Uncultivates – This Will Become Clear Later, Like the French Revolution

Uncultivates – This Will Become Clear Later, Like the French Revolution
Release Date: 6th February 2026
Label: Horsebox Records
Bandcamp
Genre: Mathy Post-Hardcore
FFO: Mutoid Man, meth., See You Next Tuesday, early Callous Daoboys, Beaten to Death, Primus.
Review By: Malte Brigge

I’ll admit, it was the dropkick that roped me in. Going through the promo heap is not glamorous, seeing pages and pages of bands I’ve never heard of, looking at album titles, genre labels (which may or may not be accurate), filtering out things I have no business reviewing, clicking pre-release links. It’s tedious sometimes, but always filled with that elusive splinter of hope that you’ll follow that tiny speck of gold to a rich vein, like Tom Waits in The Ballad of Buster Scruggs. Sometimes you’re caught by the tone of the guitar or the richness of the bass; often the vocals direct you; sometimes you just give up and say “fine, whatever”. That moment, though, when you see and hear something so unusual or unexpected, that your heart actually skips, you’re smitten, and you know no matter what else you hear, this is the one. The absurd lucidity of Uncultivates’ video for “Flatley” had my attention, but once the dropkick landed, the rest of the list didn’t stand a chance. In that moment, everything felt worth it.

The first thing you hear on This Will Become Clear Later, Like the French Revolution is spurred steps clanking on the dusty, wooden floor of an Old West saloon, some ragtime player piano, somebody screaming for attention, a deep voice calmly instructing you to “gather ‘round”, a crash of drums and guitars followed by a simple banjo pluck which morphs into a skull-stuttering, full-band stomp. That screaming voice? That’s the only voice you’ll hear for the next twenty-eight minutes, and about the only thing that’ll make sense. Imagine if Mutoid Man, meth., Beaten to Death and Primus all had a baby who was raised primarily on “La Grange” and the aggressive aspects of early Callous Daoboys, developed an unhealthy infatuation for See You Next Tuesday and ate only broken glass. What you’d get is the soundtrack to your nervous breakdown tap dancing on your grave. Also known as Uncultivates.

A tortuous, multimeter riff starts the album’s first proper song, Your God and Your Father and Your Boss, after which there’s no sitting still. Dr. Eli Gravedigger’s vocals are made out of violence and pain, like he’s trying to make you bleed just with the sound of his voice. Col. Goon’s bass has a deliriously massive presence, whether laying into a progressive blues groove (Oliver) or breaking erratically into jazzy jams (The Ice Bed World Tour of North America), creating madness and carnage (Rental Snake) or trying to swallow you whole (Great Minds Think of Mike). Boot’s unhinged, polyrhythmic drumming somehow keeps the band together through ridiculous time-shifts, syncopated snare patterns and general insanity. His intense stick work (Every Day I Wake Up on the Bonnet of a Different Car) will have your ears disbelieving the reality before you, which makes it appropriate that Uncultivates consider this album to be some sort of “love letter to America”. (Note to band: no American, and certainly no Texan, would ever call the hood of a car a “bonnet”.)

The Prospector’s guitars create sidewinder riffs (Every Day I Wake Up on the Bonnet of a Different Car) and humid Texas blues (Oliver, which recalls The Doors’ version of  “Back Door Man”), lays into bizarre, cowboy-polka hypermeasures (Dread First) and designs rattling compound riffs (Great Minds Think of Mike). It’s hard to keep up with every sharp turn he takes, but somehow the band does, as if they were all on fire together. The music is tightly packed and, even though it has that tongue-in-cheek, Beaten-to-Death wink, it’s so vicious you can’t help but feel intimidated. The acoustic, fireside Interlude lets you relax a bit, but Flatley’s catchy, riverdancing riff quickly breaks up any sense of peace you might have been fooled into. In the way it can feel great to unleash raw aggression and smash treasured belongings against the wall, this album is a constant barrage of savage surprises and lacerating delights.

For a lot of people, even at less than half an hour, this album will be too much, and many will write it off as a silly gimmick, especially if they let this Irish band’s Texas aesthetic be their primary guide. Things Will Become Clear Later, Like the French Revolution isviolent, smart, tightly composed, bullyingly produced and absolutely ruinous to your health. It’s the album I’ve been waiting for since falling in love with Mutoid Man’s Mutants, but far more aggressive and unpredictable. Because there’s no angry people around to stop me and I lack self-control, I’m calling it: this snarky, destructive, unlawful sternum-caving dropkick of an album is excellent.

(4.5 / 5)