Stop us if you've heard us before, Elbow fans: intriguing new act releases dead dead cool indie singles and attracts attention from grown-up labels. Intriguing new act signs up to major record company and after promising start suddenly turns around to see that his A&R man has been sacked and the record company has been taken over by an even bigger conglomerate. Unhappy ending ensues: intriguing new act and confusingly reborn major part company and fight over custody of his debut album...
Luckily for all involved - not least himself - Laptop, aka Jesse Hartman, has always been of a cynical disposition, spending the past five years in his East Village pad crafting world weary vignettes on dating, mating and the art of falling apart. In addition, ever since the debut single 'End Credits' appeared on God Bless Records in the late '90s he has proven himself to be a man of great mystery, gruelling stamina and no few pleasurable tunes.
Very occasionally referred to as Beck without the barking mad overtones, there are many early '80s teases lurking within the Laptop ouevre. It's in the way Jesse's voice mimics the deadpan dramatics of Gary Numan on 'Generational Patterns'; it's in the hint of A Flock Of Seagulls' synth crimes in 'Back Together'; it's even there in his lavish cover of Wreckless Eric's post-punk favourite 'Whole Wide World', where we find an enigmatic lady speaking French very much in the style of Visage's 'Fade To Grey'.
In any language then, this is not an album for nu-metal followers. Calculated of tone, dry of tune and debonair of trouser, 'The Old Me...' is designed to be sold to a mythical audience hankering after a past which barely existed, and even if it did, your name wasn't on the guest list. Whether or not it will help Jesse to pull off an Elbow-style commercial resurrection is open to conjecture. Whatever happens however, be sure that Laptop will write a slightly twisted, politely aggrieved song about it.
