Maruja Turn ‘Pain to Power’ with Fantastic Debut Record (Review)

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Every review is a time machine. Housed within the four walls of your screen, this is a black-and-white capsule trying to arrest a current mood over a piece of art. Why is this relevant here? If you’re visiting from the future, there are two reasons. One, the last week alone has seen the political death of the American right-wing commentator Charlie Kirk and a mass anti-immigration gathering in the capital here that has shocked-and-awed Londoners with its sheer scale and violent fervour. The second reason concerns the work of a precocious Mancunian band at the centre of this review: Maruja.

The four-piece jazz-punk outfit hasn’t just released their debut album in a coincidentally politicised pocket of time. ‘Pain to Power’ is protest art at its most unashamed, unvarnished form. Drawing from the spirit of rebel yells from kinfolk like The Clash and Rage Against the Machine, they bang drums, guitars, heads, and hearts against the glass-and-steel walls of capitalism, elitism, and colonial genocide. Where many are tempted to shrink back, this is a band that is meeting our moment with lots of anguish and anarchy. 

None of this would matter, of course, if the album were forgettable. But ‘Pain to Power’ is magnificent. On one hand, the mission statement is devastating in its simplicity. Every song is unflinching in its message: those in power have bought their spot with the blood and sweat of the 99%. ‘Bloodsport’ cracks the whip right out of the gate like a wounded animal seeking out the hunter. The rippling drums, the propulsive distortion, the way lead vocalist Harry Wilkinson darts around like a boxer with raps like, “Complicit crossfire / No vision, live wire.”. It’s as described on the tin: Maruja will turn their pain into immense power.  

The Road Up to ‘Pain to Power’ 

But what gives ‘Pain to Power’ its potency is the way Maruja blends all their influences into a singular, sonic fingerprint. While on the surface a rock band that surfs a post-hardcore, post-punk wave, they employ an improvisational nature to much of their work. Formed 11 years ago in Manchester, previous EPs ‘Knocknarea’ and ‘Connla’s Well’ saw the group adopt an experimental approach, playing with familiar rock motifs that combined spoken-word poetry with Joe Carroll’s saxophone core. All band members cite inspirations that span the breadth of music, from Kamasi Washington to Kendrick Lamar to Swans. These leanings culminated in ‘Tír na nÓg’, a Celtic-tinged EP released this year that was recorded in a single 20-minute take, entirely made up on the spot. 

What this means is that on ‘Pain to Power’, this band is ready for their close-up. This is a foursome at home with whisking jazz infusions into stentorian roars. It’s a band comfortable with stretching out songs into 10-minute epics without losing any of its urgency. ‘Look Down On Us’ was my pick as the best song of the last quarter, and is one of the finest displays of this Maruja-n cocktail. Wilkinson calls into question the institutional forces that “look down on us”, ferociously locking the rest of us arm-in-arm, melody-to-chorus. Yet even in the middle of this storm lie two saxophone-led interludes that lend a beautiful fragility to this anthem.

‘Saoirse’ For All

This leads into the tender ‘Saoirse’, a wailing ballad that bridges the seemingly disparate nations of Ireland and Palestine through history and memory. Saoirse means “freedom” in Gaelic, a concept that animated the movement for Irish independence in the 20th century. The song itself was inspired by a memento found in Carroll’s Irish grandfather’s belongings, depicting a member of the Black and Tans boarding a boat from Dublin to Palestine. This mythical background permeates the track’s beginning. The saxophonist’s mournful swirl of his sax acts like a riverboat sailing alone through a fog of bass and sadness. 

As the song crests in intensity, Wilkinson chants over and over again: “It’s our differences that make us beautiful.”. The indescribable grief over lost lives has slowly morphed into a prayer for unity. Behind thrashing instrumentation and raspy declarations, there is a pathos that Maruja uses to puncture our senses.

Other standouts of ‘Pain to Power’ include ‘Trenches’, a punk-textured punch that borrows from the spirit of Black Panther activist Fred Hampton to scream, “No revolution if you don’t think you’re a revolutionary.”. ‘Zaytoun’ draws on Maruja’s love of the wordless to conjure a ghostly instrumental lament on behalf of Palestine. The song’s title in Arabic translates to the country’s ubiquitous and much-contested ‘olives’.

The album’s resplendent closer, ‘Reconcile’, coalesces all of Maruja’s penchants into another near-10-minute odyssey. Wilkinson speaks-sings his way in a manner closer to a poetry jam session, as Carroll’s sax, Jacob Hayes’ punctuating drums, and Matt Buonaccorsi’s staccato bass weave in and out. Towards the end, they join forces, all four delivering the manifesto-like bridge “I have no fear” over a tidal wave of sound. Within the literal and metaphorical chaos, we are anchored by what we believe in.

The Fault In Our Stars

‘Pain to Power’ is so nearly faultless in message and form. But what dings it a little is that within its unrelenting focus lies a repetitiveness that can wear over listens. There is this staircase-like melodic structure of ascension that overlaps in songs like ‘Break the Tension’ and ‘Born to Die’.  Lyrical content can seem recycled in parts, feeling like the equivalent of banging your head against a wall. Again, these are the world’s problems we are talking about, centuries-old in their unsolvability. ‘Pain to Power’ is raw and naked in intention. As such, you are emotionally annexed to Maruja in raging against a monster of a machine. But within the overall temper of ‘Pain to Power’, these are minor annoyances.

This year, Kneecap, Bob Vylan, and The Mary Wallopers have all encountered fierce opposition to their very political stances. True anti-establishment sentiment, the kind that goes beyond pithy branding and social media stories, comes at a cost. It’s easy to draw a line in the sand and hope our music and politics do not mix. But bands like Maruja exist to tell us that the lines themselves are man-made mirages. If the world burns, then the music must burn with it. ‘Pain to Power’ is flammable material in the best and most essential of ways.

Rating: 8.5/10

Maruja is on Instagram, TikTok, and X. Stream the album below or buy it here, and read more album reviews.

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