SPILL ALBUM REVIEW: PROFESSOR YAFFLE – EVERYONE WANTS TO DREAM

PROFESSOR YAFFLE
EVERYONE WANTS TO DREAM
VIOLETTE RECORDS

Lucky accidents happen, those moments when I stumble across a band I’ve never heard of and unexpectedly fall for them. I actively pursue such situations, usually drawn in by a band’s name or album cover, anything that stirs my imagination or pure curiosity. In this case, the name didn’t ring a bell. I wasn’t even alive when the children’s TV series Bagpuss aired, with its wooden woodpecker character Professor Yaffle. It was the cover image that caught my eye: atmospheric, calm, yet slightly mysterious and ambiguous. It says more than a thousand words.

Professor Yaffle hails from Liverpool, and the city’s viewpoint, Everton Brow, appears repeatedly in the album’s lyrics. Rather than drawing from Liverpool’s most famous band, these lads take inspiration from the folk rock and psychedelic groups of the 1960s. Most of the songs on their new album, their fifth, drift at mid-to-slow tempos, but they’re arranged with enough variety to keep the listener engaged. The record never drags—quite the opposite. The further it plays, the closer it draws to its emotional peak, thanks to near-perfect sequencing.

Side A kicks off with “On Top of the World” which lays all cards on the table: folk-rock foundations cultivated with a plentiful range of classical instruments. Yet every song that follows brings a surprise that makes it stand out. The moody title track shines with an urgent verse and a soothing chorus, underpinned by a grand orchestral swell. “A Whispering Amid the River Reeds” is a delicate ballad elevated by a minimal yet effective lead guitar figure. “Come Fly With Me” closes the side with a brass-led chorus that leaves a lasting impression.

The second half opens with “Lost in a Dream (On Everton Brow)” which gives the rock instruments a break and lets classical textures quietly take over. The album’s psychedelic centrepiece, the six-min “City Bells”, is masterfully arranged and emotionally resonant. Whether it’s a wah-wah guitar lick, feverish solo, or actual bells, every detail is well considered and beautifully executed to build this monster of a tune. The following track, “It All Came Tumbling Down”, shifts the mood dramatically. It’s upbeat, simply gorgeous, and with its tears-of-joy-inducing outro, feels like a natural closer.

How do you even follow that? They saved the heaviest song on the record, the rhythmically punchy “Every Day of My Life,” for the very end. It’s not a bad song, it just feels like it belongs on a different album by a different band. After “It All Came Tumbling Down”, it’s like ending a handwritten sentence with a hammer instead of a full stop. But after a dream, an alarm clock often follows. So, once the final chords fade, you can just hit play again and keep dreaming. It’s a small complaint, really, in the context of such a wonderful album.

To understand the context, I listened to their previous record, Let There Be Light, as well. It’s ambitious. It’s cinematic, expansive, and lushly orchestrated, but it dabbles in a few too many ponds at once. Everyone Wants to Dream feels almost like its opposite, a perfect yin to its yang. The band took a brilliant step back. Instead of using a brush with a full palette of colours, they picked up a box of crayons and carefully adorned each song with detailed, modest strokes. They focus less on how the songs sound and more on how they feel.

Professor Yaffle has recorded a strong, cohesive set of songs that are delicate and powerful. Luckily, the single LP format encouraged them to keep things tight and focused, trimming the fat and distilling the album down to the very essence of who they are. If you’re hungry for more, their back catalogue will feed you well.

Not only did I discover a gem of a band, I also discovered a place I now feel compelled to visit. I’ve been to Liverpool a couple of times, but I’ve never stood up on Everton Brow. After hearing this album, I don’t just want to—I need to. And that, I think, is quite an achievement.

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