Released on 15/05/25
Reviewed by Thomas Needham
Any excuse for me to delve back into the twisted, cacophonic world of The People Assembly is a pleasure, to be contacted directly by them to review their as-of-the-time-of-writing (February 2025) unannounced new single The Soup of Yesterday is a privilege (and if one day I finally sell out and start taking bribes that’d be proper wicked). I may be away for university with assignments inbound and personal projects on the go but I have to heed the gospel truth; you can take the man out of Leicester, but you can’t take Leicester out of the man.
If you’ve been following The People Assembly recently, you’ll know they’ve been busy. When bionic-lizard-man Mark Zuckerberg isn’t suspending their ad revenue, the band is in the studio preparing for their first release since 2024’s Leicester City Council. Without letting on too much, I can assure fans that you’ll be eating good over the next year. ‘Watch this space?’ More like ‘watch this post-space!’
Dubbed The Soup of Yesterday, some may recognise this single as the opener from their headlining gig at The Big Difference (link to our review here), but if there’s one thing reviewing a single has over a live set, it is being able to focus solely on the material. At their gig I was completely smitten by an hour of relentless, primal chaos. The entire show remains a fever dream to me, only now with new releases can I truly listen back to my bootleg recording and better appreciate what I witnessed. Now, adorning a dressing gown, a mug of good joe and a pipe in my dinky flat, far, far away from the scary mosh pits, I can focus my efforts on an individual song and this single, clocking in at over nine minutes, gives me plenty to sink my teeth into.
The track’s message to me is a scathing condemnation of the backwards priorities of white saviorism and the fine line between altruism and self-imposed martyrdom. Perhaps the litany of corny bands that litter my ‘for you’ page these days have rendered my judgement impotent with its endless, vapid, twee real rebel ditties that are propa dutty yarr yarr but I sincerely believe The People Assembly are outstanding storytellers. Not only is Rowan Taylor’s art striking, but there is a vision and underlying sincerity to the band behind the irony, one that means there is no esoteric pussyfooting to be found here, you have a tangible message to engage with; take it or leave it.
“Although I sometimes I feel could run ahead,
I’d rather trip and fall with you all instead,
clean the grazes off my knees with all of you,
and make sure all your injuries are healing too”
The faux-noble motivations of collective solidarity espoused by the narrator are quickly repudiated as the instrumental drags you beneath the surface – dark and foreboding, you feel an almost complete lack of agency as the guitar and bass draw you in. In much the same way the narrator of the song is, whether inadvertently or not, taking those around him for a ride, the band ensures the listener feels much the same way. Joel Page brings his characteristic blend of vocal intensity and emotional vulnerability. His stilted, monotonous delivery deprives the listener from hanging on to a harmless, pleasant melody; the message of the song is central, even accounting for the litany of new bells and whistles that the band showcases, everything is built around that goal.
“Break my back so I can feel,
this is how we all shall heal,
because without you,
there is no me,
I need to help,
I need to help”
The only way the narrator can empathise with the debilitating struggles people face in their daily lives is through demands of violent retribution against himself. It’s a self-imposed, performative, almost ritualistic sacrifice that supposes only through metaphorical immolation can he find validation from others – something he is deeply dependent on to derive his own sense of identity and worth; ‘without you, there is no me.’ It’s an artificial repentance that seeks to destroy, rather than to create. His conclusion that this is the only way forward is inherently paradoxical.
Notably, there is never a call to uplift one another, it’s simply an outlet for self-destruction and victimisation. The recurring refrain of ‘I need to help’, especially the vocal emphasis placed on ‘need’ suggests the feeling to be an obligation rather than a conscious choice. There’s a level of insincerity in the delivery; his desire to save the subject comes from a place of gross self-indulgence and ego, to grandstand and moralise about his own virtue rather than a true desire to bring forth material change.
“Steal the straw that breaks my back,
the selfishness of selfless acts,
I’ll take the weight that’s mine to take,
I need to help,
I need to help”
In the narrator’s own neurotic, perverse sense of guilt and a deep-seated desire for significance, he demands to take on the burdens of those around him. His entitlement over the struggles of others make him just as much of a destructive force on those around him as the oppressive regime he seeks to oppose. He’s a martyr of his own making, satiating his own sense of moral superiority to a point of pleading desperation. The narrator’s feelings are fundamentally religious in nature, driven by guilt and his own inconsequentiality in comparison to the scale of not only the music’s sound, but the world around him.
“Although I know I cannot see through your eyes,
I’ll ache through a perspective that’s yours not mine,
and savour every second of hurt I can,
shouldering the weight of the righteous man”
The shrill orchestral arrangement and the sustained, discordant drones of the guitar build in intensity as a brilliant showcase of a production more ambitious than anything The People Assembly have achieved thus far. As Nuala Harvey’s haunting backing vocals, martial drumming and Harry Smith and Ewan Butter’s unnerving orchestral strings march alongside the mantra; ‘FIND A REASON TO DROWN’, it becomes clear the suffering of others is superfluous to the narrator. Rather, he’s desperate to use any and all excuses to wallow in his own feelings of inadequacy and guilt. You may drown together, but you’re both still drowning, fat lot of good that’s done.
The song abruptly recedes into a softer soundscape; contemplative and considered, there’s beauty in its restraint, perhaps the most intimate The People Assembly have been since the outro of ‘House Cave’. For a band notorious for ‘sending it’ in terms of sheer sonic ferocity, it’s a necessary and highly-appreciated change of pace; the song’s troughs only accentuate its peaks. But there’s no last trick up the narrator’s sleeve, no resolution to the conflict, no heroic, soaring finale, as the song, once ear-splittingly thunderous, disintegrates into a tragic lament, only to suddenly shrink into oblivion. Promises made, promises broken.
To surmise; the narrator spent all night crying and throwing up over [insert topical and divisive issue here] and he’s 6 ‘4 by the way. I’ve also been informed I don’t use enough academic terminology in my work so brandishing my English Literature qualifications I can indeed confirm The People Assembly utilises the uhh- semantic field of society to highlight society bad.
The People Assembly have managed to replicate from their live sets, it is an all-enveloping, hypnotising allure. Their music is substantial both in sound and message, worthy not just of your time, but your active engagement, not for some musical-sycophantism but because they’re bringing something new to the table and it’s unabashedly confrontational.
In the studio the band are noticeably more adept since 2021’s International Post-Space Station. There is a greater degree of clarity, especially on this new single, that convinces me the group have plenty more to say. The Soup of Yesterday is absolutely hulking but unlike The People Assembly’s wider-catalogue, it isn’t bursting at the seams – perhaps the band’s restraint is a more damning condemnation of the song’s narrator than otherwise. The perks of being too musically verbose to listen to in any other way than in the isolation of one’s own company, is you can bask in every single detail, from the slightest inflections of Page’s vocals to the skittish orchestral embellishments. If you’re looking for a song to listen to in the background, or indulge at a party, you’re going to be disappointed. The People Assembly demands your sole attention.
Recorded with award-winning producer Shuta Shinoda, there is a new layer of depth to The Soup of Yesterday’s lumbering ambition. While Andrew Bassett is given a large canvas to experiment, with his drumming driving the song’s emotional apex, by comparison Lewis Bates’ on bass feels innocuously constricted by the insurmountable guitar work of Kai Roberts and Jake Skemp that make you almost delirious in their restlessness, frantically lurching up and down the fretboard, constantly in flux, never quite giving you time to breath until everything is pulled away and you are left with profound nothingness. The lack of focus given to the bass isn’t particularly detrimental, I doubt a bass solo (ala. ‘You Can Call Me Al’) would have really done anything other than undercut the single’s cautionary tale, just in comparison to their previous release Leicester City Council, it’s a noticeable omission.
Speaking of previous singles, like Trojan Staffy and Leicester City Council, The Soup of Yesterday lacks the overtly abrasive sound seen on cuts like French from their debut record. By the very nature of singles, they are a gateway rather than an end unto itself, so to criticise a single for not being particularly repellent to ordinary sensibility would be futile. I don’t see The People Assembly mellowing, if anything I’m excited to see them given the freedom to continue challenging both the listener and the golden calf of radio friendly ‘good music™’ on a larger project, now accompanied by a massive wealth of experience to fully realise their ambitions. The Soup of Yesterday, to me, seems like a new jumping on point for those unfamiliar with the band, The People Assembly are well and truly back and their message is simple; get with it or get out of the way.
Good soup.
If you’re looking to support The People Assembly amid Zuckerberg-induced austerity, you can find them on every major streaming platform or buy their discography directly on Bandcamp. In March they have a series of live shows on the go;
- 16th May – Hallamshire Hotel, Sheffield
- 20th June – The Grove, Nottingham
- 21st June, Queens, Bridlington
- 5th July, New Aldelphi, Hull
- 12th July, Be There or Be Square Festival, Leicester
And now, a message from the band itself:
HELLO. I AM NOT A HOSTAGE AND WE WOULD LIKE TO ANNOUNCE THE NEW JAMES BOND. HE’S HERE BECAUSE WE WROTE HIM A THEME.
Instead of unquestioningly carrying out the imperialist violence of the British state in an admittedly sexy way, he has various disorders, works in a soup kitchen and bangs bare fent before staring directly into the camera and saying “I am the exact same kind of communist you are” and winking. It is the most boring movie ever and we are proud to give you its only saving grace – The Soup Of Yesterday.
Yas – it’s Yames Bond time. The only issue we can see with it being the theme song is that they’d have to extend the obviously misogynistic bit where there’s all sexy lady silhouettes into a kind of David-Lynch-Memorial-9mins-30 seconds-Short-Film that might expose how accursed those bits in the films are, The truth of the situation is that the only thing better than one person playing the note B is 5 people playing the note B, especially if you add three session musicians thereby bringing the number of B enjoyers to 8. We paid a lot of money to share this “deep” idea with you.
The first single on a new record is 9 and a half minutes long because we are not capable of doing music properly for money despite how hard we are trying. We sent it to a promo company who told us to split it into three parts and Joel Page called them rude words and blocked them. I hate Joel Page and wish we had done that because my telly is in extreme danger of “bayliff destruction” whatever that woke nonsense means. Short form video content is somehow on the table and you will actually have to listen to a nine minute song unfortunately. It’s like if Throbbing Gristle had Tiktok without Hull or nakedness.
Doom noise is well cool so we did that. it’s like turning your amps into some twat with a ball in Takeshi’s Castle aiming for your genitalia – awesome stuff and we’re glad to contribute to its legacy in a small way. In an attempt to commercialise we apparently decided to make the not doom half of the song about suicide utilizing everyone’s favourite genre, the Waltz, which despite being your grandma’s favourite pastime, now holds serious floor-filling energy 400 years later, as proven by it’s widespread popularity in Mosh Nightclub.
The best bits in the new song are not by us – the vocals in the second half are by Nuala Harvey (of newly christened St. Brigids band) the impeccably disturbing Cello and Viola are by Harry Smith (Fementa Ark) and Ewan Butters (legend) and we thank them for their service more than any veteran who has ever lived.
“Break my back so I can heal” – Life is nothing but the glory of destruction and rebirth, which is what I told the community support officer when I set a trolly on fire and chucked it through those rubbish windows at Lidl, unfortunately his grasp of the ying and yang was weak and I got six months community service and a banning order so i can’t steal those little bread things anymore. Bullshit.
I think we are all quite concerned by what this song actually means – I think we thought we were briefly out of the woods on the ol’ “someone is waiting in your head to fucking strangle you” as St. AJJ said: but the black AI dog has come back for us in unexpected ways – everyone developed some kind of leather substance type skin to survive the pandemic, but I don’t think we were expecting that the community spirit we all saw during that era to devolve into the darkest post-war political landscape conceivable? It’s probably more important than ever to try not to drown yourself even when you really, really want to. All of us are now unwitting avatars for a very sick west constantly connected, replicating and mirroring itself with the taut bleeding tendons of the worldwide web like a horrible spider that has nazi memes for seven of its eight legs – acknowledge the spider legs but don’t let em break your human legs with the telly. “Phone bad” frfr. When do you start hurting yourself to help people you love? When is that okay? When does your hurt outweigh what you want to exemplify? Where do the lines start between the very real oncoming apocalypse and your own personal, convenient apocalypse begin? What’s a good reason to drown in a canal filled with shopping trolleys? What’s the point of Leicester as a stage for strange little guys? Why are we the closest to the middle of the English gaff and have the central government funding the closest connection to space and the great beyond in the country? Will we become a conspiracy theorist band from Leicester because of the clearly true and not at all exaggerated idea we just suggested in the vein of Leicester alumni David Icke? Where will we find a defence lawyer for burning down Lidl? Why are 85% of the songs on the new 90 minute record in the key of B? Why does our car battery keep blowing up explodey-style when we drive to shows? Is it because god is unjust and possibly also a fascist? When will someone put this song on 6music and we will ascend to underground royalty with our own special chair? All great questions.
Either way, smile at the mushroom cloud and give your lovers and friends a kiss. We don’t have any answers and neither should you. Our ability to be shit, dumb and susceptible to AI videos of a big dog that is too big (dad, it’s not real) is what makes us better than ChatGPT, our attempt to question and sort a big collection of sights and sounds into a barely cohesive worldview is probably what will save us from the terminator 2 style apocalypse, hitting the limits of processing everything and going a bit psychologically silly is probably a good sign of being a normal bloke, blokette or bloketh at the moment, we hope. Our inability to provide a reasonable length tuning break or answer to any question is probably what separates man from machine and NOT a sign of us being idiots with mental health issues. Just keep being a bit of a mess for humanity’s sake we guess, this is about an unknown band from Leicester’s single by the way. I don’t really know what we’re supposed to offer anymore beyond a chance to say “sick set bro” but god knows we’re gonna keep acting like we know so we can keep buying loads of beer.
The People Assembly on Linktree