ALBUM HIGHLIGHTS – “Look Down on Us”, “Born to Die”, “Break the Tension”, “Trenches”
Ahead of their 100 Club appearance this September, Maruja’s latest release, 2025’s debut album Pain to Power – following a slew of six EPs, reveals awe-inspiring experimental rock clashed with muddy yet always melodious free jazz. Eclectic would be putting it mildly. In amongst all that, there are teases of electronic, hip-hop, hardcore and indie. Eight tracks span fifty minutes in a cohesive, scuzzy symphony that explores themes of political anger, world-weary anguish, social solidarity and inner trauma.
The record begins at a far greater intensity than you might expect – most Maruja tracks are very much about eventually building up to something bigger. But it’s clear, straight off the bat, that if you had to track this record on a graph, based on its energy levels, then there’d be spikes all over the place.
Offbeat, crashing drums and downtuned guitar shape the intro of first track “Bloodsport”, as lead vocalist Harry Wilkinson’s streetwise, rap-rock spoken word comes into play – his sharp, introspective tone surprisingly reminiscent of anything between Sleaford Mods, Plan B, Avelino or 2Pac. At the chorus, a whole load of Joe Carroll’s mad sax comes wailing to the forefront and vocals transform into a shouty craze, before everything screeches to a halt. Picking back up with a trailing, ominous brass interlude, Jacob Hayes’ drums take on a tribal accent – before more driving bass and whirring keys join this hurricane of noise, changing at every twist and turn.
The first of three ten-minute pieces: “Look Down on Us” is introduced by another threatening, downtuned bass-and-guitar line. This gives space for more of Carroll’s excellent, squealing sax – relentlessly fluctuating between lighter, melodic meanderings and baritone skronk, during each descent into head-nodding, main-hook freakouts. Wilkinson’s fury is apparent, pushing his boundaries with borderline shrieks of exasperation. In time for one of the album’s first major mood shifts, the track flows into a mellower midsection. Soft guitar and shuffling drums accentuate more conventionally poetic lyrics: “Turn pain to power, put faith in love / Be firm and loyal, in yourself put trust”. The contrast is a therapeutic release. Strings reinforce the emotive passion, before another shift – this time to chugging industrial prog – with the growing suspense of Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir”. The Manchester band are at their best here, leaving listeners clueless as to where they’ll go next. You can scarcely believe ten minutes have passed, as it’s such a unique listen – just think of the end of the Stooges’ Funhouse for a similar kind of sax-based, chaotic noise-rock extension.
“Saoirse” – meaning “freedom” in Irish Gaelic – expresses solidarity with those facing displacement, in all contexts. The idea came from Carroll, who found, in his Irish grandfather’s belongings, a depiction of a soldier from a temporary (and notably brutal) Irish military division, boarding a boat from Dublin to Palestine. Its much mellower start allows space for this reflection. Sax weaves and floats throughout this mysterious, foggy piece – guitars and strings trickling in whilst inspiring lyrics get a more subdued delivery: “Wake up heaven or hell / Choices define myself / Doubt is a traitor, I can tell / Fear is my enemy, I fell / It’s our differences that make us beautiful”. Before swelling to a climax, there are moments that come just about as close as Maruja could get to conventional indie.
Continuing to audibly mirror Wilkinson’s storytelling: “Born to Die” is an existential wondering that starts sombre yet grows into the far-reaching and cathartic: “Ain’t it just terribly ironic how we’re all just born to die?”. High-pitched backing stims, ambling sax, twangy guitar, busy drums and – after a brief hush – jaunty bassline rhythms (courtesy of Matt Buonaccorsi) lead the way. It’s great to hear Wilkinson’s guitar have its piercing, electric moment, with added glitch effects. Discordant sax is quick to find its way back to the party – before a softer ending.
“Break the Tension” – a punkier, industrial number – embraces synth sound effects from the outset, like a machine whirring into life, followed by gritty commentary on powerlessness. One of the album’s heaviest beats; frenzied keys and anarchic honking hammer it all home. “Trenches” continues on that note, with steady industrial drums, blaring brass, rage-ridden lyrics coupled with hardcore shouts and spidery guitar-juddering that reminds you straight away of Rage Against the Machine’s “Bullet in the Head”.
After all that frantic energy, a utopian instrumental piece is needed, this one in the form of “Zaytoun” – Arabic for “olive tree”. Across the East Mediterranean and Southeast Asia, the olive tree is said to represent peace, strength and an intense connection to land. The final extended piece (and album closer) “Reconcile” continues to lift us into a more harmonious space. Wilkinson gives his all in the fearless vocals – a diverse instrument in their own right – and you can genuinely sense some kind of ethereal light at the end of this musical tunnel. Flowing keys follow a spiralling, hypnotic pattern, above winding brass and jangly chords. It’s no coincidence that this transcendent piece should end with the repetition of “I have no fear”, having cycled through an entire emotional spectrum on this journey.
This feels less like an album and more like some exhausting, yet dynamic and brutally honest, expedition. It’s best listened to in its entirety, allowing it to flow as one standalone symphony. After an often-frenzied first half, the subtle emotional undercurrents begin to overpower even the loudest entries – representing the transition from pain to power. Though, pain to peace feels more accurate.
It’s always a task trying to recreate this kind of thing live, but this one feels strangely doable. Maybe it’s because we already know Maruja can take crowds with them on a rollercoaster of different vibe shifts. Sure, it wanders off on major tangents – sometimes causing ideas to lose impact, and sprawling segments often feel repetitive and overextended – but for anyone who thinks sax and politics are boring, give this a listen and think again.
