John Grant - Pale Green Ghosts

Few albums have come with more of a mountain to climb than this. The 2010 release of former Czars frontman John Grant's debut Queen of Denmark was met with a small but certain universal acclaim. It was my second favourite record of the year (after the slightly more overstated My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy), and in a year that boasted Janelle Monae, Arcade Fire, Sleigh Bells and Robyn that's no small feat.

That debut was pretty stripped back in terms of its musical arrangements and an attachment to sweet, melodic ballads was certainly one major element of its appeal, but it was Grant's twisted (Jesus Hates Faggots), sometimes silly (a song about Sigourney Weaver?) sense of humour, and an underlying sense of loneliness and vulnerability, that made it so compelling. The release of 2013's title track back in the dying months of 2012 brought with it news that Grant had decided to, like so many others, give synthpop a (stronger - there were elements of it on QoD) go. Were 'Pale Green Ghosts' bland through the drowning of his more classic talents, I'd have been worried, but it was a dark, weird and enjoyable taste of what was to come.

That title track opens the album, and brings with it such a vast array of atmospheric inclusions that it's hard not to get lost in those six minutes and four seconds. Strings, horns and Grant's own meandering voice serve as charming diversions from the track's crux: the pulsing, chirping (and yes! electro) beat. It's not quite the shock that 'Blackbelt' is when seen as a direct lineage from his debut album, though: a frog ribbit of a chorus over a slow disco beat and Grant's oddly-rhythmic second-person vocal all add up to something that just sounds wrong. But as something totally unexpected, it's also fascinatingly catchy. "Hit your head on the playground at recess/ Etch-a-sketch your way out of this one, reject" serves as the kiss-off in a tale of childishness and manipulation ("you are supercilious, pretty and ridiculous") - fans of Grant's unique lyrical delivery on QoD won't be disappointed here. Indeed, he goes on to proclaim himself the "greatest motherfucker" on 'GMF'. Musing "half of the time I think I'm in some movie, I play the underdog of course/ I wonder who they'll get to play me, maybe they could dig up Richard Burton's corpse", the track serves as a more realistic and less dramatic Beyonce ballad (see: Best Thing I Never Had). It's never totally arrogant, though: the track ends with his boast "You could be laughing 65% more of the time" percentage decreasing in the outro. It's an obvious gimmick, but it tacks on an interesting and honest layer of vulnerability to Grant.

The immediately obvious impression about most of Grant's arrangements and ear for musical completion is that the songwriting is beautiful: even where the lyrics veer a little too silly as they do on 'Vietnam', a kind of napalm / tragic romance metaphor that's a little too dark even for Grant ("Your silence is a weapon/ your love's a nuclear bomb/ it's like the Agent Orange they used to use in Vietnam"), the music remains elegant and endearing. It's not a talent gone unnoticed: he continues a collaborative work with Sinead O'Connor (who covered his titular song from QoD on her last album How About I Be Me (And You Be You)?) as she provides backing vocals on 'It Doesn't Matter to Him'. Beginning optimistically ("I get to sing for lovely people all over this lovely world") it collapses around the chorus' "I am invisible to him". O'Connor herself is a whispery, hidden feature, and provides a fragility to the track. The synths towards the end are awkward and uncomfortable, but that's largely Grant's appeal. A slow, rilling house beat permeates 'Why Don't You Love Me Anymore', as Grant takes the position of a recluse. "I feel like telling everyone to fuck off all the time", he quips with typical bluntnesss as he struggles to get over a man. "They say that you are not the calibre of men that I deserve to have" he says of his friends; never believing, never confident and always doubtful.

It's easy to just take sympathy upon Grant, but he's perfectly able to deliver an abrupt and cutting retort. "You don't deserve to have somebody think about you" he coolly drones on 'You Don't Have To', whilst on 'Sensitive New Age Guy' a bouncy, almost disco beat accompanies a strained, almost rap lyric. The almosts are what make it worthwhile, though; it'd be quite disconcerting if John Grant suddenly held the flow of Nas. The track comes off as something of a Hot Chip or LCD Soundsystem career highlight. Even by 'Ernest Borgnine' we're treated to sax solos and a bit of funk music, and although pleasant detours and interesting developments for a follower of his music, it's always going to be the amusing ragtime lyricisms of 'I Hate This Town' that bring the house down. "You cannot even leave your fucking house without running into someone who no longer cares about you", he sighs, as he goes on to talk of a hometown love that he's resolving to get over ("Now I'm packing my bags again/ You are not in the saddle, then"). The album bows out with a more classic piano ballad, and possibly the album's masterpiece: 'Glacier'. Tackling far more overreaching themes than his own romantic encounters, Grant touches upon the cruelty of prejudice and persecution: "Don't you pay them fuckers as they say no never mind/ They don't give two shits about you it's the blinded and the blind. / What they want is commonly referred to as theocracy / And what that boils down to is referred as hypocrisy". The closer effectively serves as a welcome and rewarding hand to hold you through the dark times, and whilst "this pain is a glacier moving through you", it's "creating spectacular landscapes/ nourishing the ground with precious minerals". The closing "don't become paralyzed with fear" in particular, with its piano flourishes, is a triumphant and gorgeous moment.

One shouldn't really expect anything less of the man, though. Such a talent in commanding symphonies and experimenting with synths, whilst brushing aside former lovers and tackling everyday insecurities is not to be underrated. Perhaps the more idiosyncratic elements of his stories and his musicianship are particularly relatable to a reviewer of a non-heterosexual leaning, but his brutal honesty and mastery of the comfort within one's own tragedy is nothing short of beautiful. So yeah, this gets my second ten out of ten.

There's also a game of guessing the next actor to have a song named after them on album #3. Place your bets in the comments. Mine's Stanley Tucci.

Rating: 10/10
Highlights: Glacier; Sensitive New Age Guy; Pale Green Ghosts; I Hate This Town; Why Don't You Love Me Anymore; It Doesn't Matter to Him
Avoid: n/a (might skip Vietnam once or twice though)

Artwork Watch: One café you wouldn't hesitate in leaving.  
Up next: David Bowie