When this debut record, from
North London’s effortlessly cool Sorry, emerged in March, it was
near-universally acclaimed in the music press. Rightly so, but that fact was
particularly impressive given that Sorry had cultivated what
one might call a somewhat hostile relationship with journalists before they
even had a record to promote. Branded ‘difficult’, Sorry’s
unwillingness to play ball with the machine now seems entirely in keeping with
this record. 925 is an album of millennial revolution, albeit a
revolution by way of eye rolls, side swipes and raised eyebrows rather than tub
thumping vitriol. Sorry, I think, take the view that there is little point in trying to fight the boomers. Instead, they provide a snaking, languid indie rumination on being 20something in 2020,
punctuated with spiked guitar shards and some big doses of disgust. There are some
wonderful lyrics throughout, with gaslighting and emotional abuse (‘I’m your
muse, nothing more, nothing more, than a four letter word’) being
representative themes. It’s not a ‘likeable’ record exactly, but it is a brilliant one.