My job on this blog (for want of a better word - perhaps compulsion would be better) is to capture and bottle my subjective viewpoint and release it into the wild of the internet; sometimes I forget this and the blog sits dormant, gathering dust in a distant corner of The Internet. Today I have been moved to bring Bellow Baritone back from the brink of obscurity in order to examine Frozen By Sight, a collaboration between Maximo Park's Paul Smith and Peter Brewis of Field Music.
Paul Smith has a rare talent; in his mouth the English language as I have known it for approximately 20 years give or take becomes new again. I tend to think of most singer/songwriters as musicians who happen to write poetry, but Smith feels very much like a poet who happened upon a guitar one day. His sense of narrative is intuitive and impeccable; this has been honed throughout his time with the Park, and it shines here in this transformation of travel writing, especially on 'Exiting Hyde Park Towers' and 'Trevone'. Much of his words remind me of the great observer William Carlos Williams and of one of his favourite images, that of the artist in the automobile, seeing and recording flashes of life before him. Smith doesn't only record, however; in the beautiful closer 'St. Peter's' he leaves us with a question: "When does a view become a view?" It's not a question I have an answer to.
Musically, Frozen By Sight has the advantage of being seasonally appropriate; the strings are decidedly autumnal and the indomitable sense of place within time is deftly crafted. Like one kneels close to the electric heater after a day out in the cold, this record sits close to the skin and ears, unobtrusive but essential. Brewis and Smith have created a rare thing in making music that is at once both primary and incidental; The music gives way to Smith's vocals when appropriate, and equally Smith steps back enough to let the strings swoop in and out, in and out. This is a very pleasant record, disarming in its gentleness.
