Nation of Language Retreat on ‘Dance Called Memory’

Roxy Music released its final album, Avalon, in 1982, capping off a decade that saw the group morph from the shimmering art rock of its debut to something more majestic but wearier. Seven years had passed since the group’s last masterpiece (Siren). The uneven Manifesto (1979) and Flesh + Blood (1980) felt like a group staggering to its end. However, Bryan Ferry and company rebounded with the lovely and ghostly Avalon, allowing Roxy Music to finish with a triumph.

Nation of Language, the Brooklyn-based purveyors of ’80s-inspired synth-pop, return with Dance Called Memory on September 19. And while the band’s fourth album in five years sounds like it could be its Avalon, maybe the trio just hasn’t earned the same world-weariness after such a short time putting out music.

If Strange Disciple (2023) expanded the group’s sonic palette with live guitars and drums, Dance Called Memory feels like a willful retreat from that ecstatic sound. If Strange Disciple saw Nation of Language getting ready for a night at the club, this new album feels like a soundtrack for the night drive home. There is nothing as immediately catchy as “Spare Me the Decision” or “Sole Obsession.” Instead, Dance Called Memory exists in wisps and tendrils. 

It is a well-worn story that Nation of Language grew from Ian Devaney’s obsession with early Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark tracks. We can clearly hear Andy McCluskey in his vocals as the creeping of other influences show up here. Devaney goes full-Ferry on “Silhouette,” a track that could slot nicely onto Avalon. Meanwhile, Devaney wades into the smear of Kevin Shields in the My Bloody Valentine-inspired “I’m Not Ready for the Change.”

Working once again with producer Nick Millhiser (of LCD Soundsystem and Holy Ghost! fame), Dance Called Memory could feel like a bummer of an album after Strange Disciple. Aidan Noell’s synths feel icy while Alex MacKay’s bass never really menaces. The closest the band comes to a dance track is lead single “Now That You’re Gone,” which feels like a variation on OMD’s “If You Leave.” Inspired by the death of Devaney’s godfather from ALS, the song explores the idea of empathy that spans the record’s 10 tracks. 

Life in America circa 2025 is difficult for many. Instead of going bigger, Nation of Language withdraws into itself, the same way Roxy Music did 43 years ago. Much of this record feels subdued, the hangover after a party. It feels like Devaney is intent on pushing past the superficiality of the ’80s in the hopes of crafting a sound that is more vulnerable. That weariness hangs over these 10 tracks. Devaney is just out of reach, a sad and knowing ghost that we cannot ever touch.