Dry Cleaning – Secret Love | soundsfromthedarkside

I mumble-wrote these words about Dry Cleaning’s latest and it was the best I could do.

Hey you! Yes, I am looking at you. You know, that I know that when you come home you directly pull down your trousers to sit down in that easy chair. It’s surely a lovely feeling. Only why have you never brought those trousers to the dry cleaners for a proper wash en press? No one knows. Also no one knows why I’ve never talked about the band Dry Cleaning before. Given their knack for delivering lovely slacker vibes, it’s about time I follow this through. So without further ado, here’s a proper review of the third full-length album of the South London post-punk quartet, titled: Secret Love.

It is extremely difficult to sing along to a Dry Cleaning song. This isn’t just because Florence Shaw favors the spoken-word over traditional melody. It is mostly because her lyrics often feel like stumbling upon a cache of private notes to herself. To join in would feel invasive, like reading someone’s diary over their shoulder. I did however try to mumble along to the 2023 Swampy EP which did involve some words about bean bags, bingo and a Playstation 5. On this latest work however they have built a world in which we are actually invited to stay.

On Secret Love, their first album in three and a half years, Dry Cleaning rework their modus operandi, trading separation for cohesion. With Welsh indie legend Cate Le Bon, who has practically become a subgenre of her own, the band stretches into more colourful sonic territory. Most notably, lead singer Florence Shaw turns a corner, moving beyond spoken delivery to carefully sung lines that blend with the band rather than float above it.

This vibe shift, also supported by Gila Band and Jeff Tweedy, is best heard on lead single Hit My Head All Day. It opens with cynical lyrics by Shaw about memorials and signals, set against a slow-motion, Scary Monsters-esque funk. Yet, just as the malaise becomes overwhelming, a burst of light synth light appears, offering some sanctuary. Shaw’s lyrical strength remains her ability to ping-pong between jumbling words and social critique. In Cruise Ship Designer, she adopts the persona of an arrogant protagonist justifying building playgrounds for the rich. In My Soul / Half Pint, she addresses the gender division of domestic labor with a sneer: “Maybe it’s time for men to clean for, like, 500 years.”

On title track Secret Love (Concealed in a Drawing of a Boy) the band cleverly centres on a gentle, acoustic guitar structure and a bright mandolin on which Shaw’s new melodic and intimate, talk-singing shines bright. At times the band adopts a fuller sound, most notably on Blood, where they lean heavily into The Smiths. Despite this copycat shift, Shaw remains brilliantly distracted, veering from an indictment of war to pondering the logistics of moving house. It is this strange, disarming honesty that makes her such a compelling narrator. The album concludes with Joy, an upbeat indie-rock confection that serves as a roadmap for surviving “horrorland.” As Shaw’s voice noticeably softens, she delivers the most welcoming hook in the band’s catalog: “Don’t give up on being sweet.”

Some say that you never change a winning team. Dry Cleaning did just that but did change a bit. There is new warmth, more flexibility and thus more groove. They created a record that rewards close listening while remaining remarkably easy to live with. So in the end, the band I always liked and now really like takes a solid step forward and proves the most radical thing you can do in a world full of hate-boners is to build something kind.