The wait is finally over. Badly Drawn Boy – Damon Gough to his mum - caused an A&R landslide months back, before an album was anywhere near ready, and has since set a scintillating pace with a clutch of magnificently messy EPs.
In truth though those records, a collection of scattershot visions, embracing acoustic verve and ramshackle experimentation, were a prelude to the main event and the crux of this matter. Hence, the bamboozlingly titled 'The Hour Of Bewliderbeast'.
It doesn't disappoint, if beatific, rhythm-infested melodies, resplendent in wondrous brass, stark string accompaniment and obscure found sounds are your bag. These sonic ideals are all fed through Gough's aloof and somewhat erratic persona, his tongue in cheek ruminations spinning from good to evil and back again, through a considerably heavyweight 63-minute passage of time.
The album opens with the sweetly grand string portents of 'The Shining', in which Gough promises to 'put a little bit of sunshine in your life'. A 'little' is doing himself some considerable disservice.
The day-dreaming 'Camping Next To Water', dashingly ebullient 'Everybody's Stalking' and the swollen and shimmering brilliance of 'Once Around The Block' all showcase a talent with strident ambition and floppy confidence, a star destined to paint the colours of the rainbow with his music.
Particularly magnificent are the torn balladry of 'Magic In The Air' and 'Pissing In The Wind', a broken but hilarious ode to inept failure. As Gough balances the comedy - 'I've been pissing in the wind, I chanced a foolish grin, and dribbled on my chin' – with the hurt - '…..just give me something, I'll take nothing' - the quivering fear is abjectly beautiful. Both are glistening pocket symphonies of love lost and regained, with 'Magic In The Air' even breaking into the distant but fondly remembered 'love is contagious' chorus from the Taja Sevelle track of the same name.
While there is perhaps less experimentation and pace than expected, tracks such as 'Fall In A River' and the lo-fi funk of 'Body Rap' complete the sheen of incoherent wonder and ultimately create an image of The Beach Boys, Beck and Paul Simon's minds exploding onto vinyl and Gough scooping-up the pieces. Which is as unlikely and startling as it sounds.
'The Hour Of Bewilderbeast' is an almost perfect, but appropriately fractured portrait of a fragile genius.
