If you search "famous band" on Google right now, this broad query will likely bring up a Reddit post from r/music or perhaps a visual list of iconic groups like the Rolling Stones, the Who, and, of course, the Beatles. A search for "Party Album" will offer up a list of literal party albums — Vengaboys' The Party Album might even top the list — along with suggestions to clarify your search: "What is an album party?" or "What are album listening parties?" It seems that Famous, the art rock project led by Jack Merrett, is fine with flying under the radar.
The truth is, Famous has always felt like an enigma, hovering on the fringes of the Windmill scene in South London. For years, the project has been a whisper on the lips of those in the know, a veiled name swirling in niche circles, the myth growing thanks to their close affinity with kindred acts like Black Country, New Road, Black Midi and Academy Award-nominated Jerskin Fendrix. With those associations, you'd expect Famous to ride a similar wave of critical success, right? Strangely, no. With only a few EPs to their name, it hasn't been enough to break through. But now, the long-awaited full-length debut, Party Album, has arrived — a wild, exhilarating plunge into an existential crisis from someone teetering on the edge of their own relevance within the fringes.
From the first track, "Boxing Day," it's clear this record is not aiming to please but rather to unsettle and turn away the estranged and unfamiliar, with antagonistic messiness that sees Merrett concerned with no one but himself. "So fuck everyone," he epiphanies with sloppy determination. Like stumbling through the dark, miraculously finding reprieve in the bathroom after blacking out from more than a few late-night drinks, the track glows and grows, awakening the record with a nauseating urge to release as queasy synthesizers and dramatic drum fills build into a ball of anxiety that never quite resolves, even as it fades out. Instead, the pent-up tension violently expels in the next track.
"Everything is dreadful / There must be some kind of escape / Oh yeah, something ephemeral," Merrett yearns frantically on "What Are You Doing the Rest of Your Life." In this moment, his usual sneer and slovenly lower register morph into an unhinged howl as the track careens toward a crescendo, embodying the messiness of his aimless, quarter-life malaise. Even though Merrit has maintained and intended Party Album as a "collection of nine love songs," the entirety of Famous' debut is littered with these kinds of existential outpourings that wind up pointing inward. Bursts of self-loathing and self-destructive impulses often eclipse his attempts at love — whether directed inward or toward others. "Oh my god, what the fuck is happening?" he later sings on the dread-filled folk track "It Goes On Forever," as his demons catch up to him mid-bender.
This tension between personal crisis and the search for meaning threads through Party Album's sonic palette. Between its sickly interpretations of post-punk, haunting art-pop detours and sinister noise rock freak-outs, Party Album is, in most instances, gnarled, devious and utterly depressed. The whole is effectively repulsive, mainly; however, it's also accented with a charm that lies within its refusal to be one thing. In fact, Party Album can also be quite tender: where there's slurry crooning and distraught guitars or drums, there are also untroubled melodies and sparking electronics. A track like "Leaving Tottenham" attests to this duality well, as the band channels a more melodic and reflective tone while still sitting within the overarching existential crisis that permeates the album. The 50,000-foot musical view is complete and nuanced — both gorgeous and grotesque.
Merrett's lyricism mirrors this duality, walking a fine line between the confessional and theatrical, where the tendency to justify one's own flawed ways is met with a refusal to glamourize it. In brief lapses, he may lean into it ("2004"), but actively resists, too. "Love Will Find a Way," for example, captures this strain beautifully as Merrett's unease finds some semblance of peace. This ongoing struggle — to understand rather than condemn — gives the record an emotional gravity that captivates.
Though Party Album sees Merrett come across as excessive, flirting with the absurd, cracks of genuine vulnerability emerge beneath this theatrical facade. His songs, more than ever before, reveal themselves to be deeply personal — a reflection of the contradictions, struggles with doubt and existential questions he withholds until he can no longer. Thankfully, the Famous project and this album, in particular, is a vessel for him to untangle them. And in a way, that fits. Much like those Reddit posts and algorithmic searches, Famous, in all its messiness, isn't easily categorized or summed up. With Party Album, the band demands something different: that we dig through the noise and chaos to truly see what's there — an album that is honest, weird and unforgettable, even if it remains on the fringes of wider discovery.