It makes you wonder, how much stuff actually matters. Time and place stuff, the alignment of the planets, random courses crossing, ley lines, manifestations of energy, all that bollocks. Because wherever he was 13 years ago (even 7 to be fair) along with his 3 supposed spiritual musketeers, he isn’t anymore. And it would appear that the once iconic Stone Rose has also tossed aside any chance of redeeming himself from the late Brit-pop cash cow that was The Seahorses, by slipping irretrievably further into muddy indulgence.
This isn’t a Richard Ashcroft-style lead-feather fall from grace though, this is utter retreat from relevance, well and truly washing his hands of those Pollock-esque splashes of paint that once made him seem such an individual. Having said that, the cover art is still beautifully assembled in the time honoured and expected Squire tradition, but that’s never going to be enough, save for lulling you unwittingly closer. And to be honest, it hurts a bit.
It’s not like he’s forgotten how to play, or that his ability eroded during his time-out as a hermit, far from it. If we were knowledgeable in such dullardry we’d probably tell you that his fret-board execution is outstanding, or something. It’s probably the best he’s ever laid down in terms of licks, assured and clean. But without the drama, direction and context of his most celebrated and adored work, what’s the point? Just another guitar player chasing an empty dream. Only the difference is this time around he is more than just the guitarist. Time in enclosed spaces with Chris Helme must have understandably lead him to breaking point and after a number of aborted recruitment attempts he’s taken to the mike himself, in a not altogether dreadful manner. Until, it has to be said, we get awful Jimmy Nail flashbacks during ‘Sophia’. There are only so many ways a bluesey rasp can go we guess.
To be honest, ‘Joe Louis’ starts off comparatively well with creeping, sweeping Led Zepp balladry and rough layered vocals that hint a little at Badly Drawn Boy and ‘’Welcome To The Valley’ has some enjoyable tinkering, but by the time sub-Sheryl Crow and well sub-Dylan ‘I Miss You’ and the country-blues soup of ‘Shine A Little Light’ have slumped passed unspecifically you’ve long lost the will to join in with his role play. This is the type of record ageing post-arena rock stars mellow down to, still churning out merely because they can and do. A Richie Sambora from Bon Jovi record. A current laboured Neil Young. But with even less urgency. The lyrics do admittedly stir up thought and imagination where the Seahorses’ just didn’t. But for all the bits that are in place there’s so many missing. And it’s really a shame, going on past presumptions, that his shoulders can’t carry all that weight, not alone. Of the ‘Roses still going (save Reni, natch) he’s faded inconsequentially back to the back. He may want to be adored, but he doesn’t seem to need it. And that not only lets down, but tarnishes the memory too.