Sometimes you wake up and the world has seemingly passed you by. And yet you realise you are not in your 80s, you have been awake and -on the pulse’ so-to-speak. And so you expect something of some thing and find that your expectations are not exceeded but’¦ side-stepped.
There are certain things this reviewer holds dear. Things that to some may seem perfectly justified and to others behind-the-times. For example – Ninja Tunes. DJ Food. Up, Bustle & Out. The Herbaliser. Beats’¦ samples’¦ scratching for the love of God. However, it seems we are blinkered in history and Ninja have broadened their palette. That is well and good.
There are other dear things too, like the artists to which, in his press, Fink is being compared and heralded as their natural successor. John Martyn (RIP), Nick Drake, Jeff Buckley (ok, all RIP). And so heading into this album with a pre-destined cynicism is perhaps unavoidable.
Sort of Revolution contains enough -cool’ to be both compared to John Martyn and be on Ninja Tunes. Fink’s jazz-drawl vocals and predilection for the acoustic guitar lead inevitably to comparisons with the former, while being from Brighton means being in touch with cool (street culture in particular) is a given.
He taps rhythms on the body of his guitar, but Newton Faulkner he definitely isn’t (mercifully). Nor is he John Martyn, for there is not enough anguish in his voice. But there is some, and this album is in many ways a contemporary version of what the mad Scot was on about himself all those years ago.
This review may seem inconclusive, but that’s because I’ve laboured to hate it, and can’t. So, strap the headphones on as you coast through town, wishing you were gliding on a skateboard and cool enough to come from Brighton. Or, better still – listen to Martyn’s Solid Air and feck the skateboard. We can’t decide.