The St. Pierre Snake Invasion
April 21, 2023| Dan Hillier |FEATURES
Galore: Track by Track with The St. Pierre Snake Invasion
An album of growth, self-awareness, responsibility and massive dancefloor fillers in the key of Meshuggah; the latest record from The St. Pierre Snake Invasion is as deep as it is impactful.
Even for a band committed to growth at the expense of comfort, Galore feels akin to a lunge to pastures previously unknown for the The St. Pierre Snake Invasion. The third full-length from the Bristol quintet, Galore see’s St. Pierre once again harnessing the heft and reckless abandon of acts such as Every Time I Die, The Chariot and the aforementioned Messhuggah in a way that’s distinctly themselves, yet completely new.
By taking further inspiration from the likes of Soulwax, Massive Attack and acts commonly perceived to be far flung from the chaotic hardcore stylings of their previous offerings, Galore see’s the band forgoing their previous musical iterations in order to truly animate the musings on fatherhood, violence, excess and growth that drive the record. Simply, it’s a heavy guitar album that doesn’t sound like it was made by guitars full of authentic human emotion; a musical journey down new territories that could have resulted in the act getting lost. But evidently, the band have found where exactly where they want to be with this fantastic and genuine album, and hopefully, it may influence many an act to broaden their own horizons in search of new musical avenues.
With that in mind, and with the record out today via Church Road Records, we caught up with frontman Damien Sayell to break down Galore, track by track.
Related: The St. Pierre Snake Invasion – Galore | Album Review
Kracked Velvet
“I really tried my best to condense this as much as possible. I have failed miserably, for this I apologise. You are about to be subjected to a heap of over-sentimentality, pretentiousness, terrible grammar, oversharing, and vast quantities of uncomfortable self-honesty, for this I do not apologise. God speed.
This song is many things to me, it’s a confession, an apology, a love letter, a lesson for my son, and a farewell to a version of myself that had been holding me back for the majority, and perhaps even the entirety of my life. The last line of the song is a reference to Francis Bacon slashing at his finished paintings with a knife. I think, aesthetically, we’ve done that with Galore. We’d established two distinct forms with our previous albums, destroyed them, and started over again. Continual growth through enduring the discomfort of being outside your comfort zone is one of the themes of the album, but most importantly it’s an example I want to set for my son. I’m not naturally inclined to push myself, I like an easy life, but we’ve been an ocean away from our comfort zone making this record, we still are, and we’re better for it.”
Midas
“A galaxy away from comfort. At times, we questioned if we’d ventured too far with this, but we stuck to the brief, and we’re happy we made the decision to put it on the record because we love it, because it’s brave, and because it typifies the thought process behind the album. Musically it was inspired by Isaac Hayes, Terence Trent D’Arby, Massive Attack, Edwyn Collins, and Soulwax. Lyrically, it’s about the sense of loss that I and every musician/music lover felt not being able to partake in live music during the lockdown.”
Submechano
“‘Meshuggah meets Soulwax’, admittedly, not words you’d usually find in a sentence, but words we used a lot while making the album. I think we did a decent enough job and ended up near the target, but I am willing to forgive those who suspect that we’re trying to capitalise on the recent Nu-Metal revival, for clarity, we are not. Moving swiftly on. Submechano isn’t a real word. Submechanophobia is the fear of sinking or sunken ships, it’s a real word, but a terrible name for a song. The lyrics describe a fictional submarine and its crew sinking to the bottom of the ocean. As the vessel reaches the sea bed, the crew, instead of succumbing to the unspeakable pressure, adapt to their new environment and thrive. Now let’s get real for a minute before we embark on any ‘But, they’d surely be crushed to death, no?’ Yes, they would die, they would absolutely die a horribly brutal death, of this there can be no doubt, but tell me, reader, where is the poetic metaphor for resilience in the face of adversity in that version of the song? The prosecution rests, my lord.”
Galore
“Like Submechano, this one is based around a beat that stays the same for most of the song. The idea came about from listening to lots of techno, which is of course famed for its rich diversity of rhythm. The challenge was to create segments and elevation within the song through the use of dynamics and textures, instead of changing the beat (or hitting the crash cymbal mega hard like).
It’s something we haven’t done before, it was difficult, but you know, comfort zones and that. The lyrics are about my son, and my responsibility as his father to nurture and guide him as he grows. Beyond anything else I wanted to create a beautiful, celebratory piece of music that reflected his beauty, and how grateful I am to have him in my life, and nothing says I love you like a great big, stinking, sucked backward through a wormhole riff.”
To Sleep Well
“It would be an affront to those afflicted with alcohol addiction, for me to try and claim that I am one of them. But, it would be fair to say that it’s always been extremely difficult for me to stop that train once it’s left the station. So much so that it’s impacted my marriage, my job, and my health. I saw myself and those with whom I shared the wee hours, as renegades committed to squeezing out every ounce of sensation that life had to offer, as the only people who were truly alive. But, in truth, I was lost, self-centred, and using excess to shy away from a reality I wasn’t ready or willing to confront – my unremarkableness. To Sleep Well, is me realising, with help of my wife, that I’d been trying to fill a hole with emptiness, and that being Damien the husband, dad, and office manager is more than enough.”
Every Sun
“A song about time. How much we have, waste, and what we choose to fill it with. Szack (our guitarist), who has two children, once told me how having kids really made him aware of his own mortality. That one day he’d been gone, and they’d still be here, and that his job was to prepare them to be able to flourish in the world after he’d left it. I’m a dad now, and I get it, and so everything I do, every example I try to set, the way in which I live my life, the love I put into the world, and the art I create to show that I am and was once alive, is all for my son to see how full and rich a life he can live. (and to acquire endorsements from manufacturers of world-class musical equipment, I’m looking at you Fender – call me, babes)”
The Overlook
“There wasn’t a lot to do during the lockdown. I spent a lot of time staring at the ceiling getting lost in memories. I watched a lot of videos about Stanley Kubrick and The Shining. The Overlook draws parallels between that story and how I was experiencing the world. Stuck in isolation with my family, trying to write my new ‘work’, feeling like I was losing touch with reality – not wanting to kill my wife and child with an axe though, just to be clear. In the Shining, Jack Torrance eventually succumbs to the ghosts of the hotel, and at times I felt like I was in danger of becoming stuck in the past instead of being focused on creating new moments, and new memories.”
Apex Prey
“I guess you could say that most of these songs in essence are about growing up, but Apex Prey is all about maturing. ‘You count your blessings, I count the days’ is a lyric I wrote in my late teens, one I was never able to fit into a song. It was originally about missing my father when he worked abroad (counting the days until he came home). In my early thirties, it took a new meaning, and it represented envy I had towards people who were living a life I longed for (counting the days until it was my turn to have what I felt I deserved). In Apex Prey it’s about my son having to stay in hospital for a week from birth, with covid restrictions in place that meant I could only see him for two hours a day (counting the days until he came home). The line itself has stayed the same, but has grown with me from being the thoughts of a son to the thoughts an arrogant man-child, to the thoughts of a mature(ish) father. I love the sort of cyclical element to it, and how the line eventually found a home as I eventually found humility.”
That There’s Fighting Talk
“I talk about violence too much. Aged 5 or 6, two older boys held a knife to my throat and forced me to burgle a house. That sense of fear and helplessness has been present whenever I’ve been in physical confrontations, and although I haven’t been in anywhere near as many as some of the people I grew up with, I’ve been in enough. Enough to be stained by them, enough to feel shame when I didn’t stand my ground, enough to be haunted by the times that I hurt people when I did, enough that as an adult it’s still difficult for me to regulate my emotions when faced with the smallest of infringements. Enough to know that when a conversation turns to the topic of violence and I begin to hold court, I’m trying to communicate to others that I can’t be made to feel helpless and fearful anymore, which is obviously nonsense. The song, sorry, the song. It’s about recognising and being honest about all of this to ensure that my son doesn’t inherit my emotional instability – the perfect topic for a dancefloor filler, right?”
I Pray to Liars
“The music industry wants you maimed, riddled with addiction, suffering, or damaged. It wants to package your trauma and bring it to market, it wants you to blow your fucking brains out, because that’s what the good ones do, the interesting ones, the vital ones, the ones they claim changed everything, but didn’t change a thing, the troubled ones, the tortured ones, the dangerous ones, the deviant ones, the ones who perpetuate the mistreatment of women in music and beyond, the ones who’ll live forever, the ones who’ll sell forever – fuck it all. This is an album about being a role model. I want my son to listen to it one day and see that I was trying to show him that it’s ok to take risks, and make mistakes, because growth is only possible when you’re honest and when you’re challenging yourself, and I hope that if and when young aspiring musicians hear this album or read this waffle that they understand that you don’t have to be broken to create art.”
