From Melbourne, Amyl and the Sniffers carried a gust of raw punk rock into the turn of the decade, embodied by the volcanic energy of singer Amy Taylor. After two albums that raised them to the rank of international sensation, the Australian quartet deliver in Cartoon Darkness a more ambitious record, in which the fury of the origins opens onto new textures and a graver subject.
The critics, enthusiastic (an 84 average across eleven reviews), hail a maturation without renunciation. The band tackle climate anxiety, digital overload, the uncertainty of a youth ordered to live in the shadow of catastrophe. The press praises the way Amy Taylor combines insolence and vulnerability, never sacrificing the bite that made her reputation.
Musically, Cartoon Darkness widens the palette: to the pub-rock firebrands of the early days are added ballads, melodic breathers, more elaborate arrangements. The broader production gains relief without smothering the urgency. The band prove they can slow down without going soft, add nuance without diluting themselves.
This broadening has its downside: in seeking variety, the album loses in places the blazing concision that was its predecessors’ strength. A few tracks stretch out, and the listener nostalgic for the initial chaos may regret a certain taming of the beast.
Verdict: 8.5/10. A rich, courageous record that sees Amyl and the Sniffers grow without betraying themselves — the mark of bands destined to last.
