HELP(2) is an extraordinarily carefully programmed 90 minutes of artists coming together to raise funds for children affected by war, playing like a curated journey through the best of British alternative music and beyond with the kind of lineup you’d expect to see topping the Pyramid Stage or rotating through Later...with Jools Holland, and a balance of contemporary voices sitting comfortably alongside established legends.

The original Help compilation was released during the Bosnian War, with artists like Oasis, Radiohead and Blur recording tracks in a single day to raise funds for affected children, and HELP(2) revives that ethos decades later. Organised by War Child UK, the project involves a huge network of artists, producers, and studios all providing their time, talent and expertise to raise financial support for the many children currently living in war zones.

HELP(2) is sincere, focussed and emotionally grounded, reflecting a moment that feels increasingly urgent and carrying a quiet but unmistakable weight without ever slipping into empty, patronising gestures. Across covers and originals, the record is defined by voices with instrumentation that largely exists to support the staggering quality of the vocal performances. Beth Gibbons’ rendition of Sunday Morning feels so natural it’s as though it always belonged to her, whilst Depeche Mode transform Universal Soldier into a towering statement that’s deeply emotional and Ezra Collective’s Helicopters is sunlit and breezy on the surface, but with a chilling edge that lingers.

Fontaines D.C. deliver a poised and deeply affecting take on Sinéad O’Connor’s Black Boys on Mopeds, Young Fathers inject buckets of energy on Don’t Fight The Young, and true to Pulp form, Jarvis Cocker and company sidestep melancholy completely with an upbeat party on Begging For Change. The closing stretch is a devastating sequence of glacial, stripped-back ballads with a shift in tone that’s decisively introspective. Wet Leg’s Obvious reveals a new depth to Rhian Teasdale’s voice carrying tremendous poise, Bat For Lashes Carried my girl is devastatingly sad, and the compilation closes with Olivia Rodrigo’s tender and perfect cover of The Book of Love.

Across nearly 90 minutes, the record moves between energy and stillness, groove and reflection, before settling into its quietly devastating final stretch, flowing like a festival day. It sounds like Glastonbury, wandering between stages and hearing deeply heartfelt performances from artists at every stage of their career. With contemporary names like Fontaines D.C., Wet Leg, and Black Country, New Road all rising to the occasion and showcasing the full extent of what they can do, the newer voices stand comfortably alongside figures like Depeche Mode and Pulp with covers and originals unified by intent, and no sense of heirarchy. Crucially, there’s no sense of the forced uplift or patronising gloss that so often undermines saccharine charity projects, with a sincere and reflective weight that comes from the quality of the performances themselves.

For a compilation of this scale featuring artists of this stature most of the performances are stripped back, intimate and restrained with the focus firmly on what’s being sung. The whole record feels more contemplative than overwhelming, demanding attention and rewarding it. Opening with Arctic Monkeys setting a tone rooted in a lineage that stretches back to The Rolling Stones, it draws you in gently without flash. Each track adds another shade of feeling, expanding outward in a tapestry of voices, which makes the emotional weight of the final stretch feel earned. For the newer artists there’s an opportunity to show that they belong alongside the established names, which they do unequivocally, with Wet Leg and Olivia Rodrigo’s tracks feeling so poised and controlled that they feel like defining career moments.

The album is not a celebration, and it’s not exactly a protest record either. Rather, it’s a contemplative snapshot of a culture that values, songwriting, and meaning coming together to produce something thoughtful and powerful. Artists are given space to carry songs without resting on spectacle. The performances are serious and full of gravitas, in some cases taking on material that’s already revered and approaching it with intimacy and restraint, which separates HELP(2) from the legacy of large-scale charity events that lean on scale and glitter. Thoughtful and inward-facing, the album trusts the listener to care rather than forcing them by overwhelming them with emotion.

HELP(2) is sombre rather than defiant, and reflective rather than performative, proving that even when politicians fail us, artists have consistently found ways to respond with humanity and care. A genuinely powerful project that’s not just well-meaning but increasingly necessary.