Nation of Language – Dance Called Memory
Synth-pop trio Nation of Language return with Dance Called Memory, an album that embodies the fluid charm and introspective grace that have long defined their appeal. It’s a record that glances both backwards and forwards, reflecting on the past while searching for what lies ahead. Opening track Can’t Face Another One sets the tone with its melodic warmth, swiftly followed by In Another Life and Silhouette—songs that recall the irresistible pulse of the band’s earlier work while carving out new emotional territory. True to form, Nation of Language resist being confined by any formula; Dance Called Memory finds them pushing their sound further, evolving from their early synth-driven escapism into something altogether richer and more reflective.
The first true emotional gut-punch comes with Now That You’re Gone. It’s a profoundly moving piece—frontman Ian Richard Devaney channels the heartbreak of losing his godfather to ALS, and the experience of watching his parents step into the role of carers. “To transform your room home into a hospital wing,” he sings, with a tenderness that aches. It’s devastating yet tender—a portrait of love and devotion in the face of loss. The influence of My Bloody Valentine and Kraftwerk shimmers through the production, with touches of Brian Eno grounding the sound in something deeply human. This is where Dance Called Memory truly earns its name; Nation of Language never stand still, and Now That You’re Gone captures that restlessness beautifully—melancholic, wistful, and utterly arresting.
That same spirit echoes through I’m Not Ready for the Change, a song that wrestles with the inevitability of drifting apart from old friends. It’s a familiar pain, one that feels all too real—the slow recognition that things have shifted, even if you’re not ready to let them go. Here, the band lean furthest into their shoegaze influences, channelling the emotive haze of My Bloody Valentine while keeping their synthetic edge intact. In an age of algorithms and AI-generated art, Dance Called Memory feels defiantly human—a celebration of shared feeling and memory. Devaney crafts a soundscape of connection rather than despair, a kind of communal dance that feels both intimate and universal. That theme of reaching out is literalised on Can You Reach Me?, one of the album’s highlights, while I’m Your Head offers a more manic, anthemic spin on the same emotional thread.
Their upcoming tour with Death Cab for Cutie might seem an unlikely pairing ahead of their European run—which includes a night at London’s iconic Roundhouse—but it makes perfect sense in practice. My personal standout, Inept Apollo, channels that same bittersweet, widescreen energy: lively, propulsive, and brimming with vitality. It showcases the band’s knack for shifting effortlessly between arena-sized synth anthems and introspective, artful soundscapes.
Under the Water, the final track to make it from their Australian tour supporting IDLES, closes the circle with post-punk intensity—a bracing, icy burst of energy that captures the uneasy spark of unspoken connection. It’s anxious yet hopeful, tense yet cathartic.
As a whole, Dance Called Memory is a resounding success—an album that captures what it means to be human in motion, balancing reflection and reinvention with ease. Nation of Language continue to evolve, but their beating heart remains the same: sincere, searching, and beautifully alive.
