Review Summary: That boy needs therapy - rannygazoo, let’s have a tune…
There are artists operating in genres where if it’s anticipated an upcoming release will be ‘more experimental’ that news is met with great excitement, but conversely, for others it sets warning bells ringing among the fanbase. John Grant is effectively a modern day balladeer and to hear his latest songs will be longer and more experimental is likely to draw groans from some quarters, and understandably so to some degree.
His debut, ‘Queen of Denmark’, was mostly a succinct and straightforward affair; his bittersweet tales of struggling with love and self identity generally kept to the expected ‘three and a half to five and a half minute’ run times. On ‘The Art of the Lie’ Grant stretches his song lengths out to over seven minutes on four occasions, and over six minutes on a further two. Understandably, for most this would signify ‘endurance test’ territory.
To potentially make matters ‘worse’, an artist who’s always hinted at ‘daddy issues’ has here plunged headfirst into this emotional swamp, with a supporting broader theme of childhood surrounding it. This is an album of deep, unflinching and (expectedly) wordy self reflection; that ‘endurance test’ is now in danger of being upped to the category of ‘worthy but gruelling’.
Somehow it doesn’t work out like this, perhaps because these are muscles Grant has been training for a couple of decades now. He’s long ago proved himself a unique and compelling writer of ballads, that voice can hint at great wells of emotion and is always entertaining delivering his witty asides, and he’s worked out exactly which type of experimental touches elevate his lengthy compositions and which would be superfluous distractions. He’s just got better at all this stuff.
As usual Grant includes a couple of ‘funked up’ numbers and they’re fine and do the job of providing something close to ‘comic relief’ but as is appropriate, the ballads are king here. ‘Marbles’ is one of the best and starts off like an ominous soundtrack to a shot of lions preparing to hunt on an African plain…though of course JG enters the scene identifying with a ‘newborn giraffe’. It’s sleek, it doesn’t sound too much like any of his previous songs, and his trademark smooth croon effortlessly makes itself at home. Meanwhile ‘The Child Catcher’ takes on the mantle of ‘ultimate epic’ among its ballad brethren here, disturbing lyrical content swept aside by a mesmeric lead guitar coda that’s stunning to behold.
Elsewhere the titles ‘Father’, ‘Mother and Child’ and ‘Daddy’ say it all, and yes, no surprise these are the songs that contain the most pained nostalgia and soul searching. Closer to spoken word a lot of the time in the verses, they feel like Grant is exorcising all manner of demons, but also there’s a majesty to them and that more than anything points to the unique genius he’s tapped into throughout his solo career.
A tough sell, there’s an element of ‘more of the same’, and also of ‘switching to the John Grant maximum difficulty setting’ here. The glib summary is ‘it’s the most John Grant-y John Grant album’, and I guess I’m running with that. For me that equates to it being first and foremost a great album, but also it must class as an idiosyncratic labour of love that perhaps requires a little more empathy and patience than most; it’s demanding, he’s demanding.
