Humour – Pure Misery

Compelling songwriting for uncertain times...

Humour takes many forms – dark, satirical, slapstick, and sarcasm. However, five boys from Glasgow are redefining Humour as we know it. Leadman Andreas Christodoulidis’ unique delivery doesn’t fit with conventional ideas of singing, so to speak. His is more of a unique brand of narration, strained and angst ridden. Their debut EP, ‘Pure Misery’ is not necessarily what the title suggests. It is a series of tales including some of the banalities of life, such as getting an MOT. Opener ‘Yeah Mud’ has a sense of childish freedom intertwined with a degree of nihilism. The juxtaposition is thrilling, as you bounce along with Christodoulidis’ infectious enthusiasm. 

With that enthusiasm coursing through your veins, Humour then lead you down an unexpected path. Through a strangled, frustrated voice comes the refrain ‘I gotta tell you something’. It feels as though ‘Yeah Mud’ was the fun, catchy attention grabbing tune, ensuring the band’s audience is sufficiently hooked to listen to the more pressing message being conveyed in ‘Pure Misery’. Andreas continues on in an almost drowning, stupefied yet determined tone, telling his listeners that he’s ‘the one with the band, mannn’, an attempt at finding pride and identity in a saturated world. No doubt it’s a sentiment shared by hundreds of front men, yet Humour are the ones bringing it front and centre, delivered in a way that drives a stake through the heart, planting a seed in the mind of the listener, enveloped by that oh-so memorable voice. 

Tropes of banality infused with meaning permeate the rest of the EP, particularly in the case of ‘Dogs’ and ‘Jeans’, while ‘Alive And Well’ deals with that eternal issue of being a pleaser, yet despite his best efforts, “everyone is pissed off me…” Lastly, ‘Good Boys Remember Well’ is erratic in its narrative, jumping from seemingly unlinked thought to thought, perhaps a reflection of the uncertainty of youth, not knowing which path to try and take, let alone which paths are open to young Glaswegian men trying to make something stick in the music industry. It’s an honest, clear while clogged, succinct while scattergun approach, and something about it simply works. A compelling, confusing, relatable and somewhat apt set of narratives for these most uncertain of times. 


Words: Milo Wasserman

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