Embrace Biffy Clyro’s Infinity Land as a prog album

Ben Johnston, Simon Neil and James Johnston of Biffy Clyro (Photo by David Lodge/FilmMagic)

(Image credit: Getty Images)

From their earliest days, Ayrshire’s Biffy Clyro always had an endearing edge of oddness that set them apart from their peers on the early-00s UK rock scene.

But while debut album Blackened Sky was stuffed with post-hardcore anthems, and follow-up The Vertigo Of Bliss combined musical innovation with punk rage (they recorded it in a single day, in an outpouring of wild creativity), third release Infinity Land truly allowed them to spread their wings and fully embrace their prog side.

Brilliantly ambitious yet in keeping with their upward trajectory, it’s the sound of a band pushing their own boundaries, testing the limits of imagination and daring their audience to follow them into stranger territories.

Conceptually, it comes from a place of darkness. The land of the title is a reference to serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer’s idea of paradise – a corpse-strewn horror show from a crazed and evil mind.

What unfolds is a sprawling, unpredictable journey that blends beauty with brutality, dreamy exhilaration with extreme violence, as witnessed on Wave Upon Wave Upon Wave, in which frontman Simon Neil’s sudden and volcanic lyrical realisation that he’s holding a blood-covered knife is followed by a blissed-out section of musical euphoria that’s creepy and sublime in equal measure.

Wave Upon Wave Upon Wave - YouTube

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Every time it seems their direction is clear, the rug is swiftly pulled away. The towering opener Glitter And Trauma marches in on a pulsing alt-metal disco beat before exploding into a tsunami of a riff, jerking and twitching one minute, soothing and beautiful the next.

Time signatures are there to be toyed with – the album’s heaviest track, There’s No Such Thing As A Jaggy Snake (a screeched live favourite for many years) may speak of punk roots; but its tricksy, partial 5/4 time signature comes from a place of deep sonic exploration and reveals drummer Ben Johnston as a master of his craft.

A queasy reggae groove runs through the start of My Recovery Injection courtesy of bassist James Johnston – but the song twists like an eel, Neil’s signature oddball riffs wriggling all over it. Elsewhere, acapella three-part harmonies up the creep factor further.

There’s a bullish, bloody-minded determination to challenge the listener even in the moments of heightened delight, and it’s an ever-evolving joy to immerse oneself in. Even after two decades, this record sounds as box fresh and utterly unique as it did the moment it was released – Biffy simply don’t sound like anyone else on the planet.

It was their last album for indie label Beggars Banquet. The big time on Warners was just around the corner, and follow- up Puzzle catapulted them into the mainstream. Bigger audiences demanded bigger choruses.

And while they’ve always kept that inherent oddness that made them so special, it’s celebrated most vociferously on Infinity Land, which remains a prog work of art that’s treasured dearly by long-term fans.

Emma has been writing about music for 25 years, and is a regular contributor to Classic Rock, Metal Hammer, Prog and Louder. During that time her words have also appeared in publications including Kerrang!, Melody Maker, Select, The Blues Magazine and many more. She is also a professional pedant and grammar nerd and has worked as a copy editor on everything from film titles through to high-end property magazines. In her spare time, when not at gigs, you’ll find her at her local stables hanging out with a bunch of extremely characterful horses.

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