‘Friend of a friend is on the rebound...’ is how ‘Borrowing Time,’ the first track on ‘On Borrowed Time’ begins, Harbourne’s baritone crooning over a quietly picked acoustic guitar. You could be forgiven for thinking this was going to be another from-the-heart singer-songwriter yawnfest, but before the verse is out, there are bongos and off-kilter melodies and the latter of cutlery and wooden spoons flying into the mix and taking the song down a very different avenue. Eventually it peters out to the sound of studio banter and the theatrical enunciation, ‘I’m bleeding!’
‘Photograph Pt i’ crashes in with full band instrumentation and a vaguely folkish feel, and sets what forms a thematic thread that runs through the album (particularly the Polaroid-strewn artwork), namely that of photographs, memories, images, time and posterity, delivered through a sequence of dream-tinged acoustic-guitar led songs that don’t readily sit in any category. This is due in no small part to the fact that there are multiple changes in style and mood to be found in each number: ‘Enough to Worry About’ begins as an acoustic bedsit musing before breaking into shoegazing swirls of sound, with a midsection where there’s a Zeppelin-esque mystical eastern vibe. Oddly, and perhaps quite remarkably, it works.
Mr Harbourne certainly presents an interesting take on things, and while treading his way through passages of melancholia, there are rays of light never far away. Listening to ‘On Borrowed Time’ is rather like sitting in the pub with someone who has a problem they have to get off their chest, before saying ‘but enough about my problems,’ and cracking a joke. In Harbourne’s case, this manifests itself in moments of lyrical flippancy and musical chamelianism, which also serve to highlight his unquestionable proficiency as a musician.
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‘Bad Weather’ sees a tint of electronica subtly spun into the mix, while ‘Photograph Pt ii’ begins with some rolling, brooding piano, while the closer, ‘Transmission’ features atmospheric rumblings over a spiralling church organ over which Harboune’s voice ascends to a choral falsetto and the song builds to a sweeping epic seven minutes. Somehow, none of this seems remotely incongruous.
Among the myriad musical reference points, there are strong hints of Syd Barret here. There’s certainly no shortage of madcap amidst the seriousness that characterises much of the lyrical content. Thankfully, it’s finely balanced, and thus avoids the pitfall of becoming irritating, while the levity also prevents any danger of the album sliding down into morose wallownig. Instead, Harbourne presents us with a thoughtful, multi-faceted musing collection of songs that hang together well. An accomplished album that’s anything but dull.
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