Album Review: Language Of The World by Angels In Between
Alright, let’s talk about Language Of The World, the kinda underrated gem from Angels In Between. Released back in ’99 (yeah, that’s right, the 90s were still alive and kickin’), this Dutch rock-pop hybrid is one of those albums you might’ve missed but totally shouldn’t sleep on. It’s got heart, grit, and a little bit of that late-90s experimental vibe that makes it feel like an old friend you just met.
First off, kudos to Bert Smeets—he’s basically everywhere on this thing. Writing lyrics? Him. Composing music? Yup, him again. Playing instruments AND mixing tracks? You guessed it—Bert’s all over it like peanut butter on toast. And while he deserves props for wearing so many hats, shout-out also goes to Frans Bronzwaer and Paul Baten for producing this baby into something cohesive. Oh, and Vincent Schuijren’s photography? Super moody and cool—it fits the whole “language of the world” theme perfectly.
Now, onto the tracks. There are some real standouts here, but I gotta call out two that stuck with me long after the first listen.
Track 1: "Trying To Get On"
This song hits hard right outta the gate. It’s punchy, melodic, and feels like it could’ve been a radio hit if given half a chance. The mix of crunchy guitars and soaring vocals gives it this anthemic quality—you can almost picture yourself driving down a highway at sunset, windows down, singing along way too loud. What really gets me is how relatable the lyrics are; everyone’s trying to figure life out, ya know? Like, we’re all just “trying to get on,” stumbling through our own messes and hoping we land somewhere decent. Plus, the reprise version later in the album ("Trying To Get On (Embryo)") adds another layer, stripping things back and making it feel more intimate. Real clever touch.
Track 7: "Russian Winter In America"
Okay, hear me out—this one’s wild. At first, it sounds like your typical mid-tempo ballad, but then BAM, it takes these unexpected turns that keep you hooked. The title alone sparks curiosity—what does a Russian winter have to do with America? Is it metaphorical? Political? Or just plain poetic? Whatever it is, it works. The instrumentation builds slowly, adding tension until it explodes into this cathartic release near the end. It’s not flashy or overproduced, which honestly makes it even better. Feels raw, like someone pouring their soul into three minutes of sound.
Looking at the credits, you realize how much effort went into every detail. Simone Golob’s design work ties everything together visually, and Maurice Copier’s mixing skills shine throughout. Even Elke Peeters gets a nod for arrangement help—teamwork makes the dream work, folks.
So yeah, Language Of The World isn’t perfect—it leans a bit cheesy in spots, and some tracks blend together if you’re not paying close attention. But there’s something charming about its imperfections. Maybe it’s the fact that it comes from a small Dutch label (Triskell Productions) instead of some big corporate machine. Or maybe it’s because it reminds you of simpler times when CDs ruled the earth and Spotify didn’t exist yet.
Final thought? Listening to this album feels like finding a forgotten Polaroid tucked inside an old book. It’s nostalgic, slightly faded, but full of stories waiting to be rediscovered. If anything, it proves that sometimes the best art comes from places you least expect. Who knew a bunch of Dutch musicians could craft a record that still resonates decades later?
Oh, and random aside—if anyone knows where I can find vinyl copies of this, hit me up. Would love to spin it on my turntable while pretending I’m living in 1999 again.
