Album Review: We’re Not Grasshoppers by Dissident Prophet (1996)
If you’ve ever stumbled across an indie rock gem from the '90s that feels like it was made just for those late-night drives when your thoughts spiral out of control, then We’re Not Grasshoppers might be your next obsession. This UK-born record, dropped in 1996 under MGL Granite Records, is raw, unfiltered, and packed with soul. It’s not perfect—heck, sometimes it feels downright messy—but isn’t that what makes it so damn real?
Let’s talk about two tracks that’ll stick to your brain like gum on a summer sidewalk: “Selfish Git” and “Little Light.”
“Selfish Git” kicks things off with this gritty guitar riff that punches you right in the gut. Andy Jennings’ vocals are snarly but heartfelt, like he’s spilling his guts over something personal. You can almost picture him pacing around some dimly lit rehearsal space, pissed off at someone who done him wrong. The drums crash in like thunderclouds rolling in, and suddenly, you’re hooked. It’s not overly flashy or polished—it’s honest, which is exactly why I keep coming back to it. Plus, Tom Livemore’s guitar work? Damn. Feels like he’s channeling all his frustration into every note.
Then there’s “Little Light,” which flips the script entirely. This one sneaks up on you soft and slow, kinda like dawn breaking after a rough night. Phil Wright’s violin weaves through the track like a thread pulling everything together, while Lisa Coterill’s cello adds this haunting depth that gives me goosebumps every single time. It’s hopeful without being corny, emotional without trying too hard. When Jennings sings, “Hold on tight / There’s still a little light,” it hits different. Like, man, life sucks sometimes, but maybe—just maybe—you can find a reason to push forward.
What really stands out about this album is how freaking human it feels. Simon Hanhart did a killer job producing and engineering; he didn’t scrub away the imperfections. Instead, he let them shine because they tell the story. And the band? They weren’t afraid to experiment either. Adding strings to tracks like “Little Light” and “Hang Him Round Your Neck”? Bold move. But it works.
Here’s the thing though: listening to We’re Not Grasshoppers feels like eavesdropping on someone else’s conversation. These songs are deeply intimate, almost uncomfortably so. By the end of the album, you’re left wondering if you should’ve been privy to these moments in the first place.
So yeah, this album probably won’t top any charts today—not in a world full of auto-tune and TikTok hits—but it doesn’t need to. It exists as its own weird, beautiful thing. A snapshot of a time when indie rock wasn’t about trends or algorithms but about pouring your heart into something and hoping someone gets it.
And hey, fun fact: did you notice the photo credits go to Simon Harding? That dude wore multiple hats—producer AND photographer. Talk about multitasking! Makes me wonder if he also brought snacks to the studio. (Seriously, does anyone know?)
Final thought: If you decide to give We’re Not Grasshoppers a spin, prepare yourself. It’s not background music—it demands your attention. And honestly? That’s rare these days.
