Opus Kink: The Sweet Goodbye
LP | CD | DL
Out now
Have you fallen under Opus Kink’s sleaze-ridden and bohemian spell yet? Dan O’Farrell has, and is here to tell you why you should too…
Opus Kink. Where to begin? A potted history? A “for-fans-of” tour of influences and musical signposts? Personal anecdotes about why this band are seared into my brain – and the brains of my nearest and dearest – and why they should be seared into your brains too? Why The Sweet Goodbye, somewhat unbelievably their debut album, is truly worth the wait? All of the above? OK.
Anecdote first: show credentials and build rapport, innit? I saw Opus Kink by mistake at Heartbreakers in Southampton sometime circa 2021. I’d bought tickets to see the support band who pulled out on the day following a positive Covid test (remember those?). I’d dragged my eldest son, Jude, along on the promise of extraordinary music, but it was a school night, the replacement support band did not float my boat, and the temptation to get an early bus home was strong. “Let’s give these Kinky Opioid guys a couple of songs, eh, then bugger off if they’re not up to much?”
An hour later, drenched in sweat, beaming ear-to-ear and all thoughts of lesson-planning forgotten, we staggered into the night, convinced we’d seen one of the best live bands either of us could remember being blown away by for a long time. My over-the-top Facebook post from the night hails them as “the Klezma-Clash”, which seems pretty inaccurate now, but does help point out some of the genre-blending juxtapositions that make Opus Kink – still, in 2026 – such an exciting proposition. I’ve seen them four times since – most recently a week or so ago at Vinilo Records for an album-release “in-store” gig – and they’ve re-blown my mind every time.
Formed in Brighton in 2017, “The Kink” – as we probably shouldn’t call them – have released plenty of singles (including the tremendous pairing of Wild Bill and This Train from 2020) and at least two seven-track EPs, so this debut album is – perhaps unsurprisingly – a definitive, cohesive and assured work. They’re one of those bands that has you reaching for reference points, if only so you can tell mates about them later, but it’s like fishing for flashes of recognisable marine life in an incredibly murky pond.
On The Sweet Goodbye, the stew suggests notes of a rejuvenated – possibly spiked – Nick Cave, high on Jean Genet and prone to Elvis impersonations, collaborating with a sleazy funk band featuring a brass section borrowed from a 1930s cabaret orchestra where Tom Waits has been requesting deep cuts by Marc And The Mambas and Pigbag, occasionally played in the style of The Tiger Lilies. On absinthe.
The Sweet Goodbye comes clad in a dark, seemingly none-more-black sleeve, only revealing an etching by Miranda Vincent – lost sailors in a small boat, tormented by a disappointed owl, one man drowning overboard – when tilted to the light. It’s a good introduction to the themes of the record within: death, lust, confusion, self-loathing and religious angst. Perfect summer listening.
Opener and lead single Come Over, Do Me Wrong sets the scene: a skittery brass pattern repeating over the tightest and dankest of rhythm sections (brothers Sam and Fin Abbo – it turns out that fraternal rhythm method occupies the same liminal space as fraternal harmonising in terms of seemingly effortless lock-step) before singer Angus Rogers enters the fray, desperate and prowling: “And half of any good thing is its proximity to its end…” It’s a strong opener, encapsulating the dark intensity that pervades the entirety of proceedings: a sleazy undertow of self-loathing and corruption, rendered strangely joyous in the brazenness of the telling.
The story of Opus Kink’s progression to this point – at least from this vantage point – could well be characterised by Rogers’ growth in chutzpah. As the band’s sound has become less and less guitar-centred – there were no guitars involved at all during the Vinilo gig, to no great detriment to the sound or groove – so the singing lyricist has become increasingly liberated, adopting a fearlessly flamboyant and theatrical performance style with more time crooning into the audience’s unsettled faces than actually on-stage. His confidence floods out of the speakers throughout this album, a story-telling provocateur spinning sordid tales of death, disappointment and lust. If all this sounds a bit over-serious, there’s a self-knowing humour winking between the lines that blurs the edges beautifully. It’s quite a tightrope act.
The album unfolds with such coherence that each new song feels as though it adds another chapter to an ongoing story. Will It Come For You? features insistently demonic backing vocals and religious overtones. I’m A Pretty Showboy hits a speeding motorik groove and a glam-rock chorus that somehow conjures up a whiff of sulphur whilst evoking a particularly way-out episode of Old Grey Whistle Test circa 1972.
Better yet, title track The Sweet Goodbye builds a murder/suicide narrative over some of the record’s strongest hooks. Just when the listener is starting to feel claustrophobic – locked in a dark cupboard with Mad Angus sharpening his knife for “sweet Tallulah” – the band switches modes to a carnivalesque male-voice choir section. It’s hilarious and palate-cleansing. These guys know what they’re doing.
Another strand that has grown stronger in the Opus Kink journey is their ability to descend into skronk-jazz freak-outs when required. Saxophonist Jed Morgans and trumpeter Jack Banjo Courtney showcase their impressive chops throughout – and Side One closer Peckham Nocturne” gives them room to stretch out a little. The brass excursions feel integrated, not bolted on: the arrangements have jazz in their DNA. Throughout it all, thousand-yard-stare-wearing keyboard player Jazz Pope adds techno touches. The DNA is pleasingly twisted, in all senses of the word.
Side Two unfolds like the second act of a disturbing musical. I Have To Shine My Sunday Shoes marries one of the album’s catchiest chorales to some frantic ranting and Rogers’ most unhinged vocal (this is where the Tiger Lilies reference popped into my frazzled mind), but remains eminently danceable at the base (bass?) level. The Head Tree (feat The New Eves) is startling techno-folk complete with finger-in-the-ear harmonies, 19th Century story-telling and an 808-style bass. It stays just the right side of a Eurovision nightmare, although if Hades were allowed to field an entry this year, this could be the song.
The end-of-album pairing of Crucify! and Oh, Irony is a perfect finale. The former lets Rogers fully embrace the messianic edge that always lurks at the edges of his stage-persona: “I’ve been searching for a hill to die on… send out for my hammer, baby… send out for my nails”, before the music calms to a gospel-tinged Elvis-invoking monologue with an insistent choir of backing vocals hollering, “Crucify me now!” It’s marvellously Cave-esque, but somehow both funnier and more subversive than that reference implies.
Oh, Irony ends the piece in a gentler mood, a romantic-sounding jazzy ballad which finds the singer “ravenous and lonesome”, waiting for someone to “come wet my brush”. Who says romance is dead? It’s both pretty and sleazy, which is quite a trick to pull off. The coda feels like one of those beautiful moments on Searching For The Young Soul Rebels, aching and soulful.
A fantastic and satisfying album, then, and well worth investigating for anyone yet to explore their Opus Kinky side. If you’ve already seen them live, then you’ll have this on repeat already.
~
All words by Dan O’Farrell. More writing by Dan can be found at his author’s archive. Dan is also on Instagram as @DOF_AND_THE_DIFFERENCE_ENGINE
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