pulsing, bass-heavy melodies. Released on 16th October, Dopamine Chamber takes this even further. It’s by far the most musically and lyrically experimental we’ve seen them, as themes explore digital addiction, anxiety, toxic coping mechanisms in dystopian societies, the rise of AI and the eventual end of it all.
Frontman Grian Chatten recalled band discussions after the last LP: “Do we reinvent ourselves? Do a rootsy album, take another left turn, or continue to pursue whatever this was with Romance? It felt like we had more to say in that area.” Even the artwork shows a clear evolution from the mutation pictured on Romance’s cover. But, where Romance comforted us, Dopamine Chamber forces us to dwell on the darkness and deconstruct its inner meaning. The lads weren’t short of inspiration for material to reflect today’s train-wreck world, Chatten continued: “There was a lot of bad news around the time the album was written, (…) that renders a sense of hopelessness. You really feel your own insignificance or ineffectiveness. I wanted the album to feel like the end of the world a little bit.”
Chugging synthwave opener “Six Shot Morning” gets us thinking about Silicon Valley and how once-freeing technological advancements have quickly warped into new potentials and realities that just don’t sit right. It’s exactly how you’d imagine the infamous Valley might sound, were you to lift it from San Francisco Bay and launch it into outer space. Though his typically unfiltered, unmistakable native accent is a mainstay, Chatten’s vocals have taken on a reverbed, brooding baritone full of despondence.
We were first introduced to lead single “Marianne” back in August: darkwave synthpop full of hazy, cinematic mystery. It’s radio-ready and leaves you no problem recalling it, yet it’s far gloomier than many would realise, centring in on the dangers of the appeal of escapism. With depression and detachment increasingly common in the modern world, it questions whether our obsession with immediate gratification is slowly making us lose the ability to truly experience life and feel emotions.
In the same spirit, is “Mimesis” (you weren’t the only one who googled the word). Coming from the Ancient Greek “mimos” – to act or mimic – it refers to the imitation of the physical world and social behaviours. “Marianne” and “Mimesis” feel like twins, though the latter is the stronger of the two. There’s that central theme of isolation again, as the narrator describes going through the motions in life and relationships – having done everything they told themselves they needed to do to achieve happiness: “You feel like something in your head is dead inside for real / Well, everybody’s depressed, we’re running on a wheel”. Leaning more on the darkwave end of the scale, it’s got jangling, melodic bass joined by sweeping, spectral synths – but with pop at its core. At times, it’s dreamlike, but, like “Marianne”, takes a tragic tangent rather than a magical one, hinting wilful delusion with lines like: “Your indifference won’t make me disappear” and “If you’re a star, shine on me / If you’re not, let me be”.
Though the post-punk, synth-driven era is a success, it’s a relief to finally hear a wall of guitars (albeit briefly) through the latter half of “Happy For You”. Coming to terms with loss, separation and death, it homes in especially on the latter: marking the recent passing of Fontaines’ long-time manager Trevor Dietz, just after the album’s completion – and to whom it’s dedicated.
Picking back up with “Demolition”: this is classic Fontaines that occasionally flirts with old-school Kasabian – but with a far greater sense of doom and appreciation for grunge. Despite being written about toxic dependency, it feels the most enlightening number. Light but raw guitar pairs with poetically craggy rhythms and accented vocals to later balance introductions of subtle electronic textures and clattering industrial percussion.
“Tongue” is a bizarre track. It’s unconventional – even for Fontaines. It feels, at first, like it’s about to let the record down with occasional chipmunked pitch shifts, but, by the end, develops into a strangely sophisticated musical arrangement. Expect grooving bass runs from Conor Deegan, drummer Tom Coll’s muted trip-hop snares, slowed trippy reverb, downhill piano chimes and barely contained guitar frays.
In some kind of life-flashes-before-your-eyes moment, “One Man” begins with the sound of distant playground chatter, evolving into sparse synths and stripped-back strings. Deeply weathered, Chatten initially carries the weight of the narrator – who has failed someone but gradually excuses themselves until there’s no longer any guilt. Ending with a full-circle return to the sounds of children, it’s as though we’d stepped through some alternative, Lynchian vortex, and have just returned.
An unlikely collab with big-time avant-pop singer ROSALÍA, “Where Is Gone?” shouldn’t work, but, weirdly, does. Trading lines with Chatten on verses, her breathy baroque vocals add sensitivity, with duet choruses probably fooling most into thinking it’s just a sophisticated love ballad, fit for a James Bond movie. Though, there are still strongly dystopian leanings, right from the opening few lines, “The face you pull with pervert lines / The perfect way to say “I love you” / On a rainy day in my head” and right up to the chorus: “Until I called ‘Baby, if it’s real / There’s no way I’m going back to how I feel’”. Here, acoustic amblings and sleepy synths grow into a cinematic, orchestral landscape of rising drums and stirring strings. As it draws to a close, “So, where is gone and why don’t I know?” asks Chatten, pointing to grief, separation and numbness. The final line reminds that pain and sadness are all part of lived human experience, even if they hurt: “It’s just the start of another show to hurt you / And make you feel alive”.
Of all the cuts, “You Miss Me” is the one sounding closest to anything from Romance, from the goth-rock guitar intro to the off-kilter trip-hop drumbeat. It’s also the most sinister of the bunch, thanks to unsettling, needling strings. Revisiting unhealthy relationships: “You’re messing with feelings you don’t have / So pick me up with your smile / That comes right out of my pocket”, it suggests one person’s happiness at the other’s expense.
The standout, and perhaps the most cathartically tragic track you’ve heard in a while, “Japan” is a wash of melted melancholy. Telling the story of a character that does all the legwork with no reciprocation, it’s delivered with that same kitchen-sink realism heard from Oasis on the likes of “Bonehead’s Bank Holiday” and “She’s Electric”, on (What’s the Story) Morning Glory?. Delving into delusion and denial – it quickly evolves into dissociation. The refrain asks “Why d’you go and make it real?”, a sign they’re finally admitting to themself that their dream, or what they thought they wanted, has disappointed them and left them even unhappier than before.
By now, you notice how blunt many of the outros are, maybe signalling abrupt departures from these blended realities – like ripping off a plaster.
Closer “Intimate” feels a natural continuation, with overwhelming hints at desperation, infatuation and obsession. You get a sense the narrator has lacked intimacy for so long that they’re now hindered with a clinical approach. Searching for closeness and never truly finding it in surface-level connections, the plodding, main-hook repetition of “Dying and dying and dead” seems a direct result of the dystopian characteristics the modern world is adopting. Other clues, at various points: “Floating city, there’s no ending to the decadence / The type of step that takes you far away from true romance”, remind of how the opening track described the negatives of new technology as outweighing all positives.
There are obvious stylistic differences between early Fontaines and where they’re at now, but their enduring themes of unrest and disillusionment are bolder than ever in this entry. Success never feels like a major focus factor for the Dublin boys. Their creative flow hasn’t dried up – this isn’t simply Romance 2.0. Though, one thing it does feel like they’re struggling with is their growing widespread popularity. Maybe they themselves are guilty of leaning into escapism with their own experimentation. Dopamine Chamber is best served while overthinking at nighttime in the dark.
