“EVERY SINGLE MUSCLE”: THE BUG CLUB WALK THE FINE LINE BETWEEN GARAGE ROCK AND COCK ROCK
The Bug Club (Photo: Adam Whitemore)
The penis has fallen on hard times in pop culture. While there are still people who would like to see Rammstein singer Till Lindemann back on stage riding his ‘penis cannon’, demonstrative gestures of masculinity are increasingly being called into question even in the very places where they have been entrenched for decades: in guitar-heavy rock music. The Bug Club has also remained true to this genre. At the same time, Sam Willmett and Tilly Harris seem surprisingly preoccupied with the penis on “Every Single Muscle”.
Anyone familiar with the Welsh duo knows they have a great sense of humour. And so, on a lyrical level, their fascination with male anatomy is ironically subverted and deconstructed, in much the same way as its references to 1970s hard rock. This is most effectively achieved in “Semi-Automatic”, when, after repeated pleas (“Please can I play my solo now”), the guitarist is finally allowed to show off his fingerwork. Earlier on the album, in the track “A Good Day for Dying”, the same plea goes largely unheeded; the solo cuts short after a second.
“Every Single Muscle” is a kaleidoscope of unbridled energy and creative vigour. The album’s 18 tracks shoot off in all directions and scatter like a flock of sheep released into an open field. Garage rock and gentle sixties melodies blend seamlessly, sophisticated bass lines set the tone, and loudly distorted guitar riffs provide punk-style disruptions. The sound comes across as raw and unfinished – typical of the band’s Lo-Fi touch.
The Bug Club lean into their heavier side on several tracks. In “Pretty as a Magazine”, the guitar sound evokes those expressive moments when Jack White really lets rip. “Shiny and Wet” is an audible nod to Black Sabbath, yet it’s the only track that gets out of hand. Clearly, the over-enthusiastic Sam has lost control here, as his drawn-out interlude causes the track to swell to over four minutes and slip into a blues-induced coma from which it struggles to emerge.
What becomes clear both live and on record is that there is one person in particular holding the band’s diverging impulses together: Tom Rees, who has been associated with The Bug Club as a producer since their early days and who, since the release of last year’s album “Very Human Nature”, has also taken up the drums. It is thanks to his solid groove that Willmett and Harris are able to let loose on their instruments and vocals without restraint.
With The Bug Club, harmony really comes to the fore when not only the bass and guitar, but also the two voices enter into a dialogue. The laid-back call-and-response part of “Make it Count” is one of the album’s most charming moments. Accompanied by strumming guitar, the song tells of the awkwardness of a couple meeting naked for the first time: “Tell me where to look / Tell me what to focus on.” The track marks the shy beginning of what the band themselves call the “Penis Trilogy”, which continues later on the album with “How Can We Be Friends” and concludes with “My Uncle Warren Drives a Passat”.
But the closer also returns to another recurring theme: manager David, whose phone calls keep interrupting the band’s supposed downtime, as if there were any real danger of them taking their foot off the gas. Considering how much music The Bug Club have released over the past five years – an album every year, each bursting with songs – the idea is laughable. Another concern (Small Penis Syndrome), which seems to affect one half of the duo, takes us back to the genitals: “My girlfriend’s greyhound has a much bigger, a much bigger penis than me” is the envious lament here. Anyone familiar with the anatomy of these slender greyhounds, which are one thing above all else – namely fast – will understand.
The Bug Club (Photo: Adam Whitemore)
Incidentally, the title track broadens its focus to the human body as a whole. Here, its comical features are no longer viewed with a wink from the perspective of fragile insecurity. In its form, forged through relentless masculine self-discipline, it is now exposed to ridicule. This is symbolised by the grotesque album cover, designed by Sam’s brother Ross, which depicts a muscle-bound comic-book character – half-human, half-animal – on the verge of bursting.
“Bursting at the seams” might be the best way to describe this fifth album from the restless Welsh outfit. The ease with which they elegantly move between genres while still managing to pull off penis jokes without coming across as cringe-worthy feels like a rare skill in 2026 pop music. There are plenty of ways this kind of thing can go wrong, but The Bug Club gets it all right. It’s probably down to their attitude: “We don’t give a fuck about anything / We only play guitars.”
