As of 2020, rhythm guitarist and vocalist Kele Okereke and lead guitarist Russell Lissack are the two remaining founding members of the English rock band, Bloc Party. It may be hard to classify them as a rock band these days, however, as their musical arrangements lean in a much more electronic and atmospheric direction, forgoing their former guitar driven sound that mixed element of punk, indie, funk and dance. But back in 2005, when drummer Matt Tong and bassist Gordon Moakes were still in the band, they released one of the most exciting and highly acclaimed debut album in modern English music history.
They were able to successfully weave ideas of love, politics, mental health and sexuality together, while delivering these messages over rock music that shared the tempo and overall vibe of house music. It was unique and explosive; Much more assured of itself than most debut records are. It was such a splendid pairing of emotional and musical ideas that it eventually went platinum and found itself on countless year end lists of 2005, including being named Album of the Year by English music outlet NME. This landmark album is called Silent Alarm.
Over the course of the 13 tracks, Kele and the rest of Bloc Party take us on a sort of emotional odyssey; One that feels rooted in the coming-of-age experiences that many people have in their mid-20’s. At various times, it’s tender, explosive, angry, despondent and just about every emotion in between. It hits that perfect early 2000’s level of emotion, flirting with melodrama that could come off as a bit corny, childish, or over the top if it wasn’t for the entrancing performances by every member of the band that feel incredibly genuine and rooted in real experience.
If there are moments that feel immature, that’s because they are an honest reflection of what a real person would feel in many of these situations. Not every single issue can be dealt with the tact of someone who has seen it all. When your first relationship fails, or when you first experience a major loss, there isn’t just a single textbook way to respond or process those emotions.
A perfect example of this idea is the incredible opener to the album, “Like Eating Glass.” This track deftly and poetically explores the feelings of being in a relationship as it is clearly falling apart. Instrumentally, we get an introduction to Tong’s relentless and unceasingly impressive drums, as Kele and Lissack’s swirling guitars sync up perfectly with Moakes’ off kilter bassline.
Lyrically, as I mentioned above, we get introduced to Kele’s grasp of poetic imagery. He sings in his expressive yelp, “It’s so cold in this house/ Open mouth swallowing us/ The children sent home from school/ Will not stop crying.” As the two lovers drift apart, the relationship has become cold and loveless, resulting in being swallowed and overwhelmed with emotion. This overload of emotion leads to a childlike reaction of crying response to being so disoriented by this seemingly new, awful set of circumstances.
The rest of the verse sees Kele, or the subject, doing their best to keep the spark alive, but you can only do so much when the other half of the relationship has emotionally checked out already. He repeats the lines about being cold, to the point where it may be literal, as if his emotions are so immense that they are being manifested in reality:
“And I know that you’re busy, do I know that you care?
You got your finger on the pulse, you got your eyes everywhere
And it hurts all the time when you don’t return my calls
And you haven’t got the time to remember how it was
It’s so cold in this house
It’s so cold in this house“
Kele goes on to sing: “I can’t eat, I can’t sleep/ I can’t sleep, I can’t dream/ An aversion to light/ Got a fear of the ocean,” reflecting the anxiety and depression that comes with a failing relationship. The idea of going back out into the world in an attempt to find a new love is incredibly daunting, even terrifying, so he plays off of the idea of there always being “more fish in the sea,” which is never as reassuring as some think it is. I know I’m focusing heavily on the lyrics here, but the groove that the band hits on the chorus is just incredible. Catchy, explosive choruses abound here, and I can’t help but sing along as they belt out, “Like drinking poison, Like eating glass,” sharing just how difficult it is to swallow the truth when the outcome is already written in the sand.
The track closes out with Okereke declaring, “We’ve got crosses on our eyes/ We’ve been running into the the walls again/ We’ve got crosses on our eyes/ Been walking into the furniture.” He has stated that this is another bit of childish imagery and by “crosses,” he is referring to the x’s that appear on cartoon characters eyes when they’re dead or injured. This signifies the relationship is truly dead, with no hope of it being resuscitated. Additionally, it drives the point home about being completely disoriented as the relationship crumbles, blinding the two of them to the point where the simplest tasks are nigh impossble. The child-like nature of the cartoon characters ties right back into him referring to himself and his lover as crying children earlier in the track.
For what it’s worth, I think this is the clearest and most straight forward interpretation of this wonderful song, but I have read that some see it as a metaphor for poverty, and it is written from the perspective of someone experiencing the perils of poverty in the UK. With their tendency for including political subject matter in their songs, I can definitely see why some would make that case. That acts as a great reflection of the ambiguity and multiple interpretations that can be attributed to the majority of their songs.
“Helicopter” features an absolutely blistering guitar line, and Tong matches this energy with his frenetic drum work. The pace of the track feels like your being tossed into the rapidly spinning blades of an actual helicopter. The song itself is a sharp piece of social commentary, with Okereke stating himself that the track is mainly about his own experiences. He touches on ideas of race, identity, and where he finds himself within certain social norms. He encounters anther man (it’s worth noting that Okereke has come out as gay) who appears to be in denial about his attraction to black men, whist simultaneously exhibiting an almost comical level of pointless bravado, going on to state that “some things will never be different.”
Okereke expresses his discontent with how he feels to be acting “American,” while his inner-self, and maybe society as a whole, is almost demanding him to act more European. This is directly at odds with is Nigerian heritage, and again, he finds himself stuck in the middle of a few different identities. These conflicting feelings lead Okereke to feel like a “bastard child of guilt and shame.” Additionally, he alludes to the three-fifths compromise and it’s massive failings, his habit of repeating the same mistakes as his father, and how black youth are being profiled and demonized at younger and younger ages, despite the fact that they are simply trying to survive in a world where most things are stacked against them from their birth.
“Hungry and dumb, hungry and dumb (So wait in line)
Queuing up for some more junk food
It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault (Just this once)
They’re getting so much younger”
The soaring chorus finds Kele asking himself, “Are you hoping for a miracle?” This again is a somewhat immature, but honest reaction to being faced with so many issues. It’s human nature, especially at our lowest, to wish for things to simply change and just get better. We all can only take so much. Okereke is almost mocking himself, because it deep down, it does feel ludicrous to think for even a second that anyone can just hope their problems away. If only things where that easy.
The odd time signature and propulsive nature of the song aptly reflect the anger and anxiety that is constantly brewing with Okereke. What’s even more sad, is that even 15 years in the future, so many individuals still face all of these same exact problems. He wasn’t far off when he said that “some things will never be different.”
“Positive Tension” is great example in which the title reflects the nature of the track itself. Moakes’ bassline is prominent here, and throughout the track, there is constant building of tension. Kele is singing generally about boredom and complacency, where someone just melts in the normality of a routine instead of finding a way to stand out. Juxtaposing this, there are people who wish to break this mold, but it often just results in empty fame that doesn’t end up being all that rewarding. Call it early clout-chasing; Ready to do whatever they can to find quick fame. Then, those people will just find themselves in a self-consuming cycle in which they never truly experience happiness. “The fear and the yearning, the fear and the consumption/ The fear and the yearning/ It’s gonna eat you alive,” he sings.
Eventually, this tension reaches it’s high point and explodes in a extremely catchy guitar riff with Kele practically screaming, “And they say: Why’d you have to get so hysterical?/ Why’d you have to get so fucking useless?“ mirroring that idea of empty fame eventually leading you to a different kind of madness, but one that is much more similar to that of a normal person stuck in their day to day lives than we may fully realize. Complacency, regardless of the type of life you live, will eventually come back to bite you.
The fourth track “Banquet,” is just such a fucking killer track. It’s catchy, full of so many slick little guitar lines and the best chorus on the entire record. It acts as a perfect exploration of one’s coming of age, and how relationships are effected as people begin to change and mature. Kele sings, “A heart of stone, a smoking gun/ I can give you life, I can take it away,” before admitting “I’m working it out.” He then goes on to ask, “Why’d you feel so underrated?/ Why’d you feel so negated?” This is another realistic reflection of young love. As you get older, you start to realize that your actions directly have any impact on people close to you. It’s reflecting on the fact that he may not have realized this in the moment, resulting in him being cold, despite the fact that he knows how he feels. Ensuring your actions match the feelings within you that make all the difference.
The unbelievably catchy chorus expands on this idea, as the subject of the track admits to handling the finer details of the relationship poorly:
“Turning away from the light, becoming adult
Turning into myself
I wanted to bite not destroy, to feel her underneath
Turning into the light”
Initially, he did not want to admit that he was the one in the wrong, but now that he is maturing and becoming truer to himself, he can lean into the “light” or truth, and realize that, despite his intentions, he was too rough. He had more of a desire to be in control, rather than be a part of a completely reciprocal relationship. The second verse gives the impression that his lover was someone who was hard to tie down, which lends some credence as to why he assumed he had to be emotionally rough with her, rather than simply letting her be the person she was destined to be. It’s a very effective way to illustrate how to live and learn from situations in such a way that you can juggle the happiness of someone else in tandem with your own. Another massive lesson that many people through experience.
I should also mention that this is a massive inclusion in my mental playlist of “Songs That Really Make Me Want To Move And Dance Despite My Complete Inability To Actually Dance.” It has such an infectious energy that builds and builds as the track progresses.
The confoundingly stunning “Blue Light” brings the energy down to explore some similar themes of love and loss. Kele explores the phenomenon of being unable to avoid the constant recollection of a ex-lover after a break up. This sense of intense intimacy is represented by the idea of a blue light. “You’ll find it in hiding in shadows/ You’ll find it hiding in cupboards/ It will walk you home safe every night/ It will help you remember,” Okereke sings in a much more subdued tone, forgoing the impassioned yelp he’s employed up until this point.
Okereke pleads, “Just tell me it’s tearing you apart/ Just tell me you cannot sleep,” which is another common, and undeniably awful, emotion one is likely to feel after a break-up. That being the tendency to almost cynically hope that the other person is just as fucked up as you are. At this point, you may fully understand that you’ve simply grown apart. Yet at the same time, some part of you still wishes to hold onto that final connection with them, even if it is one of suffering and pain.
He goes on to detail this drifting apart: “And you didn’t even notice when the sky turned blue/ And you couldn’t tell the difference between me and you/ And I nearly didn’t notice the gentlest feeling.” Sometimes you get so wrapped up in someone and everything going on around you, that you start to lose awareness and don’t even realize the subtle, yet devastating changes happening within your relationship until it’s too late. The big revelation here though, tying right back into the overarching theme of gradually moving into maturity, is acquiring a level of understanding that some things are beyond repair. “If that’s the way it is, then that’s the way it is,” Okereke states, resigning himself to accept the painful reality that, sometimes, things simply fall apart.
There really just is something about this song that gets to me almost every time I listen to it, no matter the situation. I think it comes down to the fact that I can really relate to just about every sentiment and line here. It’s as if the band lovingly cut open my chest and pulled out my heart strings, fashioning them into the guitar and bass strings used to record this song. In fact, the emotions are so overwhelming for me that I almost forgot to mention the incredible drum fills Matt Tong throws in near the end of the song. It’s as if Tong couldn’t go an entire track just simply keeping tempo, so he as to flex his insane talent and add a little fire to such a tender track. It’s endlessly breathtaking, no matter how many times I listen to it.
“She’s Hearing Voices” picks the energy right back up with the instrumentation sounding hectic and propulsive, which is fitting for track detailing the mind of an individual that Kele knew who was suffering from Schizophrenia. This woman is hearing voices, seeing things, and generally falling apart at the seams. She’s paranoid to the literal point of racism, as Okereke sings, “She’s scared of the Blacks, she’s scared of the Jews,” before continuing to explain the various visions she has, as she eventually comes to her own conclusion “[She] was never, never alive.”
Despite the medication, which is referred to on the almost inappropriately catchy chorus that is directly calling back to the red and blue pills of The Matrix, she simply can’t get her mental illness under control. It’s kind of wild that this song is what got them their record deal, but maybe it’s exactly that level of creativity and attraction to risk that set them apart. Every member of the band shines here, especially as we eventually reach a wonderfully sloppy guitar solo near the end of the track that does a great job of demonstrating the woman’s fragile and chaotic state of mind.
“This Modern Love” see’s the band explore the emotions and difficulties of beginning a new relationship; A natural progression after the multiple previous tracks that focused on the deterioration of love and intimacy. Kele expresses this difficulty in regards to finding the correct way to show your feelings for someone else when they may be on the verge of losing interest in you. The lines “To be lost in the forest, to be caught adrift/ You’ve been trying to reach me, you bought me a book,” and “Don’t get offended if I seem absent-minded/ Just keep telling me facts and keep making me smile…./ I get tongue-tied,” expertly express these emotions. He knows how it might look on the outside, but he just needs time to find the right words and actions. The line “I’ll pay for you any time,” is one instance in which he begins to express this desire to be with this person, as paying for dates or gifts are staples within the modern concept of love, especially within the Western tradition.
The third verse switches the perspective to the lover that Kele is trying to swoon. They express their desire for Okereke to essentially back up what he’s been saying, parroting some of the earlier lines back at him, which feels like the worst case scenario for someone who is clearly self-conscious and worried about their proficiency to express for feelings for someone else. “And you told me you wanted to eat up my sadness/ Well just on, enjoy, you can gorge away,” they recall, practically begging for Okereke to follow up on his supposed desire to be with them. They urge Kele to “be more discerning,” and to “be more demanding,” eventually getting right to the point and asking, “What are you holding out for?/ What’s always in the way?/ Why so damn absent-minded/ Why so scared… of romance?”
This then leads into a wonderful passage complete with gorgeous intermittent chimes (or maybe xylophone hits?) which complete one of the best, most infectiously danceable grooves on the whole project. In the end, Kele untangles his tongue, finally finding the perfectly blunt words to make his intentions clear before he misses his chance: “Do you wanna come over and kill some time?/ Throw your arms around me.” This track just hits all the notes in order to successfully reflect the anxiety and difficulty of being vulnerable as you are playing chicken with the idea of falling in love.
The next track “The Pioneers” is a scathing criticism of Western countries’ nonsensical tendencies to constantly interfere with issues all across the world. The lines “If it can be broken then it can be fixed/ If it can be fused than it can be split,” feel optimistic at first, like any issue can be overcome, but they end up standing for something much more sinister than that. The chorus of “We promised the world we’d tame it/ What were we hoping for?” is a direct critique on these interventionist leanings of many countries. The irony here is that nobody ever asked to be tamed, but it was the perceived “destiny” of these countries to modernize and steal from all of these poorer, less developed cultures. (*cough cough* like the Native Americans, much of South America and the entire fucking continent of Africa.)
It also makes sense this was written right as the war in the Middle East was at it’s peak, as the UK flirted with getting involved, which you don’t need me to go into detail in regards to how misguided the entire “War on Terror” was, and how it resulted in s much pointless loss of life. This “ambition” to fix things and improve the world as a whole is not the positive many make it out to be, and sadly, as this stupid conflict still continues into 2021 shows, this trend will likely continue in the future as well, even though I’m sure the likes of the UK and America must be pretty heartbroken that their aren’t any more “unconquered” places for them to colonize and leave in shambles. How unfortunate. They’ll make up for it by started another idiotic war at some point, I’m sure.
“Price of Gas” extrapolates on these very same ideas even more. The song itself begins with claps, resembling the cadence of troops marching, a sinister bassline, and plenty of eerie guitar tones. Keep in mind this track was recorded in 2004, so this was a world where the existence of WMD’s was already proved to be false, and that the west’s involvement in the Middle East was mainly influenced by oil and money. These excuses for inexplicble death and loss is mainly seen as necessary by people who are more concerned with the price of gasoline and other material possessions. “Taking care of cars and bodies/ Nothing ever comes for free,” makes that clear.
Just as the previous track, this is all just another case of history repeating itself, as it will continue to do in subsequent years and generations. Okereke sings, “The ghosts are here, the ghosts are here/ Red white and blue, red white and blue/ I can tell you how this ends,” with a tangible level of “I fucking told you so” sass.
“Little Thoughts” is a nowhere near as confrontational as the last two more politically charged songs. It is, however, a more straightforward track with another stupidly infectious chorus. It’s all about the small things that stick in your head as you’re trying to keep yourself together after, you guessed it, a break-up. Okereke plainly sings, “Keep thinking little thoughts/ Keep on walking trying to stand up/ Paying attention to the details,” and “I haven’t got the guts to stand alone.”
The hook itself is another relatable sentiment, which is one of being ready to jump back into someone’s arms as soon as they let you know that’s what they want, no matter how hard you’ve tried to distract yourself from the feelings you still have for them. “I’ll go back if you ask/ I’ll go back if you ask me,” the band harmonizes on the chorus. This is much less instrumentally complex than a lot of the songs here, but it hits this amazing tempo that just urges you to move when it’s on.
“So Here We Are” slows things back down again, with the twinkling guitars giving plenty of room for Tong’s drum patterns to shine. I’ve read that Okereke has said that this track is mainly about the feelings that people have expressed when their on ecstasy, and how they experience a level of clarity accompanied with the strong urge to get back to that mental state again. The lines, “I caught a glimpse/ But it’s been forgotten,” and “I figured it out/ I can see again,” fit that interpretation. The final lines even have a sort of processing that make it seem as if he is singing from an ethereal zone, representing the state of being on ecstasy.
At the same time, it could be another metaphor for one’s devotion to another person. “I made a vow/ To carry you home/ If you fall sick/ If you pass out,” could be literal, as in he will keep that person safe if the drugs affect them negatively. On the other hand, that could stand for the promises to make to someone you love and the desire to keep them safe no matter what. Whichever way you look at it, the overall instrumentation throughout the entire track is just awe-inspiring. It’s a much more meditative track, nearly to the point of exaltation, as opposed to the rest of the tracks.
“Luno” stands as the most aggressive and pissed off song here, really embodying the punk attitude they sprinkle into much of their sonic exploits. It deals with people changing, and not for the better. I’ll assume Luno is a person that Kele is addressing directly. Luno is someone who has become tired of their surroundings and the way that they see themselves to the point that they see no other option than to actively fight against these realities. Kele see’s this and urges them to “Let it pass, let it pass, let it pass through you.”
But, they don’t listen and go headlong into their transformation, leading Okereke to emphatically plead, “Come back to me the way you were/ The way were you when we were young/ I’m trying to tell you everything.” It gets interesting in the final verse, as Okereke deftly expresses the feeling of seeing that friend change in such a manner that this transformation resembles a downward spiral. At that point, your selfishness takes over, as you feel utterly compelled to, in your mind, save this person from themselves. “I can heal the blind, I can cure the sick/ I can say the right things, I can say the right tings,” Okereke yelps, trying to convince himself that he can work miracles, despite how far gone Luno is.
In the end the strongest lines are: “Where’d you get so cruel?/ Where’d you get so cruel?/ Where do you go?/ Cause you’re never here.” That’s the realization that he lost a friend who used to mean a lot to him, but despite his best effort, he couldn’t hold on to them. I love how the nasty, selfish desire to keep things the way he wants them to be shines here. Luno’s perspective is never really shared; We only get Kele’s thoughts on what’s happened. Nobody wants to lose a friend, especially if it’s to a lifestyle or under circumstances that you don’t agree with. It’s painful, and because of this, the song feels like an understandable lashing out that isn’t overtly concerned with coming off as level headed or fair to everyone involved. It’s a raw, one-sided expression of emotion that feels closer to a legitimate reaction by a real human being.
“Plans” is a touching ode written with the intention of getting a friend or loved one out of a rut; To stop being so apathetic and consumed by indecision. I love this, because there are plenty of sweet lines that you could imagine actually saying to someone, like, “Wake up, dreamer/ It’s happening without you/ Cut your hair and shave your beard/ You squandered your chances…. Stop being so laissez-fair/ We’re all scared of the future.”
Taking it a fair few steps further in order to show how badly he wants this person to get off their ass and put their plans in motion, he uses some striking hyperbole to illustrate he isn’t joking or going to listen to any of their excuses.
He offers them money, and then warms them that he’s “ been training vipers to come for you/ In your sleep.” Okereke goes even further once the chorus hits, declaring:
“I’ve got a taste for blood
Leave the weak, leave the young
I’ve got a taste for blood
I’m walking out without you
You will kill, or be killed
It’s about progress
I’ve got a taste for blood”
Then in the final leg of the track, he strikes the perfect balance between the aggression and love he has been expressing to this person:
“We make plans for big times
Get bogged down, distracted
We make plans for good times
Only young on surface
So kiss me before
It all gets complicated
I’ve got a taste for blood”
There’s this understanding that this type of malaise affects all of us, and he has a ton of empathy for them, because it is a state that is incredibly difficult to get yourself out of. Okereke knows that sometimes you need that person to really kick you into gear and get you back on track. He wants nothing more than to have the chance to enjoy and experience all of the plans that they have made together, because he knows that is the best way to ensure they are both happy and get the most out of life.
By the time we reach the album closer, “Compliments,” we’ve been exposed to a whole gamut of emotions and experiences. It feels fitting that instead of treating us to a dose of optimism, the album closes on a rather downbeat track about the brutality of the day to day routine, especially within the context of working a job you dislike. Okereke sings “we sit and we sigh, and nothing gets done/ So right, so clued-up, we just get old,” while sharing his thoughts on how many people rely on things like Nicotine, which just fill our bodies with bacteria, aiding in our inevitable demise. That sounds incredibly depressing, and that’s the point. It’s real, and just as he was urging his friend in “Plans” to get out and get their shit done, this feels like the companion piece to that. This worthless routine is not what we should be aspiring to achieve, nor should we just accept it.
A song about routine and repetition really does feel like the perfect cap the album. Becoming apathetic and simply accepting the cards you’re dealt is not the way to live. In a lot of ways the unnerving, yet equally beautiful, takeaway from the record is that all of these emotions and experiences will likely repeat themselves in some way.
You’ll achieve goals. You’ll taste success. You’ll meet people who affect you like you could have never imagined, both positively and negatively. You’ll love someone so much that you can’t possibly find a way to put it into words. You’ll fuck relationships up and jeopardize losing the love you’ve spent your whole life searching for. Or maybe you’ll fix it and bring it back from the brink of disaster. You’ll get pissed off at society and the injustices that so many feel every single second of their lives. You’ll feel beaten down and worthless, questioning the very fabric of your own identity. You’ll also be the motivation and driving force behind people bettering themselves, finally finding ways to achieve what they’ve always wanted.
All of these possible outcomes and experiences are what truly act as the crux of the album. Everything, in some way, is propelled with a sort of overflowing emotion. You feel the emotion in the relentless drumming of Matt Tong, even on the most gentle tracks, because like with your feelings, even the calmest moments can be intense and overwhelming. You feel it in Gordon Moakes’ work on the bass, which represent that driving force that holds everything together, but has the same potential for sudden outbursts of conflicting, aggressive energy. You feel it in the guitars of Okereke and Russell Lissack, which are harmonious and on the same page just as often as they appear to be at odds, on the verge of swirling out of control. And of course, you feel it in Kele’s emphatic yelps and screams, just as much as you do in his downtrodden croons.
This album makes me feel, and that is why it’s such a powerful album. Despite being almost 16 years old, all of these thoughts and emotions are universal. They represent the emotional cycles that will always exist as long as humans exist. It’s raw, energetic, esoteric and straight to the point, all at the same time. The title itself, Silent Alarm, hits this entire concept on the head with stunning accuracy. Whether they’re blaring to the point of an unrelenting emotional headache, or acting as a faint screech in the back of your mind, the alarms are always going off. There are always things to be fearful off, and there are always things to be immensely excited about. In the end, it’s about being ready to experience them head on, and I truly think that Bloc Party created an absolute masterpiece that takes you along an emotional journey like none other; One that everybody can relate to in minor, or profound way.