With the near incomprehensible afterglow of the thirty-something soundtrack to an unremarkable life just about fading into the warm glow of just another comfortable evening in by the tele, Gray follows up ‘White Ladder’ with the equally meek and mellow ‘A New Day At Midnight’ – an album not to be confused with the similarly titled: ‘A New Album At Last’ by Ready By May.
Lyrically and emotionally fuelled by the death of Gray’s father and the birth of his son, the album as you can well imagine attractively unites the delirious and disturbed, and whilst hardly pushing the boundaries of modern technology, the young man with the wobbly head and the Celtic growl passes off a significantly more ‘credible’ sounding album this time around.
That David Gray could still score the playlist for an entire 12 month programme of Radio 2 slots single-handedly suggests that there’s very little here that is going to throw you musically. Starting with the Travis-friendly twang of ‘Dead In The Water’ before wiggling through the jiggling, helpless euphoria of alt-country number, ‘Caroline’, it’s pleasing enough, teasing enough and shuffling enough to keep your head wobbling and toes-a-tapping for a good time after it finishes. My only real concern is that someone with the obvious dabbling masterstrokes of a true minor visionary like Morrision or Dylan is being driven by market forces to occupy that same insipid role of an Elton John or Garth Brooks: the consummate professional, the consummate big grosser, the consummate underachiever.
Still strikingly lyrical, still marvellously melodic – but still inevitably hampered by the sheer lightness of production.
You’ll be buying Gray for your Granny this Xmas – but there’s still every chance you could be buying him for your mates by next.