aaamusic | On 06, Nov 2011

I’ve long since made a point of never trusting anyone who calls themselves Johnny. Borrell, Bravo, English, the list goes on of buffoons who desperately want to be cool but just can’t find it in them to do so naturally. To my chagrin, this album completely goes against my well-thought out prejudice by presenting this Johnny as an entirely creditable musician, responsible for some truly great songs and a very, very good album. Which is so inconsiderate of it. But in all honesty, this is a very good album, even if the album is quite a lot more than the sum of it’s parts.

 

In a strange way, listening to this album all the way through is a much better idea than cherry picking tracks from it. One of the albums best features is it’s ability to create an atmosphere that grows, evolves and lasts from start to finish. This isn’t to say that there isn’t stand out tracks on this (boy oh boy there are, but they’ll come later) it’s just that within the context of the record, those same standout tracks become something a lot more, without wanting to sound too pretentious, they almost become chapters in a story, taking the feel of the previous song and building on it. Seriously, this is one of the best crafted record this reviewer’s ever heard, every launch into a Radiohead esque distorted guitar wig out feels perfectly judged, every hushed, Twilight Singers indebted croon over muted, yet distorted electric guitars feels born to be there. This reviewer has only really heard this level of cohesiveness with Rock Operas, like the deathless The Who’s deathless Tommy, or Green Day’s American Idiot. Except, in this case there hasn’t been a story shoehorned where the lyrics should be, instead you’ve got state of the nation addresses (sample based soundscape America Sleeps) sweeping statements concerning the youth of today (“Rocking in the Free World” shaped “Anthem (For Wasted Youth)” and, on the marvellously titled The Emperor’s Old Clothes, scathing atheist protest songs (“You don’t speak for me / God makes you a fool / You’ve no rational case for his existence / so why should I live by his rules?”).

 

And then there’s the music itself, in a sentence, one might describe it as Brendan Benson covering The Twilight Singers, soul influenced, dark rock but with a sprightly melodic twist. A Roll Call especially brings to mind the aforementioned Benson trying his hand at Radiohead’s My Iron Lung with spectacular results, The Virus sounds as if The Bends era Radiohead  doing A Day in The Life. On their own merits, the songs don’t always particularly work, America Sleeps, for example, but within the context of the album something beautiful happens, and this collection of songs become the rarest of things, a story, in the best sense of the word. Give this the time it deserves, and you, dear reader, won’t regret it.

 

Will Howard