Big Red go with their gut on Big Sur

The shimmering coastline stretches both outward and upward, as the rocks the waves crash against hold the roots of the redwood trees, some of the tallest and most ancient in the world. Mimicking the rough splendour of its namesake, this debut album by Big Red – a solo vehicle turned trio from Joe Scarisbrick of UK band The Orchestra (For Now) – builds from quiet hums to a torrential storm, flitting between melancholy and heartbreak along the way.

As a songwriter, Scarisbrick already proved nimble on the Orchestra EPs Plan 75 and Plan 76, where the seven-piece band oscillated between tenderness, detachment, and anxiety, weaving references, taglines, slogans, and poetic imagery into an apocalyptic collage. With string players Lingling Bao-Smith and Erin Snape, the band were able to build heart-dropping, otherworldly songs like “Wake Robin” and “Hat Trick”. What Big Sur sets out to answer is what happens to that grandeur when seven are pared down to three.

The backdrop may be dramatic but Big Red thrive on few ideas. Taking on a simpler rock style than the chamber-prog of The Orchestra (For Now), each player's instrument is given a bold character that gives guts to feelings that are otherwise hard to describe. Anchoring the album’s story is Scarisbrick’s trip to the US in early 2026. Although it only truly appears in closer “Lost (And Found)”, the journey unearthed a much more introspective side to his artistry.

On Big Sur, his attention is turned more towards his lyrics and vocals – how he can sharpen and colour them – as the main storyteller of the record. Big Sur may open with the assertive, cold declaration “I am a nightmare,” and attempt to justify that framing with a doomed instrumental break here (“Big Sur Pt. II”) and a growl there (“Man Bites Dog”), it's the singer's willingness throughout to evidence his rawness that gives these ten songs their humanity.

The rhythm section – Millie Kirby on bass, Charlie Hancock on drums – rips through “Mission St.”, making it a high-energy, crowd-pleasing anthem. But even though Kirby’s warm backing vocals soften the blow, Scarisbrick finds his momentum through a scratched, wailing delivery of his perspective on a disappearing friendship and remaining grief. Likewise, “Not That Guy” adopts a self-aware confidence over Scarisbrick’s own angst, punctuating the tension of a road trip with a laugh, a zany cowbell, or a witty hook slammed between catchy guitar lines.

The sophistication and drama of Scarisbrick’s post-punk roots aren't compromised on Big Sur, however, and that's what makes Big Red a standout among contemporary indie guitar bands. Take the title track, which stretches across two parts that peel back the dreamy, oceanic curtains to reveal its prolapsed insides. The beginning – a meditative thrumming of guitar, paired with a soft rumbling of percussion – builds like a satisfying slowcore tune, drawing tense breaths until the buzz from the guitar feedback crashes into arena-sized drums, drudging bass and electric guitars, and Scarisbrick’s textured whines.

The finale “Lost (And Found)” lingers for seven minutes in a dreamy headspace. It begins with a melancholic drum machine reminiscent of early Beach House, complemented by a vibrant acoustic guitar melody rubbing against the ear as Scarisbrick slides from chord to chord. Contrary to the hardcore-leaning, cracking yells heard throughout, Scarisbrick sings here in a hoarse whisper, aching through a heartbroken conclusion to the end of his American adventure. At his lowest moment (“I’m in deep again / with you”) the song shimmers before stopping, switching to an electric guitar, and spinning out of control.

For a skeletal trio, Big Red certainly stretch past a song’s limitations of volume, time, and tone. A tender-hearted portrait of emotions small and large, Big Sur is a stirring, often thrilling rock record: love and anger tangled up in longing, captured in a guitar hook, a gutsy drum fill, a lyric, and a sigh.