London plane is such a good name for a post-punk band. It's so good I almost expect you to be able to find them in an updated edition of Simon Reynolds' Rip It Up and Start Again on the basis of their name alone. The image of an escape into the air by means of a machine, destined for parts unknown, amongst sheets of rain and clouds of billowing fog is irrepressible and gets to something deep about the suspicions and hopes for modernity that are inherent in the genre. It’s not all in the name, though, and if you called a black rose by any other name, it would still smell as lush and sweet. London Plane is possessed of a dark beauty that penetrated down to their roots, a truth they make clear on their debut album Bright Black. Harkening back to an era when strong songwriting was as necessary as high cheekbones, the band exhibits a confident variety of sharp, dramatic, and timeless fanged charisma, that can't wait to get its teeth into you. Instead of opting for the kind of industrial detour and free-wheeling chaos of Throbbing Gristle, coy satire in the lane of Devo, or even straightforward angular rock music in the vein of Gang of Four, the London Plane opts to stick to the fundamental, creating solid grooves and memorable melodies that exhibit an authentic kind of maturity that is extremely rare amongst any rock bands performing today, post-punk or otherwise. Their singer Jessica Cole is right out front with a confident wail and a baroque croon, backed by a band comprised of five leather-clad players who work in concert to bring the group's twisted dark romance to flesh and fulfillment. Part of the maturity of the band is not only their conviction in their performances but also the production of their recordings- icing dark and roughly textured Echo & the Bunnymen-styled ambiance with guitars and vocal lines that have been polished like a knife. Bright Black gives you the impression of what some of those classic goth rock albums from the 80s and 90s might have sounded like with the benefit of modern studio tech- allowing you to embrace the bliss of their moonlit traipse in high fidelity without losing the feeling of dirt between your toes. There are definite, body-moving moments on the album, like the shadow funk of "Gold Soul" where the band comes its closest to paying homage to Oingo Boingo, balanced against brooding outbursts where they resemble something like a proto PJ Harvey Band- sweet-stained gothic auras mixing with the spasming release of hard confessional lyricism in a precise rock milieu. Bright Black is defined by its depictions of a gloomy, overbearing metropolis much like the group's native New York, where looming skyscrapers barricade the streets like silent titanic sentries- a commitment couched subtle, ominous awe that is even carried over to the urban cowpunk of tracks like "Homocosmicus." As you might expect, the band appears to be most in their element when they are venting their fury against the insidious forces of war, greed, and corrupt power that flow through these conduits of hierarchy and averse that continue to breathe life into decaying machines of graft and avarice, mounting a spiritual hurricane of escalating, cindery synths and a whirling guitar charge paced to a ruckus, leaping hurtle on "Francesco," and convening a blinding visionary staccato wave of grooves and wall-crumbling battle cries on the title track. Bright Black is a shining beacon of dark passion and alluring possibilities that seeks to light the way for those who are willing to tread its path of nocturnal luminescence and enlightenment.