MEDiA: The Tourist, BBC, Pt. 1

The Pt. 1 in the title of this post refers to a two part review, not the series itself.

Hmmm! Watched one and a bit episodes of this. Not at all convinced. Why all the hype in the press/media? Jamie Dornan isn’t compelling. When I found out he’s a model turned actor it was like, ‘well, that figures’.

Structurally it ought to work. We should want to know how The Man wound up in hospital with no memory, and why there’s a guy buried alive in a barrel. But I found myself struggling to engage with any of the ‘characters’, many of whom seem paper thin.

Let’s start with Dornan’s The Man – who may or may not be the titular ‘tourist’: his reaction to a huge truck attacking him, prior to the crash and resulting amnesia, is that of a macho jerk, and not very believable. So, from the get go, I dislike him.

‘Mystery truck want fight? Le’s boogie!’ FFS!

And from then on he carries on, in sub-Western genre brooding silent tough guy mode, as an assortment of ‘other folk’ all behave as if they’ve got serious chunks of personality missing, in order to collude in the prolongation of something I wasn’t interested in to start with.

So in episode two I started scrolling through the many interminable bumbling functionary type scenes, before finally thinking, screw this.

I even read reviews suggesting this was a great comedy. Seriously? The Helen Chambers character, is she funny for constantly seeming diffidently embarrassed? Not in my world.

‘Oim handsome, yoor ugly. So jus’ feck off!’

A scene that sums it all up for me is when The Man, and what appears to be his ex, get held up on a road due, it turns out, to copulating turtles (ok, that sounds funny written down here, but believe me, on screen it isn’t). The Man reinforces his tough guy jerk persona, and my initial dislike starts turning to hatred.

One suspects that prior to the accident he was a bad man doing bad things. And perhaps that’s why his ex isn’t telling him she knows who he is? (Why was she ever with him? Why is she still hanging around him?) He’s such a cock! So I simply don’t care.

One thing I noticed on some of the comments sections of positive reviews (e.g. Guardian and Independent) was the preponderance of women digging it. The cynic in me says this must be down to them fancying JD. How depressing!

The Tourist: ‘Only Gap model’s lives are worthy of your interest.’

Not going to waste any more time on this. Rather like a male model type, this thinks it’s good looking and therefore interesting. I found it a grinding bore.

Pt. 2

Ok, so the following day, having written the above, I find myself going back to The Tourist. And, I guess, maybe I need to eat a little slice o’ the ol’ ‘umble pie?

I won’t totally disown all of the above. But, to be fair, as the saying goes, this isn’t as bad as I initially thought. I’ve gradually warmed to Elliot Stanley, and in staying with it, it finally wound me in.

So what did I get most wrong? Well, it is, occasionally, a bit funny, for starters. And I am sufficiently intrigued by it all to want to know what it’s all about. Or at least where it’s all going. On the other hand it is still an odd assemblage of a load of jumbled old clichés. And some of the characters are wafer thin.

It also partakes of the modern TV/film ‘trope’ (eugh!) of never-ending plot twists; pile ‘em high, an’ keep em’ coming. But all in all, I’ve warmed to it sufficiently to decide I will follow it to the end. All I know is it’ll be pretty dark and prob’ also a little bit funny,

Watch out if you’re a ‘Moody Richard’!

One of the things I still don’t like about such ‘black comedies’, however, from the darkly brilliant Fargo, to this lesser essay in that tradition, is the normalisation of ‘collateral damage’; many the innocent bystander is butchered, in pursuit, essentially, of couch potato consumer entertainment.

Does the normalisation of such violence feed into the same culture in which despicable lunatics like the Christchurch shooter see themselves as gunslinging ‘heroes’ in a first-person shoot ‘em up console game?

Any road, I’m revising this up from one and a half to three stars. Better than I initially thought, but a long way from classic or essential.

Pt. 3

Ok, so it’s now several days later, and after the Part 2 post, above, I’ve finally finished The Tourist. And, I have to say, I’m back to a downer on it.

I thought I’d post part three here – not that anyone knows or cares! – as opposed to doing a new post, just to keep it all in one place. Truth be told I’m expending way more time and energy on all this than the series or my interest in it merits. But, well… whatever!

So, there’s a gurt big ‘doors of perception’ segment (an idea developed quite literally), when Elliot accidentally imbibes a big dose of Kosta’s LSD-laced water.

As a one-time psychedelic psychonaut, of sorts, I find such scenes quite intriguing (and potentially unsettling!). This one was done, initially – the onset of ‘the trip’ – quite well, tailing off into something – the whole doors of perception bit, alluded to above, done almost too literally – much less psychedelic, but, I suppose, easier for viewers to digest.

I’m not quite sure what I think about this whole segment, which comes in either episode four or five (can’t quite recall!?). It’s not as weird as many a bit in Twin Peaks (not that I watched all of that!), but it is bit weird in the context of it’s own otherwise quite humdrum mode of delivery. The only other element akin to it is Kosta’s whole ‘imaginary’ or hallucinatory brother.

One of the biggest issues I wound up having with The Tourist in the end, is how little likeable humanity there is in it. Elliot Stanley both is, post bump on the head, and was, much more so pre-amnesia, a sociopathically selfish man; Luci, his ex, is a vacuous damaged opportunist thrill seeker; and the potentially nicest person, copper Helen Chambers is, in actual fact, such damaged goods, that really she’s not so nice after all.

And these are, one assumes, the folk we’re supposed to root for and take to heart. Aren’t they!? Their antagonists – Kosta, Billy Nixon and cold-hearted bent career-cop Lachlan Rogers (potentially one of the more interesting characters) are all well and truly horrid. Only the most cypher like peripheral characters might be just about alright. They usually wind up as uninteresting bit players, or else get killed.

And this brings us (partial spoiler alert) to the end. Like the litany of complaints I have about the folk populating this drama, it is, ultimately, crushingly bleak and negative. Is the emoji of a burrito Helen sends Stanley, as he expires (we assume; all the signposts indicate this) by his own hand, part of the comedic thread?

If it is, it’s obsidian dark comedy. Comedy that laughs at the futility of life. I have to confess, when this ended, having initially loathed it, then mellowed to it, I once again came to dislike it. And so, after all the above, I’m settling on two stars. Not the best investment of my time I’ve ever made.

SPORTS: Snooker – Robertson vs Williams, Masters, ‘22

Woah! I’ve been saying this a lot lately. But I love snooker. And this match was, to use the modern parlance, amaze-balls!

We got home from helping a friend in his garden earlier, and I stuck the TV on hoping for some snooker, with the Masters being on.

And boy oh boy did my wish come true!

I really like both Mark Williams and Neil Robertson. And when I came in the score was 5-2 in favour of Williams. Amazingly Robertson fought back to 5-5.

And then – as the players walked in to the decider to a standing ovation – we were served up a semi-final of acutely and epically dramatic proportions.

Safety play can sometimes be excruciating. But in this frame it was exhilarating. There was a passage of play that looked like it might get kind of stuck; as two reds and the black fit ever tighter to the top left pocket.

Williams was only one or two point off taking the deciding frame. And then this impasse developed. How on Earth were they going to get out of it? Never mind one of them finding a way to win!

If I am to be totally honest, I was, for some reason, rooting for Robertson. Was this my old allegiance to the underdog? Having witnessed him battling back to parity, to see him defeated would be a jarring prospect.

In the end it came down, I guess, to the mounting pressure of the situation, and Williams fluffed what was probably an erroneous choice of shot; aiming to screw down on the cue ball and curve around green to the object ball, yellow, instead he bounced the white onto the green.

Robertson had come to the table needing one snooker. Play had progressed such that at one point he needed two. Now, however, thanks to the penalty points and the lay of the balls resulting from Williams’ mistake, he was in a position – if he cleared up all the remaining colours – to steal the frame by just a few points.

And this he duly did.

His response to winning was extremely moving. First there was the obvious disbelief on his own part. And the relief. All the stress and pressure, which Ted handled amazingly, suddenly gone. I could feel the tension, the weight, quite palpably, lifted off his shoulders, and the rush of exhaustion that followed.

True gent’ that he is, he then apologised to Mark for winning. He needed a while to compose himself, as he readied and steadied himself for the post match interviews. The clarity of his emotions in that moment was very powerful to witness, amplified by a crowd on their feet, clapping and cheering.

Rob Walker’s interview with Robertson was ace!

Rob Walker – a terrific boon to Snooker as a fan, pundit and commentator – showed exemplary taste and restraint in how he handled this moment. He gave Robertson the time and space to come down off his cloud a little, and when he did get the interview started, it was pitched perfectly to elicit a very candid and even moving response from Neil.

Walker was spot on in observing that no one who witnessed the event – he was referring to those privileged enough to be there in person, but it was no less true for me as a viewer at home – will never forget what they’d seen.

And Robertson ‘broke the fourth wall’, so to speak, turning to face the camera and the audience watching wherever the may be, and said ‘I just want to say, to any kids watching, never give up!’ What a sublime moment. Truly sport at its exciting and inspiring best.

And then, later in the day, this heartwarming exchange:

MUSiC: New Lewis Taylor Album!!!

Wow! There’s a YouTube channel calling itself Lewis Taylor, and it looks and sounds, for all the world, like it might be genuine.

And the most exciting thing is not the archive of old videos and music that’s going up there, but the promise of new material.

I can’t recall exactly when I first heard this news. It was some time last year. Maybe around mid-2021? But now, in Jan ‘22, there’s the new video, above, with actual snippets of music.

The first LT song I ever heard.

Whoever was the very first LT song I heard, courtesy of Gilles Peterson, on one of his radio shows. And given I almost never listen to such stuff (contemporary music on the radio, that is), looking back that’s quite miraculous!

[I have to confess I find the video posted above a bit annoying – the visual style of it; too much movement/cutting (and other stuff I dislike, but I’ll not go down that rabbit hole!) – and advise listening to the track I headphones, eyes shut!]

As a result of listening to that show, and poss’ also reading glowing reviews in the magazine Straight No Chaser, I bought two albums: Leon Parker’s Belief (1996), and Lewis Taylor’s self titled debut. Both albums are good.* But the latter is truly great.

I got LT’s debut the year it came out, way back in ‘96!

As well as his YouTube channel, LT appears to have a website, which is fairly minimal, but includes links to purchase his back catalogue, and news on the latest impending release.

Given the eclecticism and range of music LT has made, it’ll be interesting to hear more fully the whole new album. Can’t wait! From the snippets in the online teaser video, it seems to follow on pretty seamlessly from the ‘core’ LT sound(s) he established with his first two or three albums.

I think I’ll save further ruminations – I could digress, esp’ on the potential for more off the beaten track style music (don’t forget he did a Trout Mask Replica homage!) – on all things Lewis Taylor for another post. For now, this is just a brief ‘halloo’ in excitement and anticipation, re the news of a forthcoming release of long and eagerly awaited new LT material.

* This post is actually a reminder to me to go back and check out Belief again!

Must go back and listen to this again!

BOOK REViEW: The Green Man, Mike Harding

I arrived at the point of collecting a few A Little Book of this, that or the other titles, all by Mike Harding, in a roundabout way.

Having adored the Cosgrove Hall animated film of The Wind In The Willows, I was seeking out other similar stuff. This lead to Cosgrove Hall’s much harder to track down The Reluctant Dragon, another Kenneth Grahame adaptation.

It transpired that Mike Harding did the music for the latter. So I wound up checking him out a bit more. And so it was I found the series of Past Times titles from which series this comes.

An alternative edition.*

I got four – on green men, gargoyles, misericords and tombs and monuments – all of which are roughly six inches by six inches square. So far I’ve only looked at this Green Man entry. It has approx 60 colour images of its subject, along with a little explanatory text for them all.

I hope they’re all as good as this one. It’s delightful. Harding speculates on their origins, meanings, etc, and the ways in which green men can be found in many traditions and places. But his main focus is on how these so very pagan images populate so many Christian sites in the UK.

A rare full-bodied green man, St Leonard’s, Linley, Shropshire.

And he also draws some more secular and even up to the minute inferences from the study of his subject; ‘the Green man … has a story to tell – if only we knew how to listen.’ Amen to that, brother Harding, Amen!

A great little gem of a book. Highly recommended.

* A better and nicer cover image and design than the edition I wound up with, which is pictured at the top of this post.

MiSC: Mother Nature in the Raw, Red in Tooth and Claw!

The major wounds, bites to right fore-arm.

Ouch!!! Red in tooth and claw, Mother Nature in the raw…

Our beloved pussy cat, Chester, attacked me savagely yesterday. Only now, the following day, am I really starting to get over the shock and process it.

I had to go to the local minor injuries hospital unit, for a tetanus jab, a script for some penicillin, and to have the wounds checked, cleaned, etc. The worst of the three areas of wounds – all claw scratches except for this one – was a big and deep bite to my fright fore-arm.

Chester hasn’t been neutered yet, and the vets reckon it might be due to him getting frisky, picking up the scent of local lady felines, and then objecting strenuously to me taking him back indoors. He’s been caterwauling aplenty recently. Even hissing a bit when picked up to be taken back home.

Left hand; lesser lacerations!

But his all out frenzied attack yesterday was a proper shock!

I didn’t get any pics of the profuse effusion of blood. Kind of wish I had. As all that remains now are rather pathetically inconsequential looking plasters. But I’m told not to be complacent, as infections from cat bites can be nasty!

I’ve had cats around most of my life. The better part of my now half-century. Never had an experience even close to this before. Bit of a shock to the system!

HEALTH & WELLBEiNG…

It’s Saturday, 8th Jan’. And Teresa has wrangled me downstairs, and out of bed, with the admonition, ‘It’s gone midday!’

I went to bed around 9.30-10.00 pm, last night. I’m attempting to get a routine going. A combo of whatever it is that’s been recurring every winter time the past three years – a wheezy/tracheal (is that a word?) cough – and the recent (Jan 6th) attack by Chester, are finding me back in ludicrously exhausted mode.

I think I got to sleep, after some fruitless YouTube surfing and some much more enjoyable reading (Wind In The Willows), around 11 pm.

I’ve long, perhaps always, been someone who feels most tired when I awaken. It’s always been the way! As long as I can remember. I’ve never been an eager/early riser, springing out of bed full of energy. It’s always been a cosy nest I am loathe to emerge from!

I’m now sat on the sofa, typing this. And, unusually for me, not recumbent, but sat up. But I am under blankets. The position is unusual, not the location! And snooker on YouTube is my normal accompaniment, at least currently (I’m faddish, that way).

My upper respiratory tract remains wheezy and ticklish. Right forearm is aching, from Chester’s bite, but not showing any signs of infection. My pill regimen is at its highest watermark for a while; all the usual stuff, plus Omeprazole (for poss’ acid reflux?) and Co-amoxiclav (some form of penicillin, to fight any potential infection of the cat wound!). Mind is calm, albeit a touch anxious about the prospect of resuming teaching work in two days despite feeling utterly washed out.

As is very common for me, for some years now, an upper spine/neck pain headache lurks, sometimes fierce, but right now on the edges of perception. Teresa has just delivered a vapour inhalation for me, to hopefully soothe my throat somewhat. What a conglomeration of treatments and ailments!

I hope that, going forward from here, in my 50th year, I might make some progress towards better health!? I need to lose some weight. Not huge amounts. And some tweaking of the diet, and more activity and exercise (ha, yeah, right… feeling as I do now this latter seems preposterous!), are all that’s required – so much easier said than done!

MiSC/MEDiA: Why I Loathe TV Advertising With Such Abiding Passion

The restaurant scene from Brazil superbly captures the gulf between products as advertised and as actually delivered.

This isn’t my first post on this topic. I doubt it’ll be my last. Why return to such a theme? This time it was prompted by a silly FB post by a friend about which David Bowie number, of four he specified, ‘would you rather’… etc.

Pointless silliness, perhaps? Well, yes. I.e. totally suited to and at home on FB. As, indeed, is the constant harassment of advertising. But it so happened that the most popular choice was Heroes. Admittedly an excellent song. But, for me at least, tarnished by its heavy usage in adverts.

I also recall the pride with which several drummers on a FB drummer’s forum related that they had been in that recent ad’ for a gambling sports sponsor that features hordes of drummers. I’m glad to say I can’t recall exactly which such parasitic body it was.

I’d love the exposure that might bring (well, perhaps for a few of the more ‘featured’ of the many hundreds of otherwise anonymous players). And I’m sure the nuts and bolts of actually filming it might also be fun. Did all these drummers get get paid, I wonder?

But what about taking a principled stand against the cancerous blight on our society that is gambling? Or even advertising as a whole? Or, better still, advertising as a hole… specifically, an arsehole’!

Talkin’ ass: the allure of the ad’ (Renault Megane).
The anti-climax super-unsexy reality!

That’s r-r-r-r-right f-f-f-f-folks, I’m talkin’ ass! Now I felt this way long before I saw Bill Hicks do his anti-advertising schtick. Indeed, a loathing for advertising – and a contempt for gambling – was something I learned at home, mostly (I believe?) from my father.

But in order to keep things relatively short and ‘sweet’ here and now, let’s wrap this up with a short consideration of ‘the asshole in contemporary culture’ (sounds like a topic on a college degree syllabus!).

It turns out that some of the ugliest ideas of the worst types of racists and those dearest to many a ruling elite converge, for differing reasons, around a certain nexus of ideas. As mentioned above, I don’t intend to go into great detail on the subject(s) here. Perhaps another time?

What I will say is that there’s a culture of brashly aggressive ugliness, massively on the increase, from the politics of Trump, to the shouted egotism in rap, or the gurgling screams of extreme metal. It’s also manifest in the strident upbeat chirpiness, and even – I contend – the zombie-smiling lockstep of Nuremberg-rally style formation dancing.

The massive and very visible rise of the latter, especially obvious in advertising, had me baffled for a little while? Why the sudden effusion of such stuff? And then it struck me; we now have loads of educational institutions, pumping out hordes of glassy eyed dreamers, who have become production line product, trained in dance and/or drama.

And what’s the glorious acme of their profession most might earn a buck or two from? Depressingly, it’s advertising. I suppose some might get Butlin’s style gigs. Some might go on to teach more aspiring dreamers. But, as with Fine Arts and Music, most will have to eke out a living by other means.

Dammit! I’m still skirting around my chief focus… the omnipresent asshole! So, let’s get to it, let’s really get stuck into the fundament/als! Thar’ she blows…

Basically it boils down to this; would you be happy inviting the kind of hectoring, patronising, wheedling, insinuating assholes that one hears in advertising in off the street to harangue you in your home? ‘Cause that’s what we’re all doing, when we tolerate advertising.

Again, rather depressingly, that’s what a great deal of what I’m increasingly thinking of as contemporary serf-culture trains us to do. If you like a lot of modern pop music, which includes supposedly ‘underground’ or counterculture (but in reality totally commercially co-opted) genres like rap or metal, you’re already being inoculated in the required ‘herd immunity’ to such internalised or even self-inflicted bullying.

Anyway, enough ranting, or sounding off, or whatever it may be. For now! my thoughts on all this are fairly clear, if not, perhaps, terribly well formed. But they may change, with time, and further consideration or information. For the time being, however, I remain resolute in my disavowal of the pollution that is most TV advertising.

MiSC/MEDiA: The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame

Over Yuletide I watched the Cosgrove Hall animation of The Wind In The Willows. But the version I watched was an augmented and lengthened one, that an enterprising fan had created, splicing in several segments absent from the official release, in order to bring it closer to Grahame’s book, in it’s original unabridged form.

At the time that I’m re-drafting this post (started on my 50th birthday, but totally re-written now, on the 9th), I’m several days into reading this, at an appropriately leisurely pace. And last night, at just gone midnight – a suitably enchanted hour, perhaps? – I read the beautifully titled mid-point chapter, The Piper At The Gates Of Dawn.

The aforementioned ‘extended cut‘ of the Cosgrove Hall production took parts of the TV series they also made, and spliced them into the feature length film that is both a standalone gem, and had also acted as a ‘pilot’, of sorts, to said series. And the insertion of The Piper segment very literally enchanted me.

A watery rural idyll.

Some print versions of the book apparently cut this remarkable chapter. Vandalism, I’d say! And I’m not 100% sure, but I think the version I recall from childhood didn’t have that part. As it all felt wonderfully fresh and new to me. Whereas the remainder of the book, by and large, is all very familiar.

As is the way of my adult self, I want to read around the subject a bit. And I’ve discovered that there’s a great deal of tragedy in the real world back story, regarding Kenneth Grahame himself, and most especially as that relates to Alistair ‘Mouse’ Grahame, the author’s son, and only child. It was out of bestie stories told to the young Mouse that WITW grew.

But I’ll save any further thoughts on that and other extra-literary considerations for another time. This post is intended as a very positive celebration of what’s best and most captivating about this classic of so-called children’s literature. I put things that way because it’s my view that the inner child lives ‘eternally’ within us. Or ought to. And by eternally, in this context I simply mean as long as we live, and despite our ageing.

Mole’s inner child is frequently excited.

One of the many very attractive things about The Wind In The Willows is it’s strongly pagan affinity for nature. This is something it shares with other writers, such as A. A. Milne – whose stage adaptation of Grahame’s work helped popularise it – and, very notably so, for me at least, J. R. R. Tolkien.

Allusions to Christianity do intrude here, however, and more nakedly so than in Tolkien’s Middle-Earth writings (or the Winnie The Pooh stories, for that matter). But when they do, as for example in the carolling of the field mice at Mole’s door, the frankly comically bizarre parochialism that so frequently attends the conflation of myths, as they travel from place to place and culture to culture, is plain to see, as Joseph and Mary seek shelter in what appears to be some snowy English shire!

Another strand, relating once again to nature and the place of living beings within her, is to do with consciousness. Grahame’s animals, whilst rendered in cutely (or ought that to be acutely?) anthropomorphic forms, retain certain ‘animal qualities’. Or rather what we, or more accurately Grahame, think these might be.

Many a bucolic reverie is enjoyed.

So it is that animals are more firmly located in the present moment. And, correspondingly, perhaps, freed from the burdens of anxiety over past or future, they are more subtly attuned to whole ranges of perception – this is delightfully rendered in the chapter Dulce Domum, in which Mole’s home calls to him on the air, via scent – of which we humans are very crudely and ignorantly unaware.

All of this stuff, from the anthropomorphism to the ideas of animal nature, is freighted with all manner of assumptions. And it’s not set about in a rigorously scientific way. But rather approaches things from a poetic angle. Let’s not forget Grahame also wrote The Reluctant Dragon, about a peaceful dragon who preferred poetry to fighting!*

I absolutely adore The Wind In The Willows. And whilst it may magnify or conceal flaws in the whole romantic view of life/nature, or it’s creator’s own character, or the history of his times, it remains a potently charming work of poetic storytelling art. And, for me at least, it’s manifold attractions far outweigh any nitpicking analyses, past, present or future.

A perfect tale for those long winter nights.

It’s interesting that Grahame, like Tolkien, found finding a publisher difficult. And it’s worth noting that TWITW was no overnight success. Indeed, at the time of first publication it received poor to indifference notices!

Anyway, this post is intended to capture the flashes of enchantment that this terrific little gem of book lit up in or for me. I’ll leave it there for now, as I still have just under half the book left to read.

* Also brought to our TV screens, and delightfully so, by Cosgrove Hall!

An old-fashioned love of simple homely pleasures.

MUSiC: Modern Johnny Sings: Songs In The Age Of Vibe, 2020

Wow! What a talented guy Theo Katzman is. Not only is he an ace drummer, singer and guitarist, but he’s also an excellent songwriter and producer.

The music here is kind of pop/rock. But those two words fail utterly to encapsulate the richness of Theo’s music. It’s very indebted to the best sounds of the late ‘60s and the early to mid ‘70s, something also attested to by the album cover design. But it’s also very contemporary, partly thanks to his amazing voice, partly the postmodern magpie gleanings in the music, and also the very high production values.

If there was any justice in this world Katzman would be massive. A global superstar. He’s very much an heir to folk like James Taylor and Joni Mitchell; raw talent with oceans of genuine heartfelt soul. Ok, so I guess, given how much I’m diggin’ this, on my 50th birthday – a present to myself! (BTW Thanks Patrick for the Amazon voucher with which I bought this.) – and my first full listen through, I ought to do a track by track appreciation.

The album – digital only (at this juncture) – starts with the fabulously positive yet raunchy rock of ‘You Could Be President’. Am I right in thinking this first appeared online under a different name? Whatever, it’s just terrific. The first thing to note is how beautifully produced it is. As Theo’s an excellent drummer, it shouldn’t perhaps surprise that the drum sound is literally perfect. Crisp and dry, yet dig the rich timbres of the toms in the fills!

This first track also combines an extremely funky folk-rock guitar riff, with a simple yet clever verse structure – two measures of 4/4 finished with one of 3/4, juxtaposed with a kind of ‘primary colours’ style chorus, and ending on an epiphany of vocal prowess, including a phrase for our times ‘yeah, no…’

‘The Death Of Us’ struts with an elastic funk. Lovely little touches, like congas and guiro, enrich the delightful groove. Whilst ‘You Could Be President’ has a sublimely musical/soulful and tasteful slide guitar solo, ‘Death Of Us’ features talk-box. Like the font on the cover, it’s super-‘70s, in the best way possible.

‘What Did You Mean (When You Said Love)’ is chosen as the favourite track in a lot of the online reviews of this album I’ve seen. And I can see why. I love it. But it’s not my favourite track. Perhaps because it’s the most ‘contemporary pop’ sounding on this near flawless album. That said. It’s bloody brilliant. And grows on me with every listen.

Katzman’s vocals (that phrase was just rendered as ‘Katzman avocado’ by my iPhone’s predictive text function!) are incredible. And on this track he uses his skills in a performance that puts me in mind – ever so slightly – of the kind of vocal performances favoured by TV talent show judges. But whereas those performances are too often like very well performed karaoke, here it’s the artist themself bringing these skills to bear on their own material. A quite different proposition.

Track four, ‘Hardly Ever Rains’, hits closest to my own emotional tenor, with it’s clever yet soulful and very 60s-70s folk rock vibe. Poss’ my favourite track (thus far!) Katzman’s more baroque pop tastes come to the foreground on ‘Lily, of Casablanca’, with it’s more complex arrangements and jazzier chord voicings. Once again this talks directly to my own tastes and preferences. But as superb as it is, I admire this one more than I’m moved by it. If that makes sense?

One thing I miss about not having this on CD (or even vinyl*) is not being able to read stuff as I listen, as I write this. Darting between the Amazon Music app and Notes is annoying! Anyway, back to the music: ‘Best’ is slightly funkier, rhythmically, and one of the tracks that helps earn the album an *explicit* warning. It’s another of the harmonically richer numbers, as opposed to the folksier ones.

Talking of which, ‘100 Years From Now’ sounds, esp’ as it starts, like one of the latter, although actually it’s quite subtly harmonically rich, belying the quite stripped down mellow vibe. Many of the songs here are surprisingly mature lyrically, mixing a homespun philosophical vibe with a modern burned-out take on the ‘age of ego’. In a way this track captures the essence of Theo; witness the near solo passage, just guitar and voice, which starts the verse about the pal meditating in a Thai monastery. And even the way it ends says something astonishingly simple yet profound. In the midst of an intense chorus, perhaps like our lives, it just suddenly stops. Theo, you, sir, are a genius! Brilliant!

‘Darlin’ Don’t Be Late’ continues the shockingly strong succession of musical excellence. There’s so much in the mix. From the whole torch song and jazz tradition, of harmonic movement/resolution, to shades of everything from Steely Dan to ‘80s Bob Dylan, with The Eagles and all sorts in a soulful bouillabaisse of utter gorgeousness. It sounds very different from Jeff Buckley’s amazing Grace album, but it has an equivalent, if somewhat warmer more organic richness.

‘(I Don’t Want To Be A) Billionaire’ is terrific. More funky, with a kind of N’Awleans bounce, it addresses the current climate of Mammon worship blighting the world, and perhaps the US in particular. ‘I don’t want to sing along, if a computer wrote the f*ckin’ song’ he sings, in an impassioned way. Amen, brother Theo, I’m feelin’ you deeply.

‘Like A Woman Scorned’ is terrific musically – as is absolutely everything here (the cover says ‘12 good songs’, and for once they ain’t joking!) – and very interesting lyrically, as it addresses the contemporary state of the ‘battle of the sexes’. Theo is great at articulating some difficult things, and making art out of his musings on a subject that concerns us all, whether we like it or not. I’m not being ironic when I say… good man!

‘Fog In The Mirror’ mines the starker seam of Theo’s muse – and, quite unbelievably, as I type this he sings ‘a sad romantic looking for a muse’ – damn, but I do love a spot of synchronous serendipity! I think this one is competing with ‘Hardly Ever Rains’ for my favourite. I’m essentially a melancholy soul! And that aspect of many artists often touches me deepest.

And so we arrive the final track, ‘All’s Well That Ends Well’. It’s worth pausing here to note the role piano plays on this album. With a CD or vinyl I’d hope for instrumental credits. So far I’ve not found any. Is Theo playing piano, as well as all the other things we know he does? And which tracks is he drumming on? As a fellow muso I love knowing such things.

Musically the final track is another that could stand for the whole album. It moves effortlessly between ultra minimalism, such as the final verse, which strips right down to piano and vocals, before building to a rich chorus with the whole band, only to end on the minimalist vibe, so quiet and delicate you can hear the dynamics pedal of the piano being released.

So there you have it, the whole album, track by track, as I see and hear it. Now that I’ve listened to the whole thing Amazon Music has served up ‘Browns At Home’ by The Greyboy All Stars, which – as much I might want to object to such algorithmic stuff – is perfect! But, discipline,