It never ceases to amaze me how different artists come through regularly to provide a fresh injection of style and energy to the craft of writing songs, and Swindon folk-tinged filmscore compositors BUSWELL are no exception.
Originally the solo brainchild of singer Shaun Buswell, evolution has seen the project flower into a full 4-piece outfit that create introspective slices of inner truth using acoustic guitar, strings, piano and bass plus the odd sample thrown in for good measure
Shaun Buswell’s initial plan was to perform as a solo artist, but before long collaborators had evolved into a full band that tout everything from childhood memory flashbacks to drug-torn tales of broken love affairs. The softer acoustic melodies drive on a burning sense of introspection, and the liquid thoughts prevail throughout during a metamorphosis that sees the mental pictures take vivid shape in the listener’s mind.
Amidst a veritable tidal wave of piano and fiddle comes the emergence of questions that you’d never ask outside your own head. Uplifting to the ear is this documentation of universal truths where matters of the heart are concerned, despite the spaghetti mess of emotions that need to be deciphered along the way.
The looping vocal hook in ‘Don’t Go Wasting Time’ is driven home by a ‘good cop/bad cop’ scenario created by keys that soothe and drums that batter the sensibilities. Pianist Becky’s gentle backing vocals melt the heartstrings, and soundtrack the aching of that all-symbolic organ beautifully.
‘Let Me Love’ is all catgut and catastrophe, crashing into view in a mind’s eye on the back of a percussive skitter-scatter. The legnthy intro is a mere prelude to emotional storm-mongering, and you will surely duck as the plates hit the wall behind you, hurled from a rapidly-emptying Welsh dresser.
The stunted lick that signals the arrival of ‘The Drugs Are Making You Love’ spells danger, as does the crashing hi-hat drum pattern, and so the headspin continues to spiral towards a vortexical self-searching exercise that forces you to meticulously examine every corner of your soul. For those who really need pop music to deter them from the evils of (ahem) having a ‘friend’ called Charles, the emptiness of this tune, harmonised yet given over to the scrape of the violin must surely be the clinching track.
|
Likewise, ‘He’s Only Looking At Other Women Because He’s Not Happy With Himself’ grates and bristles with its title’s particular spiky truth despite the day-dreamlike trance created by the shining folk production. Rolling drum fills and gentle acoustics characterise the whole album’s sound, and Buswell’s soulful falsetto shuns all defensive walls on a carefully aimed and accurate journey towards your Achilles heel.
From a bristling offensive this record moves to the gentle and vulnerably childlike in the title track, an awesome and beautifully melancholic conversation with parents that have been traced after an adolesence spent without. Like much of the inspiration for this relentlessly soul-searching collection, the process of thought seems to be separated from reality, distanced by the dreamy soundscapes and studded with private moments.
Shimmering, indie with a folk twist creates the basis for otherwise naked truths to shine like a beacon in a succession of wonderfully poignant songs. A record that slides, shifts and then finally hammers home its assortment of uncomfortable messages, this is one that will linger on long after the music has stopped.
|
