Heartbreak, handclaps and the kitchen sink

Orchidelia have been on something of a tear this year.

A steady procession of singles and EPs has seen the Sheffield five-piece develop their sound in all manner of interesting directions, apparently without anybody thinking to apply the brakes.

For the uninitiated, Orchidelia are a band taking the road somewhat less travelled. While their contemporaries continue to mine the apparently inexhaustible seams of nineties Britpop, these boys have gone further back, setting up camp somewhere in the glorious technicolour world of sixties power pop.

But 2026 has seen that original blueprint expanded considerably. They’ve wandered through the orchestral extravagance of ELO, borrowed a little of the eccentricity of XTC and Squeeze, and developed a distinctly English knack for making complicated pop arrangements sound like the easiest thing in the world.

Which brings us to I Dried Up.

Not, as the title might suggest, a song about doing the washing-up.

Instead, this is three minutes of piano-driven blues stomp, delivered with all the subtlety of a runaway fairground ride.

There are fuzzed-up guitars, swirling organs, syncopated handclaps and a saxophone apparently determined to elbow its way to the front of the queue. I’m fairly certain there’s a clarinet lurking in there somewhere too.

They’ve thrown everything but the kitchen sink at it.

Although, given the title, perhaps that’s just as well.

It’s a glorious, good-time boogie, despite the lyrical trauma unfolding beneath all that musical exuberance.

Frontman Marcus finds himself lost for words in the face of another romantic catastrophe. Somebody appears to have one foot out of the door, the relationship is heading towards the rocks and our hero is desperately trying to keep the whole thing afloat.

A perfectly reasonable moment to sit quietly in a darkened room and contemplate one’s romantic inadequacies.

Or, alternatively, assemble a small brass section and have a party.

Orchidelia have chosen the latter.

And that’s the joy of it. The song’s emotional turmoil is cheerfully contradicted by a band apparently having the time of their lives. The piano bounces, the guitars snarl and the whole arrangement careers along like a particularly enthusiastic episode of The Monkees in which somebody has accidentally spiked the lemonade.

A longstanding favourite of their live shows, I Dried Up has been sending audiences bouncing around for well over a year. Hearing it finally committed to record, you begin to understand why.

Beneath all the knockabout humour and musical excess is a band growing increasingly confident in its ability to write clever, inventive pop songs without forgetting that they’re supposed to be fun.

And there’s something rather wonderful about that.

The relationship might be falling apart. Marcus might be running out of words. The emotional foundations might be crumbling beneath his feet.

But the saxophone player is having an absolutely marvellous time.

And frankly, so am I.