THE FRONT ROW

Four albums deep and The Amazons have finally stepped into the void. 21st Century Fiction isn’t just their darkest record to date, it’s their most complete, most cinematic, and most important. This is the sound of a band done with pretending, done with playing the part, and done with the myth of masculinity that’s haunted so many of their contemporaries.

It opens with a gut-punch: Living A Lie, the first single from last year, which now reveals itself as the mission statement. A brooding riff, heavy as the pressure that frontman Matt Thomson describes throughout the record, lays the foundation for a lyrical dive into performative identity and disillusionment. The sheen of early Amazons swagger has worn off, but what’s underneath is far more gripping.

The album plays like a journey through a modern male psyche unraveling in real time. And like any good mind maze, there are diversions and dream sequences. The short interlude (Panic) is the first left turn, 25 seconds of Muse-worthy chants that build into Pitch Black, a snarling beast of a track that fuses desert rock with industrial menace. You can hear the fingerprints of producer Pete Hutchings (Foals, Royal Blood) all over it: gritty, tight, and layered with tension.

That sense of cinematic scale carries into My Blood, produced by Royal Blood’s Mike Kerr and featuring Ben Thatcher on drums. It’s colossal. There’s a punch to the mix that makes it feel like a festival set closer, but lyrically it’s wounded and vulnerable. That duality, power and pain, echoes across the entire album.

There are moments of chaos (Night After Night), moments of righteous fury (Joe Bought a Gun), and moments of devastating clarity (Heaven Now). But the glue between these moments are the interludes: (Shake Me Down) and (Intermission). These aren’t filler, they’re essential world-building. Intermission in particular is stunning: strings, echoes, and an almost Bond-like suspense that gently transitions into the sorrow-soaked Joe Bought a Gun, a searing commentary on violence that shows the band stepping well beyond their indie rock roots into political and emotional terrain.

What’s brave about 21st Century Fiction isn’t just the sonic experimentation or the moody atmospheres. It’s the honesty. This is a record that ditches the bravado for brutal reflection. You hear it in Wake Me Up, a track that snarls with Jack White energy but underneath is begging for relief. You hear it in Love is a Dog From Hell, where the title alone tells you everything you need to know about its worldview: desire laced with damage.

The standout moment might just be Go All The Way. Placed as the album closer, it’s quietly immense, a slow-burning ballad that reaches skyward without ever sounding forced. It’s the final exhale after 13 tracks of internal battle. And it leaves you with a sense of fragile hope. Not resolution, but acceptance.

Across 21st Century Fiction, Thomson writes like a man reckoning with a version of himself he no longer recognises. The pressure to be the perfect frontman, the perfect partner, the perfect man, it’s all under the knife here. You get the sense these songs had to be written. Not for Spotify algorithms or festival slots, but for survival. And in doing so, they become deeply resonant for anyone who’s stood in the mirror and wondered why they haven’t turned out like the men they were told to become.

Production-wise, this is The Amazons’ best work to date. Catherine Marks returns on a few key singles (Night After Night, Love is a Dog From Hell) and brings that tight, polished chaos she’s known for. But it’s the decision to hand the reins over to Hutchings for the rest that really pays off. There’s breathing space, dynamic range, and a sense that the band isn’t trying to be anything but itself.

21st Century Fiction doesn’t chase trends. It doesn’t aim for TikTok virality. It’s built to last. This is a band growing up, publicly, painfully, and beautifully.

So, where do The Amazons go from here? If this is the sound of them breaking down, then we can only hope the rebuild is just as raw, just as bold, and just as honest. Because this, this right here, is their masterpiece.

Front Row Verdict: One of the most complete British rock records of the decade. Put your headphones on, clear 45 minutes, and don’t skip a thing.