Foolish Men – Listen (Album Review)

The first time I covered the UK-based duo, Foolish Men, it was through their single ‘1000 Doves’ – a track from their upcoming album, Listen. Released on the 21^st of February, the 11-track record is finally out.

From memory, I think I remember writing that ‘1000 Doves’ had elements of social critique. Looking back at that review, I realize that I noted how the single was a compelling piece of social commentary.

With that in mind, one goes into Listen expecting a song a two delving into social criticism. The album starts with a dual-identity opener, ‘Intro/Invisible Flag’. It’s a song of two worlds, really:

The track begins with a slow, atmospheric buildup, giving way to a spoken-word introduction that sketches the duo’s history. The narrator traces their connection from years past to their current reality: living in different countries, tethered by the internet, and driven by a ‘new mission’ – which is, quite clearly, the music itself. It’s a backstory reflected in their Bandcamp lore, delivered here with a self-deprecating claim that these are ‘two men old enough to know better.’ It is a disarming admission.

The introductory spell breaks at 1:45 as a surge of steely drumming propels the song into a new gear. While the percussion drives the momentum, the strings weave in and out of the mix, at one point fully overtaking the drums to briefly claim the spotlight.

Chris Canaveral certainly doesn’t hold back; his lyrics are a dense, jagged mouthful of social critique. The persona he adopts feels trapped and volatile – perched uncomfortably on the fence with nothing to say in their own defense, all while simmering over a powder keg that’s primed to explode.

The weight of the track hits hardest with the sobering realization that ‘The ship of fools is about to run aground’; yet, amidst that impending wreck, Canaveral suggests a glimmer of radical hope: that the mutiny is their only real chance to set everyone free. It’s a cynical yet revolutionary outlook, punctuated by the biting imagery of a society lost in performative loyalty – people blindly saluting an invisible flag.

The vocal delivery is speechlike yet relentless, mirroring the driving intensity of the drumming. Chris Canaveral spits line after line with a focused ferocity, rarely offering the listener a moment to catch their breath. While brief flashes of pure singing emerge to provide a momentary reprieve, the onslaught is largely uninterrupted.

However, beneath the grit and the rapid-fire prose, the track avoids falling into total nihilism. In listening to the song, there’s a persistent, underlying sense of possibility – a conviction that despite the chaos, things can be done.

The transition into ‘My Neighbourhood’ is immediate. There is no lengthy buildup this time; instead, the track lands with a few scattered strings and a return to that same steely drumming found in the opener. However, the energy shifts significantly as the track moves into pure singing.

It is remarkably refreshing to hear Chris Canaveral lean into a rich, baritone-like voice as he repeats the refrain, ‘in my neighbourhood’. The delivery here is playful – complete with moments of whistling – which creates a disarming contrast to the ‘socially charged’ intensity of the previous track.

On the surface, life in this neighborhood seems mundane: people go to church and lock their doors so no one can get in. Yet, beneath the playful vocal performance, the song remains deeply biting. The persona poses a devastatingly blunt question: ‘Would you make a rich man even richer?’ The response – ‘You would if you could’ – is a moment of forced surrender for the listener. It serves as a sharp indictment of our own complicity, highlighting the uncomfortable truism that we often indirectly feed the very systems we claim to despise.

The momentum continues with ‘Round and Round’, though the sonic landscape shifts toward something more atmospheric. The drumming – more of a continuous, subdued percussion – recedes to make way for the strings and a notably crunchy guitar.

Initially, the singing feels more recessed and less bold than the baritone of the previous track; the words often bleed into the vocalization, becoming another layer in the hypnotic guitar work. However, as the song progresses, the vocals regain their clarity and strength.

Lyrically, the focus shifts from a farmer’s prayers for a better yield to the corporate grind, where bosses prepare spreadsheets to keep workers from grindstone to nose. There is an inherent absurdity to the cycle that makes the listener laugh, especially as the chorus – ‘Round and round it goes’ – mirrors the very repetitive nature of the work it describes, ultimately putting a smile on your face since the chorus also goes round and round!

‘Mr Scarecrow’ arrives with a vocal performance that feels pleasantly familiar; while a musician’s consistency can often be a challenge, Chris Canaveral maintains a recognizable presence that grounds the album’s progression. Lyrically, the song takes a strange and eerie turn, framed as a one-sided conversation. This silence creates a haunting atmosphere, emphasized by the persona’s plea for the figure to break their stillness: ‘Won’t you give us a song? You’ve been quite for too long’. With the inclusion of atmospheric crow sounds and sections of whispered singing, the track leans into a surreal, unsettling territory that distinguishes it from the previous entries.

‘Your Black Your White’ opens with a steady drumbeat and a bluesy guitar, introduced by a brief, melodic ‘la la la la’ vocalization. The standout feature here is the pleasing, melodic horns that weave through the arrangement. Chris Canaveral delivers the lyrics with a traditional, deliberate singing style, drawing out every word as if it were being spelled out one by one. The opening lines, ‘Where did you get your black? Where did you get your white?’, introduce a reflective persona who seems to be grappling with a lack of clarity, eventually concluding that ‘it just doesn’t make any sense’. Despite an underlying tension regarding a financial dispute – the persona mentions not getting their money back – the song ultimately leans into a sense of gratitude for the insights the addressee provided.

‘House Down’ follows, grounded by a steady combination of strings and bass. Vocally, Chris Canaveral maintains his signature half-singing approach, eventually shifting into a spoken delivery that heightens the song’s narrative intimacy. The lyrical persona recounts a harrowing moment when bystanders dismissed the threat of a fire as a joke, though it clearly left the persona and their addressee shaken. There is a palpable sense of gratitude in the refrain, ‘It’s a good job that you came around because they nearly burned the house down’. It is a deeply touching track that leaves the listener with a lingering sense of relief that, despite the close call, the house didn’t actually burn to the ground.

Lethargic vocals kick in immediately on ‘Is This Love’, a track defined by a blend of drums and strings. Storywise, the song leans into a romantic space, with the lyrical persona reminiscing about a past relationship. Viewed through the lens of a male persona addressing a female partner, the track becomes a study in contrasts. The couple is painted as fundamentally incompatible, yet they remained held in love; this tension eventually pushes the persona to a point of deep conflict, where they even find themselves wishing they had never met the addressee.

Up next is ‘Filthy Rich’, a track that leans heavily into EDM territory with its pulsating kick and bouncy strings. In a departure from the previous tracks, Chris Canaveral is more speech-like than ever; this is a rhythmic narration rather than singing. It is a starkly realist song that feels like a curated reading of historical and economic headlines.

The narrator explores the concept of ‘moneyed’ people and places only to reveal that such riches are often an illusion. For instance, the song takes us back to 2024 in Birmingham—a city once touted as among the wealthiest, only to fall into bankruptcy. This illusion of wealth is further illustrated through the tragic example of Sammy Davis Jr., who died in 1990 five million dollars in debt despite earning over fifty million throughout his career. Finally, the narrator turns their gaze toward Britain itself, noting that while it is the sixth wealthiest nation in the world, the government claimed the country was broke in July 2024. This sequence of financial collapses leads the narrator to pose the ultimate, biting question: ‘So where does all the money go?’

While the examples of these money illusions are seemingly countless, the narrator uses them specifically to ground his central arguments. For instance, he highlights the stark irony that one can be filthy rich but still live in a ditch. Though some might critique the track for its commitment to a spoken-word approach, the narration possesses a distinct style; furthermore, while the instrumentation occasionally feels louder than necessary, the vocals remain surprisingly clear. Even amidst the pulsating EDM backdrop, you can hear the lyrics and follow the narrator’s logic without much effort.

‘Mr Moneybags’ follows as a direct, brash critique of wealth, mirroring the previous track’s themes. The song features bouncy strings and a vocal delivery that is equally kinetic and confrontational. The lyrical persona directly challenges the titular figure, asking, ‘Hey Mr. Moneybags, what did you buy? They say you bought an ocean with its own stretch of sky.’ This is followed by a biting inquiry into the emotional void of such acquisitions: ‘So did it make you happy – so happy you could cry? Or did it make you stop and ask yourself why?’ The production leans into its theme by incorporating the literal sounds of a cash register, grounding the abstract wealth in cold, transactional noise. As with earlier tracks, the persona highlights how both politicians and ordinary people remain at the mercy of these financial titans. Thematically, the song reinforces the idea that extreme wealth often masks a profound lack of freedom. While it is unclear if ‘Mr Moneybags’ represents a general personification of the elite, the indirect references to figures like Elon Musk suggest the song is taking aim at the modern era’s most visible billionaires.

‘1000 Doves’ follows. Having reviewed the single elsewhere, I’ll skip it here.

The album concludes with ‘Outro’, a low-stakes closing that is notably brief compared to the opening. The track is built on atmospheric sounds and strings, providing a quiet space for the voice to emerge and thank the listener for spending time with Foolish Men.

SCORE/Good: This album resides in that rare space between the good and the excellent. It is undoubtedly a treat to encounter a truly literary songwriter who isn’t afraid to delve into the surreal, though the sheer density of the lyrics requires a significant amount of mental energy to process.

In terms of social critique, Chris Canaveral does an exceptional job of challenging the powers that be. His work serves as a vital reminder of the virtues of scepticism – urging us not to accept the world at face value. Ultimately, it reinforces the idea that we possess both the power and the responsibility to question the systems around us.

[We rank singles, EPs, and albums on a scale of Poor, Mediocre, Good, Excellent, and Outstanding]

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