‘ ,’ croons on the haunted and haunting from his eighth solo album. His lyrics have never, across an expansive 37-year musical career, shied from grandiose self-flagellation. But if anybody had him pigeonholed as the master of epic melancholy, they’re in for a shock.
Because is like nothing he’s done before. Perhaps it’s signing to a new label; perhaps it’s just a rush of fresh inspiration. Even – longtime pal and colleague – has said it’s the singer’s “best and most creative” album to date, emphasising that, while mixed by Wilson, it was produced and performed entirely by Bowness.
He’s shown off a flock of impressive guest stars on previous albums, so this really does feel like a reset, a confessional, almost a purging. His customary trope of patiently-building atmospheres is also jettisoned mercilessly. Of the 16 pieces on this 40-minute work, the majority quit at around two minutes, give or take – only outliers and pass four minutes.
That’s worth stressing, because Bowness’ trademark is settling into grooves then squeezing hard for emotion. is the opposite; it jumps between genres fitfully and restlessly. Early on it seems to be vaguely channelling ’s , before it leaps to and then, before that can even be absorbed, onto to with a dash of .
Insert quote A raw-edged revelation; a declaration of new and neoteric directions Electronica and even techno-tight dance have infused Bowness’ sound before, but here those elements lead off, until –.