The Last Dinner Party - From the Pyre

The sophomore record from Britain’s latest rock phenomenon feels like a medieval feast — equal parts revelry, heartbreak, and self-reflection.

It’s been barely a year since The Last Dinner Party’s dazzling debut Prelude to Ecstasy conquered critics and indie devotees alike. Propelled by their breakout single “Nothing Matters” and the backing of Island Records, the quintet of eccentric (and irresistibly magnetic) women became the industry’s most talked-about newcomers. Rather than retreating into the safety of success, they returned almost immediately with From the Pyre — a bold, defiant move, given that sophomore albums are rarely kind to overnight sensations.

Part of what makes From the Pyre so compelling is its awareness of that very pressure. It’s a record steeped in self-examination, a reckoning with the strange vertigo of sudden fame. Frontwoman Abigail Morris confronts the audience’s fixation on her with striking vulnerability on the closing track, “Inferno”, likening herself to a hollow vessel — an image that lingers long after the final note fades. Yet The Last Dinner Party’s music has always been far more than a beautiful shell. Here, they soar and crash in equal measure, lacing grandeur with grit, inviting the listener into their kaleidoscopic world only to pull the ground out from under them moments later.

No two songs on From the Pyre sound alike. The album unfolds like a lavish stage production — referencing myth, religion, historical icons, and the wild west with theatrical flourish. Where Prelude to Ecstasy shimmered with baroque elegance, its successor sprawls with dark majesty: vast, windswept, and cinematic. On the opening track, Morris practically announces the apocalypse, and if this truly is the end of days, it has never looked — or sounded — so spectacular.

“Count the Ways” shimmers with sly detachment, as if the band invites you to watch the chaos from the sidelines — at least until the irresistible pull of their drama drags you in. “Second Best”, one of the pre-released singles and a clear highlight, thrusts the listener into the throes of a toxic romance. Lyrically sharp and emotionally volatile, it’s a plea for validation that doubles as an indictment of obsession: “What do I do to be better for you?” Morris asks, her voice both desperate and commanding.

Then there’s “This Is the Killer Speaking” — a raucous, cinematic tavern scene brimming with festival chants, manic laughter, and just the right touch of madness. Its dark humor recalls Talking Heads’ “Psycho Killer” and Jerry Lee Lewis’s “Chantilly Lace,” while the band wrestles with ghosts of the past, realizing the only way to defeat them is annihilation. The chaos spills into “Riffle”, a fevered, multilingual fever dream underscored by a French bridge that sounds like delirium set to melody. “I Hold Your Anger”, by contrast, withdraws into intimacy — a tender, uneasy meditation on motherhood and identity.

And then there’s “The Scythe”. Simply put, it’s the band’s finest work to date. What begins with airy synths swells into a cataclysm of guitars and emotion, with Morris delivering a performance that feels both devastating and redemptive. It’s a song about grief and love’s endurance beyond death — a moment of catharsis that leaves the listener wrecked, yet strangely hopeful.

With From the Pyre, The Last Dinner Party cement themselves not as a passing sensation, but as one of Britain’s most imaginative and audacious new acts. The album burns with ambition — an opulent, intoxicating spectacle that demands total immersion. If there’s a seat left at their banquet, you’d be foolish not to take it.

8.1/10