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Ed Harcourt describes this album as all gothic storytelling, madness, darkness and despair. Sounds ominous, especially when you consider that his last effort, Strangers wasn't exactly bubblegum and candyfloss from front to back. This album is a great deal more poignant and delicate than what's gone before, but darkness? Maybe a bit. Despair? Only if you're already depressed upon listening.
Refreshingly, for one of these modern/commercial record jobbies, there is a large contribution from the piano and the violin. Often the two combine to create a wistful backing that Harcourt's understated vocals fit perfectly. The Last Cigarette is such an example, knee deep in introspection but no less effective. Elsewhere the likes of Shadowboxing is considerably more soulful, with the vocals ratcheted up a couple of notches. There are also Spanishy flamenco style flavours, to varying levels of success, on Whirlwind in D Minor and I Am The Drug, and cocktail bar crooning ballads (Until Tomorrow Then).
Perhaps the album's centrepoint though are the schizophrenic combination of Scatterbraine and Rain On The Pretty Ones. The former is a bizarre little number with verses ready made to accompany Papa Lazarou prancing through a macabre big top. As a contrast, the chorus is exultant and racing. The latter is Harcourt at his epic orchestral, wistful best: a story about how we've got to get used to aging, changing and losing beauty. Keats would be proud.
This is an impressive offering from the UK's answer to Ryan Adams. Like Adams, the melancholic soaked songs may not be to everyone's taste, but he's an artist who's got a lot to say, as well as an ability to make you listen.