On Man/Woman/Chainsaw’s debut album, the London art-rock sextet live up to the compelling fracture their name evokes. In an early press statement, guitarist-singer Billy Ward described how they’re excited by musical “chaos,” straddling the line “between pretty and noisy” and “often trying to jump between the two.” Cannonball cartwheels from ultra-sweet pop balladry to proggy chamber-pop to aggressive post-punk clatter, seemingly treating each of its styles with equal reverence. At first, these tonal shifts may give you whiplash. But after you get your bearings, you start to relish them. It’s quite the feat. The band—Ward, singer-bassist Vera Leppänen, singer-keyboardist Emmie-Mae Avery, violinist Clio Starwood, drummer Lola Cherry, and guitarist Billy Doyle—have been refining the recipe of that anarchy since their earliest days, becoming a fixture of their local DIY scene alongside fellow experimentalists like black midi and Black Country, New Road. Their debut EP, 2024’s Eazy Peazy, was a tantalizing sampler platter: the heart-stopping piano-and-string atmospheres of “Ode to Clio,” the snarling distortion of “Sports Day,” the soulful serenity of “Grow a Tongue in Time,” the pure noise abstraction of “Maegan.” Cannonball stretches that unpredictability even further, hitting each vibe with more intensity, color, and fun. Cherry said they originally toyed with pursuing a “whole record of bangers” where everything punched like Rage Against the Machine. Man/Woman/Chainsaw wisely recalibrated, of course—and many of the album’s most original moments explore their softer, more sensitive side, without a trace of “Bulls on Parade” in their blood. Opener “Only Girl” is a perfectly crafted pop tune, lifted by Avery’s snappy piano, Starwood’s sweeping violin counter-melodies, and a delicate Leppänen vocal that unironically captures the lump-in-your-throat rush of new love (“Leave your shoes at the door / Now my patience has worn / Gotta get you alone”). The natural bookend is closer “Something Else to Give,” a sadder, more angsty love song with an equally immersive arrangement. Here, Leppänen gently muses on secrets and storms as the rhythm section’s spacious churn builds to a jaw-dropping crescendo of strings and stacked group vocals. “You don’t want what you’re offering,” they harmonize in stirring staccato bursts. It’s easy to lose sight of the words on Cannonball, given how frequently Man/Woman/Chainsaw dazzle you with the pure theater of their sounds, but it’s worth noting their skill in that department: expertly blending poetic phrasings with simple, impactful imagery. The best example arrives with the dreamy “Snakebite,” with one melancholy mantra (“You open up your pockets / So my fingertips find where your hands have been / My picture in your wallet / Do you still carry it?”) delivered through some of the most expressive, gorgeous singing you’ll likely hear on a rock song this year. There are other highlights in this reflective space: the piano-ballad verses of “Canyons” (which winds through clever rhythmic changes into a heavy, dramatic climax), the lounge-soul breeziness of “Lighter,” the ornamental vocal melody of cell-phone-in-the-air anthem “Still Angry.” But Man/Woman/Chainsaw balance out all of this vulnerability with plenty of abrasiveness, often sparked by Ward’s post-punk presence: Between violent guitar spasms, “Goddamn, Lizard Man!” sets its gaze on a “wicked” but charming villain, and “The Thing” offers some crackling quiet-loud dynamics. The band makes these extreme stylistic pivots on a dime, and you get the sense they luxuriate in that disorientation, but their self-described “chaos” never feels frivolous or random, like jump scares planted into a rom-com. They add contextual weight and drama to songs already bubbling over with it. [Fiction] Ryan Reed is a writer and editor from Knoxville, Tennessee. In addition to Paste, his work has appeared over the years in Rolling Stone, Revolver, The New York Times, Pitchfork, and many other publications.