In the space of two months, former Boo Radley helmsman Martin Carr has wrenched himself back from the brink of total obscurity. Albeit at a serious right-angle to the mainstream, naturally.
Now working under the moniker Brave Captain, with August's 'The Fingertip Saint Sessions Vol I' and now 'Go With Yourself (Vol II)', Carr has also assuaged the thirst his absence created, particularly here, with 40 minutes of unpredictable, psychedelic hedonism, still in love with the craft of complex, sculpted songwriting.
Following the demise of The Boo Radleys, Carr's shot faith resulted in an 18-month reclusive sulk. As much is obvious in the lyrical undertow on this record, which depicts a somewhat lost soul, whose emotional thermometer can't decide if it's Iceland or Nevada.
Carr's period of isolation is well documented on the frequently startling 'Go With Yourself'. 'Running Off The Ground' admits: "I've spent so many days, on my back and feeling caged, still I wait, wait to be saved", while the dizzy, disjointed 'Where Is My Head' is equally stung: "Why do I do these things to me? What is my cause?"
But this album is not just about personal resurrection, with Carr in biting form on a broader scale, as the political frustrations of a wisened Northern cynic are spat-out - "we reserve the right to love our lives, to learn, to work again, to fight with our minds" ('Assembly Of The Unrepresented').
Musically, however, is where Carr is truly hurtling on 'Go With Yourself', an album which demonstrates the effervescing range of sounds that flow through the headspace of this most genial of musicians.
There are a host of exceptional moments, though there really isn't a duff track here. Wispy opener 'The Monk Jumps Over The Wall', is almost an apology for time wasted, as a ragged acoustic motif and undulating electro swirl accompany Carr's unsteady ruminations on his past and future.
Of course, this album signals his return, and with 'Running Off The Ground' you get a fierce and vitriolic statement of intent, as washes of haemorrhaging guitars joust with strident strings, while the frankly jubilant bar-room horn and piano stomp of 'Reuben' is loopy Brian Wilson in excel sis. 'Go With Yourself''s finest moment though is the aforementioned 'Assembly Of The Underground', as Carr's wavering warble is bludgeoned by a howling harmonica, massive fuzz bass and more horn frenzy.
All told, Martin Carr has achieved something really quite astonishing since relinquishing the hermitic lifestyle. The emotional crutch of The Boo Radleys may have gone, and yet he's returned and is producing - virtually single-handedly - a welter of dazzling, firebrand music that truly matches the Radleys best moments.
Some comeback.
