It would seem that Bella Union have done it again.
The label which brought us to the attention of acts like HOWLING BELLS, and the stunning MIDLAKE have now unearthed yet another mercurial songwriting talent, in the form of FIONN REGAN.
‘The End Of History’ is the strangely absorbing, idiosyncratic and ultimately engaging debut from this Dublin-born and raised singer/songwriter.
Complex arpeggios (on what sounds suspiciously like a classical guitar with a capo wedged somewhere high up the fretboard). are entwined with Regan’s delicate and crystal clear narrative as it reaches out powerfully from its near-spoken state in order to hit the notes he needs.
The result is a reflective and sometimes sentimental album that mixes up instinct with distant memories to leave the listener with a head full of flickering cine-film. Snapshots, recollections and the involuntary jerk of the mind when reminded of pain that can never truly disappear with times’ passing – all of these things are underscored with sepia-toned values/episodes and laced with oddball imagery as the lyrics embrace the country, folk and even ragtime traditions of songwriting, that the finger-picked guitar intricacy is so reminiscent of.
‘Be Good Or Be Gone’ is a proverbially titled tale of a seaside town, as seen from an omnipotent, and therefore spiritual vantage point in the sky. By the time I am hearing ‘The Underwood Typewriter’ draw to its tapping-box conclusion three or four minutes later, I am hooked. The imagery is powerfully delivered in full mental pictures of extraordinary clarity that you just wouldn’t consider possible from first impressions of music that is laid so bare, as delicate as lace.
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Classical scales descend gloriously, and the vocals ooze with emotive harmony to match them superbly. Consider ‘Hey Rabbit’, a mournful fable about mental convalescence that basks in rays of pale sunlight, or the amazing ‘Put A Penny In The Slot’ which dances on the heartstrings as it loses itself in a picture-postcard amusement arcade of psychological confusion. The rhyme-play and symbiotic relationship which Regan enjoys with his guitar could be the perfect lullaby, but for being the perfect foil for such vivid tales of fragmented sadness to strike so accurately home.
An iron fist in a velvet glove? Emotionally, yes it is. The end of history? You could be forgiven for thinking so, as the title track makes nothing of the physical entities that separate us all. The only places and people are those in our minds, as he urges us to drop our guard and alter our reciprocal relationship with them, and in turn our view of the world. The squeak of fingers on the fretboard sound barely able to carry such weight.
Therein, I think, lies the miracle of this utterly spellbinding record. I urge you to lay your hands on it and listen to it, as without it, your pop music preferences remain incomplete.
http://www.myspace.com/fionnregan
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