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There's little better way to sum up Simon Breed
than by quoting the opening lines of The Smitten King
Laments' title track: "Morbid and morose/ And made in
Britain ....Like a careworn friend." His music bears
the weight of faint disappointment, the sigh of
acceptance, the deep crooning of Morrissey
without the wit and mocking self-awareness. But all
the same, it works.
Producing low, fractured, dark and acoustic
campfire songs for midnight at the crossroads to
nowhere, Breed might hail from London via Liverpool,
but his heart belongs to the kind of indigo blues
championed by a line running through John Lee
Hooker to Scott Walker and Smog.
I Spy The Spider is a typical example. Despite
having a beat so ponderous you could slash your wrists
to it, it immediately imbeds itself in your mind and
no matter how much Hi-NRG europap you use to try to
dislodge it, it'll still be there at the end of the
day, dragging you down as you try to sleep.
For much of The Smitten King Laments the music is
provided by Breed solo, alone with his sadness and a
guitar. When the drums or piano do kick in, the
sparseness found elsewhere simply enhances their
effect. On Devastating Sky, for example, they fill the
gaping of space with images of storm clouds, gathering
ready to burst.
Last.fm will tell you that people who like Simon
Breed also like Belle and Sebastian, but offer
no other alternatives. At first they seem like odd
bedfellows but while there's not a lot in common with
the fey pop of B&S in their entirety, there are clear
parallels with the places in which the indie
troubadours choose to play away from home: Breed could
easily have stood in for Mark Lanegan with Isobell
Campbell and the similarities almost help to
explain why such combinations work.
If this makes the sadness and doom seem unrelenting... well, it is, but not in a bad way. The Smitten
King does lament, but he does it beautifully, wrapped
in low chords and sinking strings, drowning his
sorrows while you look on from the shadows.
This is music for a late winter's night, warm
brandy and a ranging fire, a slow dance you can't
share. And in that, there's more romance than you'll
get in 50 of the Greatest Love Songs clogging up the
Asda shelves this Valentine's week.
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