The problem with many mainstream singer-songwriters, those who brandish a voice and acoustic guitar as cosily recognisable, timeless tools of communication, is that they often set out their stall within two bars or so (not counting the inevitable predictability of the middle-eight). Beyond which nothing surprises and everything conforms. Familiarity is useful as a reference point, but to make you feel at home when that’s where you are already isn’t a particularly inspiring concept, and they probably know that – so down goes the figurative hat on the metaphorical pavement. Equilibrium is retained. These sorts are a damn blight to the type of folksy brainstormers who, even if they’re not especially innovating, are inspiring through their exploitation of their genre’s full capabilities.
This debut mini-album by Sydney born Josh Pyke is fairly astonishing, for it sounds alive, it sounds engaged, it feels like the product of a long creative osmosis – one that evolves as we listen, and yet it does nothing particularly remarkable. It often sounds but a bare twig away from the steady acoustic humidity of Crowded House on the Aussie music tree for God’s sake, but not once does he feel in danger of sinking beneath the mire; his imagination is tied with a figurative double-knot to a helium balloon.
The grazed showman maturity that Ed Harcourt exhibits in his songwriting is evident in low-lying ‘Fill Me In’ and The Bens (Folds/Kweller/Lee) are evoked across the quirky, rounded poise of the rest of the record, on ‘Private Education’, ‘Staring Down The Sun’ and the title track especially. But ‘Middle Of The Hill’ is the real jewel at the heart of this modest cobbled-together crown, exhibiting the kind of witty, unhindered, forward-tumbling storytelling style of Adam Green, every lyrical couplet is as triumphant as the last, built beneath a blustery cross-pollination of melody. What we have here is a clear master of his chosen realm, raising the bar. A strong future surely awaits.
share this:
