STRUGGLES WITH SYNTAX – MONDAY BLUEZ

We’ve become so accustomed to video conferencing since the COVID-19 pandemic that the word “Zoom” no longer is just something found in the panels of comic books.

Much older than that though is the concept of “Monday Blues” – having had the weekend to unwind, get drunk and socialize only to find yourself trudging to work the start of the working week and counting down the hours until the weekend starts again.

Struggles With Syntax today release the final video from their smoldering EP, UK Garage Floor Fillers Vol. 4, with an ode to being furious and old; “Monday Bluez.”

Set within the confines of a video conferencing room, “Monday Bluez” sees a rotten and ill-tempered dinner party (or séance, adds vocalist Jo Jones) occurring in the mind of a “man-child on the cusp of wondrous failure.)

The song itself focuses on a low ebb and a kind of desperate outpouring of fury – like screaming into the abyss with a few tins of Special Brew in hand.

The video itself was meant to be released to launch the 2021 season of MUZAI Records on January 18th 2021. It was Blue Monday on that date however, so the band took a week to recover from the double dose of blues before finishing the video.

“Monday Bluez” marks the end of the band’s UK Garage Floor Fillers Vol. 4 chapter as they start to work towards a debut full lengther, whenever they get the chance to come together as a group and avoid another disastrous video meeting. Watch this space.

The Genesis of a Digital Séance

The concept for "Monday Bluez" didn't spring from a single moment of inspiration but rather from a collective groan that echoed through the band's group chat every Sunday evening. Struggles With Syntax, known for their abrasive blend of garage rock and post-punk, had been experimenting with the claustrophobic atmosphere of video conferencing long before it became a global necessity. The early demos for the EP were, in fact, shared and dissected over a series of painfully laggy Zoom calls, where feedback loops and frozen faces became unintentional instruments. It was during one such session, while discussing the monotony of the working week, that vocalist Jo Jones muttered, "It's like a séance for the soul, but everyone's just angry." That phrase became the seed from which "Monday Bluez" grew.

The band's fascination with the mundane horror of modern life is nothing new. Their previous releases have tackled everything from the existential dread of supermarket self-checkouts to the quiet rage of waiting for a delayed train. But "Monday Bluez" feels different—more personal, more visceral. The song's lyrics, delivered with Jones's signature snarl, paint a picture of a man trapped not just in a job he hates, but in a loop of his own making. The "man-child on the cusp of wondrous failure" is a character the band knows all too well; he's the guy who spends his Sunday nights promising to change, only to wake up Monday morning and hit snooze until the last possible second. It's a universal figure, but Struggles With Syntax make him feel uncomfortably specific.

The decision to set the video entirely within a video conferencing room was both a practical and artistic one. With band members scattered across different cities, getting everyone in the same physical space was a logistical nightmare. But more than that, the format perfectly mirrored the song's themes of isolation and fractured communication. The "rotten and ill-tempered dinner party (or séance)" that Jones describes is a direct reflection of how digital interactions can amplify our worst impulses—misread tones, awkward silences, and the ever-present temptation to mute someone mid-sentence. The video, directed by the band themselves, leans into this discomfort, using glitchy transitions and distorted audio to create a sense of unease that lingers long after the final frame.

Deconstructing the Sound: UK Garage Meets Existential Dread

Musically, "Monday Bluez" is a departure from the band's earlier, more straightforward garage rock sound. The influence of UK garage—a genre born in the late 1990s and early 2000s, characterized by its shuffling beats and pitched-up vocal samples—is unmistakable, but Struggles With Syntax twist it into something far darker. The EP's title, UK Garage Floor Fillers Vol. 4, is a tongue-in-cheek nod to the genre's club-ready origins, but the songs themselves are anything but danceable. Instead, the band uses the rhythmic framework of garage as a foundation for layers of distorted guitars, droning synths, and Jones's guttural vocals. The result is a sound that's both familiar and alien, like hearing a distant party through a wall while you're stuck in a fluorescent-lit office.

The production on "Monday Bluez" is deliberately lo-fi, with the band opting for a raw, unpolished mix that captures the frustration of the lyrics. The drums, programmed rather than played live, have a mechanical quality that underscores the song's themes of routine and repetition. The bassline, a relentless throb, mirrors the pounding headache of a Monday morning hangover. And then there's Jones's voice, which shifts from a weary mumble to a full-throated scream without warning. It's a performance that feels less like singing and more like exorcism—a desperate attempt to purge the week's accumulated rage before it consumes him entirely.

Fans of the band's earlier work will recognize the DNA of their sound in "Monday Bluez," but there's a newfound maturity here. The song's structure is deceptively simple, built around a recurring motif that gradually unravels as the track progresses. By the final minute, the music has collapsed into a cacophony of feedback and static, leaving the listener as drained as the protagonist. It's a bold choice for a single, but one that perfectly encapsulates the EP's overarching narrative: the slow, grinding erosion of the human spirit under the weight of modern life. As Jones puts it, "It's not a song you dance to. It's a song you survive."

Blue Monday: A Cultural and Historical Context

The decision to release "Monday Bluez" on January 18th, 2021—Blue Monday—was no accident. Blue Monday, often cited as the most depressing day of the year, is a concept that originated in 2005 as part of a marketing campaign by a travel company. The formula, which takes into account factors like weather, debt, and the time since Christmas, has been widely debunked by scientists, but the idea has taken root in the public consciousness. For Struggles With Syntax, the date was too perfect to ignore. The band had planned to launch the video on that day, but as Jones explains, "We woke up that morning, looked at the news, looked at our bank accounts, and just thought, 'Nah, not today.' So we had a few tins and put it off for a week."

The delay, while frustrating for fans, ultimately worked in the band's favor. The extra week allowed them to fine-tune the video's editing, adding subtle details that reward repeat viewings. For instance, the clock in the corner of the video conferencing room is permanently stuck at 9:05 AM—the exact time most office workers are expected to be at their desks, pretending to care about the week ahead. The wallpaper behind Jones, a faded floral pattern, is a nod to the kind of suburban home that feels more like a prison than a sanctuary. And the ever-present mug of tea, which never seems to empty, is a bleak reminder of the small comforts we cling to in times of despair.

Blue Monday also has a deeper resonance for the band, who have always been drawn to the intersection of pop culture and genuine human emotion. In an interview with Who is Herring Farmer?, guitarist Mark Ellis discussed the band's fascination with "manufactured misery"—the way corporations and media outlets exploit our collective sadness for profit. "Blue Monday is a perfect example," he said. "It's not real, but it feels real because we're all so tired and broke in January. We wanted to take that feeling and make it tangible, to show that the blues aren't just a marketing gimmick—they're a legitimate response to a world that's constantly demanding more from us."

The Making of the Video: A Technical and Emotional Journey

Creating the video for "Monday Bluez" was, by all accounts, a nightmare. The band had initially planned to shoot a more traditional performance video, but the constraints of the pandemic forced them to rethink their approach. What emerged was a collaborative effort conducted entirely over video calls, with each member filming their parts in their own homes. The process was fraught with technical difficulties—dropped connections, mismatched frame rates, and the ever-present threat of a cat walking across the keyboard mid-take. But these imperfections became part of the video's charm, reinforcing the song's themes of disconnection and frustration.

The video's narrative, such as it is, follows a group of friends attempting to hold a dinner party over a video call. The characters, played by the band members and a few close friends, are all in various states of disarray: one is still in his pajamas, another is nursing a hangover, and a third is visibly annoyed by the whole affair. As the call progresses, tensions rise, and the conversation devolves into a series of passive-aggressive jabs and awkward silences. It's a painfully accurate depiction of how digital communication can strip away the nuances of human interaction, leaving only the raw, unfiltered emotions beneath. The "séance" element, as Jones describes it, comes into play during the song's climax, when the characters seem to be possessed by a collective rage, their faces distorting into grotesque masks of fury.

The video's editing is deliberately jarring, with rapid cuts and glitch effects that mimic the sensation of a failing internet connection. The color palette is muted and cold, dominated by the blue-gray tones of a computer screen. Even the lighting feels oppressive, casting harsh shadows that make the characters look like figures in a horror film. It's a far cry from the polished, high-budget videos that dominate the music industry, but that's precisely the point. Struggles With Syntax have never been interested in gloss or glamour; they're interested in truth, no matter how ugly it may be. As Ellis puts it, "We wanted the video to feel like a bad dream you can't wake up from. Because that's what Monday feels like."

Reception and Legacy: From EP to Full-Length

The release of "Monday Bluez" was met with a wave of critical acclaim, with many reviewers praising the band's willingness to embrace discomfort. Loud and Quiet called it "a masterclass in sonic dread," while DIY described it as "the sound of a band hitting their stride while simultaneously falling apart." Fans, too, responded enthusiastically, with the video racking up thousands of views within its first week. The song's relatability struck a chord with listeners who were themselves struggling to cope with the monotony of pandemic life. In the comments section, one fan wrote, "This is exactly how I feel every Monday morning. Thank you for making me feel less alone." Another simply posted a string of crying emojis.

But the success of "Monday Bluez" was about more than just catharsis. It marked a turning point for Struggles With Syntax, signaling their evolution from a scrappy garage band to a more ambitious, experimental outfit. The EP, UK Garage Floor Fillers Vol. 4, was praised for its cohesive vision and fearless experimentation, with many critics noting the band's ability to blend disparate genres into something wholly original. The title, a playful jab at the garage scene's obsession with danceability, was seen as a statement of intent: this is garage music, but not as you know it.

With the EP now behind them, the band is turning their attention to their debut full-length album. Details are scarce, but early reports suggest it will continue in the vein of "Monday Bluez," exploring the darker corners of modern existence with unflinching honesty. The band has hinted at collaborations with other artists on the MUZAI roster, including Colonel Troutman and Fadoht, though nothing has been confirmed. What is certain is that the album will be a departure from anything they've done before—a sprawling, ambitious work that grapples with the big questions: Why do we work? Why do we drink? And why does Monday always feel like a punishment for sins we didn't commit?

What's Next for Struggles With Syntax?

As the band begins work on their debut album, they're also looking to expand their live presence. The pandemic forced them to cancel a planned tour in support of the EP, but they're hopeful that 2022 will bring new opportunities to connect with fans in person. In the meantime, they've been experimenting with virtual performances, using the same video conferencing technology that inspired "Monday Bluez" to create intimate, interactive shows. These events, which they've dubbed "Séance Sessions," allow fans to join the band in a shared digital space, where they can chat, request songs, and even participate in the performance. It's a novel approach that has already garnered attention from music blogs and industry insiders.

But for all their forward momentum, the band remains grounded in the same DIY ethos that has defined them from the start. They still record in Ellis's basement, still book their own shows, and still handle their own social media. This independence is a point of pride, but it also comes with challenges. "We're not getting rich off this," Jones admits. "But we're not doing it for the money. We're doing it because we have to. Because if we didn't write these songs, we'd probably lose our minds." It's a sentiment that resonates with anyone who has ever found solace in music, and it's a reminder that art, at its best, is a form of survival.

Looking ahead, the band is excited about the future, but they're also wary of the pressures that come with success. They've seen too many promising acts burn out or sell out, and they're determined not to follow that path. "We want to make music that matters," Ellis says. "Music that makes people feel seen, even if what they see is ugly. That's the goal. That's always been the goal." With "Monday Bluez," they've achieved that goal and then some. The question now is whether they can sustain it—and if the Monday blues will ever truly go away.

For more on Struggles With Syntax and the wider MUZAI Records family, check out the News Archive or read our feature on SLOW DECLINE: MUZAI at 10.