After Road to Rouen, the easiest move would have been to go deeper still. Supergrass could have developed the melancholy, the space and the more patient way of writing. Instead, they did something considerably more predictable and, at the same time, risky. They turned the amplifiers back up and tried to recover the physical force of their old playing.
I am not sure it was the best decision. That is precisely why Diamond Hoo Ha remains an interesting finale to this story.
Back to the noise, but without the innocence
The 2008 album was made with producer Nick Launay, known for his work with strong, immediate sound. An important part of the recording took place at Hansa Studios in Berlin. The building alone had enough rock history for several bands.
Supergrass wanted, above all, to sound physical again. Danny Goffey's drums were meant to hit harder than they had lately. Mick Quinn's bass and vocals were to press upwards from below. Gaz Coombes's guitar was to recover its dirt and weight.
After the quietest record of their career came a need for movement. There was, however, one small problem. Planned movement does not sound the same as spontaneous movement.
Diamond Hoo Ha Man and the rock suit
Diamond Hoo Ha Man announces the new direction without subtlety. The riff is broad, the vocal brushes against a glam-rock manner. It all sounds as though the band wants to reclaim the stage immediately. It works, but at times it is a little too conscious of how well it works.
Bad Blood convinces me far more. The song is nervous, tight and largely free of ceremony. The drums are once again pushing the music rather than merely servicing it. In moments like these, the old chemistry is audible without any special effort.
Rebel in You, too, survives primarily on melody. Supergrass never truly lost that gift. Gaz Coombes could still find a chorus that lodged itself in your head at once. Not every good chorus, however, needed the full rock costume.
This is where my biggest reservation about the album begins. On I Should Coco, volume came from age. On In It for the Money, it flowed from immense confidence. On Diamond Hoo Ha, it can sometimes feel like a consciously adopted programme.
The difference is small, but clearly audible. You cannot recover natural energy simply by setting an amplifier. You can, however, reproduce its outward shape with remarkable credibility.
When your own language becomes comfortable
The album is not bad, and it would be a shame to claim otherwise. It contains several genuinely good songs and some powerful ensemble moments. It also reminds us what a fine rhythm section Quinn and Goffey were. The problem begins when the rock pose overtakes the music.
Whiskey & Green Tea is more interesting as an idea. The other deeper cuts do not leave a lasting trace either. Supergrass now know exactly how Supergrass is supposed to sound. That knowledge is becoming both an aid and a burden.
It is a deeply human stage in any long creative relationship. At first, you discover your own language by accident. Later, you learn to speak it fluently. Eventually, you may notice that every sentence sounds familiar.
Diamond Hoo Ha reached number nineteen on the UK Albums Chart. It was a weaker result than most of their previous releases. I do not, however, see a story of sudden artistic collapse here. What interests me more is the slow exhaustion of a shared curiosity.
The tools still worked, and the musicians knew them inside out. Finding a new reason to use them was becoming harder.
Release the Drones and the point of exhaustion
After this record, they began work on new material. The project went under the working title Release the Drones. The sessions, however, no longer brought the old satisfaction. Coombes later recalled a time when visits to the studio became difficult.
In 2010, Supergrass announced that they were splitting up. They needed neither a spectacular war nor public accusations. The break-up had a less dramatic, but perhaps more important, cause. Working together no longer gave them a strong enough reason to carry on.
That is precisely why Diamond Hoo Ha interests me more today. It does not sound like a grand farewell written with the proper advance notice. It sounds like a band trying to recover a chemical reaction from fifteen years earlier.
Sometimes they really do manage to set it off again. At other times, all that remains is a very good description of the old impulse. The difference between those two states defines almost the entire album.
They did not have to be brilliant all the time
Supergrass returned to the stage in 2019, so the ending was not final. That suits their whole story. Grand declarations were never their most interesting means of expression. Melodies, riffs and playing together suited them far better.
Nor do I want to end this series with a statement about genius. Such a conclusion would be convenient, but completely unnecessary. Supergrass were not always brilliant, and that is a good thing. They could be superb, sometimes uneven, sometimes too confident in their own reflexes.
For most of their career, however, they remained an exceptionally musical band. They knew how to write choruses without feeling embarrassed by their own catchiness. They could also change their sound without losing their character altogether. When they lost direction, a good song would usually remain.
Diamond Hoo Ha is not Supergrass's hidden masterpiece. It does not need rehabilitation simply because it closes the discography. It is more interesting as a record of a band searching for its old spark. Sometimes it finds fire, sometimes only the smell of smoke.
That is more than enough for me, far more than a beautiful legend. Supergrass gave themselves permission to be uneven. Because of that, their finest moments need no extra icing.
After more than a decade of playing, they did not become their own monument. They remained a band you still sometimes want to put on. Not because they did everything flawlessly. Because, when they truly hit the mark, you knew at once why.
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