Gabriels are a rare phenomenon, residing in the overlap between passionate, larger-than-life showmanship and sincere, concentrated artistry. Their flamboyant frontman’s charisma has irresistible popular appeal, while their meticulous and earnest compositions, rooted in gospel and soul, endear them to the music nerds of the world.
Consisting of vocalist Jacob Lusk, keyboardist Ryan Hope and violinist Ari Balouzian, the English-American band formed in 2016. In 2020, the exhilarating rush and austere religious imagery of their single ‘Love and Hate in a Different Time’ caught the attention of critics and radio DJs, and the transatlantic trio have since gained a staunch following eagerly awaiting their debut full-length project.
Despite two extraordinary Glastonbury sets, the band have maintained something of a mystique, quietly dropping a string of gospel-indebted singles, each as immaculate as the last. While many bands may call on a gospel choir for backing, or turn to retro influences for an air of legitimacy, Gabriels’ rich, detailed arrangements ingrain this vintage sound into the very architecture of the music itself. Modern and vintage influences intertwine so closely, it’s hard to disentangle them in your head. A swooping synth solo weaves effortlessly through a cascade of violins, while bright, brittle piano notes are neatly interspersed through a thumping dance beat.
The resulting music sounds beguilingly distant, shrouded in shadowy history, and yet so immediate in its rich detail and texture.
‘Offering’ opens the album with the agitated strut of a double bass, sketching out the track’s skeleton in stark, dusty monochrome. It’s a magnificent opener, a lush choir filling in the spaces around Lusk’s phantasmal falsetto as hefty percussion and moody horns thunder through the background.
Colder in tone are ‘The Blind’ and ‘Taboo’, a thrumming bass undercutting the fragile piano notes of the former and sharp strings slicing mercilessly though the latter. On ‘To the Moon and Back’, timpani rumble under a dreamy, whispery chorus, before the instrumentation gives way to Lusk’s bare vocals on ‘Professional’. A brittle, homemade beat and a simple piano loop pick up, swinging gently into a slow neo-soul groove on ‘We Will Remember’, as Lusk croons, ‘You were supposed to love me/ truly, madly, foolishly I believed it.’
The agile, bubbling funk of the title track also pulls from more modern influences, Lusk squeezing and teasing out each word with an almost ironic smoulder. Meanwhile, ‘Great Wind’s’ exultant outro is propelled by a four-to-the-floor disco beat, as well as ecstatic strings and jubilant backing vocals.
Equally exhilarating, a brisk, folky string ostinato builds over the steady pop beat of ‘Remember Me’ and high-hats shiver like bated breath anticipating the finale of ‘Glory’. ‘Love and Hate in a Different Time’ also appears, no less haunting and invigorating than when it made its debut.
However, this is the album’s one weakness: we’ve heard nearly all of these tracks already. What with numerous singles and the release of half of the album last autumn, only two tracks out of thirteen, ‘We Will Remember’ and ‘Great Wind’, are truly new. Angels and Queens, in its final form, doesn’t divulge any surprises. Instead it stands as a kind of collected works, a milestone that celebrates everything the band has produced thus far.
Nonetheless, soaked in moody, evocative reverence to both past and present, the divine and the human, tradition and subversion, Angels and Queens is a monumental debut. Even if it were all Gabriels ever released in their lifetime as a band, it would put them among the greatest artists of our time.
Listen to Angels and Queens on Tidal.
Myriad Voices 
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