You get the sense that Gabriel listens to his own records, that they represent some kind of therapy for him, some externalization and disarming of his deepest apprehensions. They're listenable, and by his 3rd self-titled solo album downright pop in places, but there's something about their particular tone that feels bent inward to scratch itches the artist can't reach any other way.
Here its Eno-via-Low atmospherics, Springsteenian bombast (check that sax solo on Family Snapshot), and Casiotone twilight backbone, all shuffled together into paranoid themes, even the brightest moments greased with desperation and concern. It's an interesting artifact, bristling with subtle ideas and psychological crannies, but not really any fun as pop and not quite able to commit to pure concept. You can take a listen, but it isn't for you 3.5/5
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment