There are plenty of us out there who insist Oasis were never as good after Bonehead and Guigsy left circa ‘Standing On The Shoulder Of Giants.’ Personally, I’m still not quite sure why they walked or were pushed, but maybe they simply realised the writing was on the wall when Liam brought ‘Little James’ into the rehearsal room expecting a fair hearing.
A couple of years before all that malarkey went down (in 1997, to be precise); another Manchester-based performer of repute had begun to hold down a double life. By day, he was mild-mannered psychiatric nurse Alan Wilkes, but by night he morphed into Vinny Peculiar: purveyor of quirkily memorable indie guitar pop whose first LP ‘Gone’ had just been delivered into a harsh and largely disinterested world.
In the fifteen years since, Vinny has quietly amassed one of the most under-rated and stupidly ignored back catalogues in British pop while – post-Oasis - Paul Arthurs (aka Bonehead) has largely remained out of the public eye. With a little help from former Smiths drummer Mike Joyce, however, their paths eventually crossed and Bonehead ended up supplying guitars/ feedback to ‘Art Thief’, one of the stand-out tracks on the prolific Peculiar’s eighth (!) solo record, released during 2011.
Since then, the pair have forged a more permanent alliance as PARLOUR FLAMES. A potential EP project over the autumn and winter of 2012 ended up generating enough material for this self-titled debut LP and the engaging, if sometimes slightly eccentric results bring out the best in both its creators.
Vinny and Bonehead play the majority of the instruments, though Che Beresford (Badly Drawn Boy) adroitly supplies drums and percussion, brass comes courtesy of Bob Marsh (I Am Kloot) and Anna Zweck (Samson & Delilah) brings fragrant, Traffic-style flute to the party.
|
Striking trailer single ‘Manchester Rain’ leads off and it’s one of the album’s best. Bordered by ringing guitars, it’s an exercise in quality windswept, psych-tinged pop, replete with Vinny’s typically laconic observations (“all the fields are brown and the buildings are grey/ In the North of England on a winter’s day”), and while it’s more Chorley than California dreaming, it’s none the worse for that.
Elsewhere, failed pop stardom (the Bowie-tinged, piano and string-kissed ballad Never Heard Of You); the dirt behind the showbiz daydream (Get In The Van’s numbed-out drone-pop) and unsettling childhood incidents (the lysergic-tinted Jump The Brook, Ruth) are among the familiar Peculiar lyrical themes, while the wistful, horn-assisted Sunday Afternoon is cut from the same ennui-ridden cloth as Black Box Recorder’s Hated Sunday.
The idea of two of Manchester’s perennial rock’n’roll outsiders making such an accomplished, consistently well-observed debut might seem anathema to some, yet with ‘The Parlour Flames’, that’s exactly what they’ve done. If you’ve any lingering doubts, then make directly for the closing Too Soon The Darkness. A beautifully-framed portrait of bereavement and loss, it’s not only the album’s most affecting story, but also its crowning glory.
Cherry Red Records online
Parlour Flames website
|
