Whether you know him as a fatalistic singer/ songwriter par excellence or simply as the miserable bastard who tried to ruin Christmas with his sprightly single 'We're All Going To Die', it's clear that MALCOLM MIDDLETON has long since stepped out of the long shadow he cast as Arab Strap's guitarist.
You could argue he's even been enjoying an unprecedented purple patch in the critical (and commercial) limelight since his triumphant, Mercury-nominated third album 'A Brighter Beat' belched and spluttered its' way into wider public consciousness some three years ago. This fact clearly hasn't gone unnoticed in our hero's heart and mind as Malc's fifth album 'Waxing Gibbous' arrives with notice from the man himself saying that it will be his last solo effort. For a while at least.
Mind you, he's at pains to point out he's not quitting altogether, so hopefully 'Waxing Gibbous' won't be the last chance we have to enjoy an album with an obligatory 'F'-word love song (this time round it's the superbly-monikered 'Ballad of Fuck All'). However, it looks as though we'll have to be patient while Middleton gets whatever other projects he wants to work on out of his system before he returns to his songs of introspection, despondency and wonderfully bleak humour.
Whatever, he's certainly bequeathed us a generous treasure trove to be getting on with, for – with the possible exception of the mighty 'A Brighter Beat' - 'Waxing Gibbous' may well be Malc's best yet. It's not especially ground-breaking sonically or any of that tat and the usual suspects (King Creosote, Pictish Trail, Mogwai's Barry Burns) have been rounded up to help fill out the tunes, but the fact it's such a consistent collection of self-lacerating loveliness can't be denied.
One of Middleton's strengths, of course, is that he can take the most apparently dreary subject and invest it with resonance. On 'Waxing Gibbous', he gets something transcendent out of a mere pair of socks courtesy of the bracing opener 'Red Travellin' Socks' which gets us off to a fair clip. OK, it's hardly Bruce Springsteen, but it rushes impressively on its' run and pulls off a thrilling, Gospel-tinged conclusion to boot. Great stuff indeed.
From there on, unlikely little spurts of innovation poke through the expected semi-acoustic indie-folk skein. The nagging, dissatisfied 'Kiss At The Station' proffers a muscle-y, full-band sound and even finds room for some Andy Rourke-style slap bass bits. 'Zero' finds a faux-rap interlude and splatchy synth-pop motifs interrupting Middleton's gloomy ruminations, while the floaty guitars, patient drums, cello breaks and sudden ear-splitting Punk anthem bit ensures the determined 'Stop Doing Be Good' is the most quixotic thing here. Crucially, though, it's never less than engaging at any time.
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Emotionally, of course, life's still a relaxing bed of nails for oor Malky. The deceptively pretty folksy guitar rippling of 'Carry Me' couches a superior drunkard's lament (“won't you carry me, 'cos my legs have gone”) that Middleton's Arab Strap chum Aidan Moffatt would be proud of, although I don't remember Arab Strap having too many Swingle Singers-style a capella bits in their songs. Elsewhere, the tension and hooks help to obliterate 'Shadows” inherent sadness and the starkly glorious 'Ballad of Fuck All' makes searching for crumbs of comfort sound far more life-affirming than by rights it should.
As is often the case, he keeps one of his finest in reserve for the denouement. Opening with a nervous little piano part, then falling into a more familiar, plaintive guitar framework, 'Make Up Your Mind' is a lovely, close-miked post-script which leaves the door open for future activity should Malcolm so desire to take up from where he left off. Which is something most of us round here would be happy to encourage him to do.
Arriving around the 40th anniversary of the Moon landing, 'Waxing Gibbous' may not be viewed as a giant step for mankind, but it finds Malcolm Middleton again planting his flag on a crater-pocked emotional terrain most singer/ songwriters wouldn't even dare to orbit. Let's hope he doesn't do a Major Tom in the future, because at present Houston, we have no problems here at all.
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