It’s been a minute, (four years, to be exact) since Biffy Clyro last released an album, but they’ve returned with Futique, and it hits in all the right ways.
I’ve been Biffy fan since Only Revolutions an album I played obsessively in my car back in the day, but I’ll admit, their last couple of albums left me a little less enamoured. They drifted from the core sound that first drew me in: the raw, live-wire energy of a band that felt just as comfortable on a festival stage as they did in your headphones. So hearing Futique dive back into that space is more than refreshing, it’s electrifying.
From the very first track, A Little Love, it’s clear that the guitars are back front and centre. The riffs are bold, layered, and energetic, exactly what Biffy do best. There’s a sense that this album wasn’t laboured over in a polished studio vacuum, but rather born out of the band just getting in a room and jamming until it clicked. Obviously, it’s more refined than that – they’ve been doing this for decades – but that raw edge is there. It feels instinctive, like muscle memory.
Simon Neil’s vocals are the beating heart of the album. His throaty, impassioned delivery carries every track, whether it’s charging through a wall of guitars or cutting through the quiet. There’s a renewed focus here: the songs are built around his voice, not just with it. That emotional intensity shines especially on the stripped-back Goodbye, which is an absolute standout. It gave me goosebumps. I genuinely think I’d cry if I heard it live.
But don’t mistake “raw” for unpolished, Futique is beautifully produced. There’s a clarity in how the songs are structured: dynamic layers that support the vocals, clever builds, and a sense of space that lets the emotion breathe. It’s an album that understands when to go full throttle and when to pull back. That balance is what gives it so much impact.
What really excites me is how Futique feels made for live performance. This isn’t just a studio album, it’s rock music that demands a crowd, a stage, and a sweat-drenched mosh pit. Listening to it, I feel 23 again – shouting lyrics at the top of my lungs, elbow-to-elbow with strangers at a festival. (Sure, I still do that now, but there’s something about the way this album captures that feeling.)
I usually wrap these posts up with a list of my favourite tracks, but this time I won’t. I love the whole album. Every track. It’s a sound I didn’t even realise I was missing until I heard it again. In a time where everyone seems so eager to declare the death of the guitar band, Biffy Clyro are here to remind us that it’s very much alive, and still capable of making your heart race.
Listen to the album here.