Divorce – Drive to Goldenhammer

Indie Rock | Alternative Country | Art Rock

85%

 

Though we’re nearing only the halfway mark of 2025, I still find myself occasionally thinking ahead to my upcoming end of year lists. Pretty regularly in fact; I have a memory like a sieve, so if I don’t keep noting down all my favourite releases while they’re fresh in my mind I’m liable to forget them when it comes time to reflect on the past year. There are always a few records that stay relavent by luring me back in for another listen, but for the most part time marches on and there’s a constant stream of new music to dive in to.

The few that stand out as the best releases of the year, usually instil a buzz of excitement in me. It’s something so fresh and exciting that it takes over part of my brain. Any time when I’m not actively listening to it I’m thinking about listening to it. I envisage all the memories I’ll make with this music as the soundtrack, all the ways I’ll subtly change as a person as a result of this piece of art touching my soul. I want to shout about it from the rooftops, tell everyone I know what I’ve found. It feels like falling in love. The butterflies in your stomach, the racing heart, the smile that just keeps sneaking up on you, the hopeful flame flickering within that whispers “maybe this is the start of something special“. 

I didn’t get that feeling when listening to Drive to Goldenhammer. There’s a lot to love about this record, plenty to be excited about, and a brilliant debut album such as this should absolutely feel like the start of something special. The more time I spend with Nottingham quartet Divorce, the more my head tells me I’m listening to one of the best records of 2025 – even though my heart isn’t aflutter the way I’d expect it to be. The interplay of the two vocalists – Tiger Cohen-Towell’s soft twang and Felix Mackenzie-Barrow’s deep brooding tone – in particular is a real highlight throughout. Doubling down on the record’s philosophy of contrast and eclecticism. We hear it time and again; in ‘Antarctica’s blend of breezy indie melodies and old school country fiddle, in how the sparse haunting folk of ‘Karen’ builds towards a face melting alt rock climax, in how the chorus of ‘Jet Show’ is able to flit between melody and menace on a whim. 

Tracks like ‘Parachuter’ and ‘Old Broken String’ explore the band’s subdued and introspective side, the former drawing from the likes of Phoebe Bridgers with the latter leaning more into Americana. Meanwhile the album’s ambitious opus ‘Pill’ takes you on an ever shifting journey through glitchy electronics, distorted guitars, stripped back piano balladry and chill breezy indie vibes. The album sets out a musical buffet to suit all tastes, to the point where the tracks that make up Goldenhammer‘s holy trinity of highlights feel like they could’ve come from three different bands. Graduating from the Biffy Clyro school of ridiculous lyrics that somehow become inescapable earworms (“I’m a seahorse, and I need a little sugar“), ‘Lord’ is a dark (sea)horse contender for song of the year. The whimsical, off-kilter slowdance of ‘Fever Pitch’ lands somewhere between The Last Dinner Party and Cindy Lee’s Diamond Jubilee, offering a kind of distorted nostalgia akin to a corrupted, glitchy home video. Meanwhile the fun drum beat and massive MGMT style synths of ‘All My Freaks’ combine to form a near perfect summer anthem. 

Despite pulling me in so many different directions, these stylistic shifts don’t feel like rug pulls or plunges into the unknown. Goldenhammer doesn’t deliver the thrill of falling in love, instead it feels more like the comfort and familiarity of someone you’ve loved half your life. The point where you’ve seen every side of them – the wit and glamour, all their quirks and foibles, sick as a parrot, in floods of tears, all of it. Even the ones we love most still drive us up the wall occasionally though, and here is no exception. The record loses a bit of steam at the end, fizzling out on a pair of filler tracks, and the lyrics feel pretty consistently abstract and impenetrable throughout. These little quibbles aren’t what’s keeping the butterflies at bay though. Divorce’s debut doesn’t spark that fresh buzz of excitement in me, because it doesn’t feel like finding something new to love; it feels like listening to something I’ve already loved for ages and didn’t even know it.