Try and keep the following to yourself if you can. Ed Harcourt is one of music’s best-kept secrets. His two albums to date – "Here Be Monster" and "From Every Sphere" – have alerted discerning fans to the talents of the young Lewes songsmith who pens songs you want a wider audience to hear while simultaneously feeling they’d be spoilt if made accessible to more than a select few. Selfish, but if it means preserving the world of darkened corners, skeletons in closets and a paranoid web of love then so be it.
Harcourt orchestrates such scenes – from the isolation of a Swedish wood this time around - because he’s a credible artist in the old-fashioned sense, well versed in classics but equally open to experimentation. He’s proud to inhabit a timeless period of music that never dates, knowing that he’ll always remain relevant as long as his output retains its qualities. Thankfully there are no worries on that front.
It’s probably an apt time to mention that Harcourt is a hopeless romantic and the topic underpins "Strangers" but not as you’d imagine. Many songs were inspired during a burgeoning phase of new love, so we hear the author incisively dissect this initial discovery period with the skill of a RELATE counsellor. “The Storm Is Coming” chronicles the initial whirlwind of lust, “Born In The 70s” is the uncertainty of commitment and the country-tinged “This One’s For You” is boozy confession after a few looseners.
From here on the album really comes into its own. The title track is simple yet suggestively loaded, “Let Love Not Weigh Me Down” is a return to his trademark dramatic theatrical sound and the bittersweet “Loneliness” comes out of the leftfield, picking the pace up to a joyous roll. Its only when you look back you realise the instability and destruction you’ve been so merrily singing along to. It’s anything but one-dimensional and variety, one of Harcourt’s fortes, is everywhere you look.
Endeavouring to find comparisons leads you on to dangerous ground. Tom Waits is always a safe bet but recent touring companions Wilco are possibly a more suitable choice, not directly in sound but in the characters of Jeff Tweedy and Harcourt. Like Tweedy, moments of "Strangers" seem like someone has secretly taped Harcourt while he laments alone with just a piano and a bagful of painful memories. Harcourt is definitely not as extreme as his American counterpart nor can you see love ever saving Tweedy but the mission to commit to tape the push and pull of love is without question a shared mission.
If relationships were straightforward they’d be no need for albums like this. Thank god they aren’t.
