Four Five – Sweet Williams

When I first heard initial whispers of a triple LP, it felt like being handed a secret treasure, like the universe had leaned in close to say, “This is for you.” It was as if I’d won a lottery I never even entered. The promise of that much music, all at once, from someone whose sound already lives under my skin… it was overwhelming in the most beautiful way. And look, I will be totally honest here. I might not be the most objective reviewer for this album - Thomas House could release an entire album of just household objects humming, and I’d have it on repeat for months on end. (Don't get any ideas, Thomas!)

In all seriousness, I don't think I have ever heard something that Thomas House has written that didn't completely stop me in my tracks. His brain works in ways that have me in awe every single time without fail. This guy is one of a kind. Anyway... sit yourself down, grab a biscuit (nothing too crunchy; you'll need focus!), and let’s have a proper rummage through Four Five - the utterly bonkers, deeply brilliant triple LP from Sweet Williams, the musical alias of Thomas House. Or as I like to call him now: the man who successfully recorded 45 brilliant tracks and lived to tell the tale. The concept is mad in the best way: one song for each year of his life. 45 years. 45 songs. That’s a fair few birthdays, a lot of thoughts, and yet the album somehow holds together - not in a “this all makes sense” way, but more like a tangle of fairy lights where, miraculously, every bulb still works kind of way.

Now, Thomas has clearly spent some serious time alone in a room with a guitar, a distortion pedal, and his own thoughts - the dangerous kind, the sort you’d normally ignore after 9pm. But he didn’t ignore them. No, he recorded every single one. There’s feedback, muttered poetry, bursts of something you might call a groove if you'd had a few sherries. You might not always know what’s going on, but you’re hugely compelled to see it through... A masterpiece that somehow ties together like an old hoodie: frayed, misshapen, but weirdly comforting. Don’t go in expecting a clean, polished album... This was made under Spanish heat, probably surrounded by cats and half-melted equipment that probably shouldn’t still work but somehow does. There’s a real DIY, cobbled-together charm here - but here's the kicker: it works.

Somehow, through all the jangly guitars, the whispering, the distorted poetry and the brain loops, Four Five builds up a picture of a life lived properly- awkwardly, loudly, and with lots of trial and error. The album feels personal without being overly precious and chaotic without being careless, which is an impressive thing to achieve! Every chaotic lurch, every fragment of melody, every muttered lyric - it’s all there for a reason. It’s like if a scrapbook came to life. It’s emotional, strangely addictive and genuinely brilliant. The songs veer from beautifully introspective to borderline unhinged, like one moment Thomas is whispering confessions in your ear, the next he’s throwing a brick through your window at 3am.

There’s something brave and bizarrely intimate about the whole project. House isn’t trying to dazzle you with polished or slick hooks he’s handing you the contents of his head in a big bag and saying, “Here, sort through that.” And weirdly, you want to. You want to keep listening. Because buried among the experimental clatter and anxious guitar loops are genuine beautiful moments of vulnerability which all complement each other perfectly. Four Five is an album you experience more than you “enjoy” in the conventional sense. It’s like a long, messy conversation with someone fascinating who doesn’t care if they’re being too honest or too loud or too weird. And by the end, you’re so glad you listened. It feels alive. Raw. It feels like the songs might start falling apart if you listen too hard, and yet they never do.

Each song is a moment: sometimes a fully formed punch of post-punk brilliance, sometimes just a strange shimmer of tape hiss and half-muttered ideas that feel like they crawled out of his subconscious while he was making toast. There are guitars that jangle, skitter, and scream. There are drums that occasionally sound like someone kicking over a bin full of regrets. And there’s House, ever-present, delicately weaving through it all with his distinct beautiful voice. This is the kind of record you don’t just hear... you inhabit. You explore. You find new things in track 38 you missed on your third listen because track 12 was still echoing in your spine. You don’t feel like you’ve just listened to an album. You feel like you’ve lived inside someone else's brain. Felt their anxieties, their jokes, their musical obsessions, their nostalgia, their breakdowns, their breakthroughs.

What moves me most about this entire project is the sheer devotion behind it. You can feel, in every moment of this sprawling, astonishing triple LP, just how much of Thomas has been poured into it. Not just time, though surely countless hours. Not just effort, though the scale alone must be monumental. But love. Deep, patient, deliberate love. This isn’t something that could have happened easily. You can hear the weight of it - every decision made, every corner explored. It’s overwhelming, really. To witness the scope of it. To feel the care and intention in something this massive, this personal, this quietly brave. It’s a really rare thing to see someone give so much of themselves to a piece of art. To sum all of the above up... It’s absolutely brilliant. It’s more than worth your time.

Lucy Foster - 20th April, 2025

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ZNORulIlc4