It Bites’ third studio album, Eat Me in St. Louis (1989), stands as a defiant pivot for the British prog-pop quartet, trading their earlier whimsical complexities for a raw, riff-driven hard rock edge. Fronted by the enigmatic Francis Dunnery on vocals and guitar, with Bob Dalton on drums, John Beck on keys, and Dick Nolan on bass, this was the original lineup’s final bow before Dunnery‘s departure. Produced by Mack (of Queen fame), the record crackles with urgency, clocking in at 11 tracks that blend blistering guitars, soaring melodies, and a darker lyrical undercurrent—far from the playful prog of The Big Lad in the Windmill (1986) or Once Around the World (1988).
Opener “Positively Animal” erupts with primal energy, Dunnery‘s snarling riffs and yelped vocals channeling a feralness that’s both thrilling and unpolished. It’s a bold statement of intent, heavy on bluesy swagger and light on prog excess, signaling the band’s US market ambitions. The singles fare variably: “Still Too Young to Remember” delivers a punchy, anthemic chorus laced with regretful nostalgia, peaking modestly in the UK charts, while “Underneath Your Pillow” adds a quirky, pillow-talk intimacy with its shimmering keys and remixed dance-floor pulse. “Sister Sarah,” a gritty mid-tempo rocker, simmers with sibling-rivalry tension, its raw production highlighting Nolan‘s thumping basslines.
The album’s heart lies in its deeper cuts. “The Ice Melts into Water” unfolds as a sprawling, hyper-arranged ballad, echoing 10cc’s layered sophistication with Dunnery‘s off-kilter timbre weaving through piano swells and orchestral flourishes. It’s vulnerable, dissecting emotional thaw amid life’s chill, and showcases the band’s knack for prog-pop alchemy. Yet, the real revelation is the CD-exclusive closer, “Charlie”—an eight-minute instrumental tribute to Dunnery‘s late father. Here, Dunnery abandons the pick for fingertip tapping on his custom tapboard, crafting a mesmerizing arpeggio melody with delay echoes that evoke Steve Morse‘s fluidity. A weeping lead guitar joins midway, building to a cathartic swell of sorrow and solitude, transcending rock into poignant minimalism.
Visually, Roger Dean‘s fantastical cover—swirling surrealism in his Yes-esque style—belies the music’s grit, a nod to prog heritage amid the heaviness. Eat Me in St. Louis isn’t flawless; its straightforwardness occasionally sacrifices the genre-hopping whimsy that defined It Bites, and commercial singles fizzled, dooming US breakthrough hopes (the American release was a haphazard compilation). But this urgency elevates it: darker themes of loss and reinvention pulse through Mack‘s crisp mix, making it the band’s most cohesive and ferocious effort. For crossover prog fans craving Marillion‘s drama meets Thunder‘s bite, it’s essential—a underrated gem that bites back harder with age.
