The second album from Peter Stothart and Bron Harrison a.k.a. GUESSWORK has a self-titled track in amongst this collection – and that’s about as ‘art rock’ as it gets.
‘Gathering Dust’ is about time’s progression – world-weary, and concerned with the ordinariness of the wonderful (rather than vice-versa), but though Harrison’s voice is melodic, the tune is weary too.
The reflective half-step offers time enough for contemplative thought, and there are some fine Spanish guitar licks here. ‘Deaf Dumb and Blind’ is bright and beautiful, and about the suspension of judgement and the senses, so I went and washed some pots and fed my eight-foot tall tomato plant whilst the rest of the record played out.
A drum machine holds the music together, despite the organic belief in destiny. Fate, life’s pathways and all that mullarkey is old hat when it comes to songwriting, so to hear them openly referred to isn’t encouraging. ‘Cradle’ is benevolent to the point of smugness. Concerned with the child of a current lover (and one he hasn’t seen for a fair while!), it attempts to picture the mother in a way that would start an argument in this house.
And then the primary school percussion starts (right after the reiki or yoga workshop most probably!) – penny whistle orchestrated and childish, rather than childlike. No wonder Bron sings that she “Can’t get near the thunder roaring in my blood”.
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“Walls so high I need wings to fly to see over it”? Cleee-chayyy maan. Patience, time and willingness are all very well, but how strange they should be mentioned just when mine were wearing so thin. It seems to me that GUESSWORK know exactly what cack they’re peddling here. As for the claim of ‘Three Days’ – the title refers to the time needed to empathise with another’s reality – I’d retort with a disgusted snort, or at best, joke that Eddie Murphy only got 48 hours.
There is skill in terms of the ability to play, and the girl can sing, no doubt. But there is no ability in terms of songwriting evident whatsoever. ‘Enter Alone’ is a flatliner - the product of charmed lives indeed. No celebration, no struggle, nothing. Shame.
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