Review

Dominic Harrison has never been accused of subtlety. The Doncaster lad who trades under the moniker Yungblud has spent the better part of a decade weaponising his restless energy into increasingly frenetic bursts of alt-rock fury. But with his fourth studio album, Idols, the 27-year-old takes his most audacious swing yet—and largely connects. This is almost a new start by design, with Harrison diving headfirst into the expanses of Britpop and 2000s British indie. The result is a record that feels both familiar and startlingly fresh, a "rock opera double album" that charts the psychological terrain of hero worship and self-discovery with theatrical aplomb. The album opens with the nine-minute opus "Hello Heaven, Hello", which blends rock and orchestral sounds with strong, emotional vocals. It's a statement of intent that immediately signals this isn't your typical Yungblud affair. Gone are the sugar-rush pop-punk salvos; in their place is something altogether more considered, more emotionally invested. Harrison's voice—a piercing yelp that exists somewhere between Gerard Way's wail and Brian Molko's sneer—remains his most potent weapon, but here it's deployed with greater nuance. The album's central thesis, as Harrison explains it, concerns "turning to others for an identity before turning to ourselves", and this internal wrestling match provides the emotional backbone for some genuinely affecting moments. The production, helmed entirely by Matt Schwartz, is notably more expansive than previous efforts. More emotional and theatrical compared to his usual loud, pop-punk style, it allows Harrison's more ambitious songwriting to breathe. This is particularly evident on tracks like "Change", where vulnerability and bombast collide in ways that feel genuinely earned rather than manufactured. What's most striking about Idols is how it manages to retain Yungblud's core identity whilst pushing into genuinely new territory. The spirit of Yungblud will never get old, but Harrison has clearly matured as both a songwriter and performer. The album's conceptual ambitions—exploring themes of self-belief and personal evolution—feel less like posturing and more like genuine artistic growth. It's not without its indulgences. At times, the theatrical elements threaten to overwhelm the songs themselves, and Harrison's maximalist tendencies occasionally blur the line between epic and overblown. But these are minor quibbles with what is ultimately a bold, successful reinvention. Idols represents Yungblud at his most ambitious and, crucially, his most successful. It's a record that demands attention, rewards patience, and suggests that Harrison's best work may well lie ahead. In an era of increasingly disposable pop-rock, this feels like something built to last.

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