As a man who is frequently accused of recycling riffs and being overly in thrall to rock history, Noel Gallagher may be offering a hostage to fortune in naming his imminent album Chasing Yesterday. The penny appears to have dropped vis-à-vis that particular own goal: “As soon as it [the title] went out, I hated it,” he has admitted.
Gallagher’s High Flying Birds, the post-Oasis project that he freely confesses is ‘basically me and whoever else is around’, are tonight previewing their second album in front of a select audience of invitees and ballot-winners. Going by this likable but essentially unremarkable show, it is profoundly unlikely to mark a radical musical left-turn from their eponymous debut.
More than 20 years into his career, Gallagher remains a frustrating conundrum. Seemingly able to pluck mercurial melodies from the air, he tethers them to workmanlike, pedestrian arrangements; a sharp and witty quote machine in interviews, he nevertheless dispenses lyrics that rarely rise above the cliched and prosaic.
It’s a huge shame, because he patently remains a prodigious songwriting talent. In the Heat of the Moment, the lead single from Chasing Yesterday, a bombastic anthem meticulously calibrated by this master craftsman to resound around the world’s arenas, can’t help but sound formidable when experienced at close quarters in a room over a pub. Yet his new songs are blatantly missives from his comfort zone. Gallagher’s bluff, no-bullshit persona seems to render him allergic to musical innovation or lyrical flights of fancy. Riverman is a mid-tempo bluesy plod; Lock All the Doors revisits a song he wrote for Oasis 23 years ago, and demonstrates that Gallagher’s muse tends not to be prone to quantum leaps. Far better is AKA … What a Life!, a euphoric number from the High Flying Birds’ debut whose quasi-rave beats and freewheeling urgency recall Let Forever Be, his 1999 collaboration with the Chemical Brothers. Recent single Ballad of the Mighty I is not, as he has claimed, one of the best songs he has ever written, but its chorus soars and its plaintive yearning rings true.
Gallagher’s mind is on the night’s other low-profile celebrity gig: “I’m not doing an encore because I’m going to see Prince, and he’s on in 10 minutes,” he grins before closing with Don’t Look Back in Anger, a nugget from an era when he defined the musical zeitgeist. For all of tonight’s dogged sweat and elbow grease, that feels a long, long time ago.
[Source]
Telegraph Review:
“Alright, Noel?” a voice shouted out from the crowd. “Am I alright?” responded Noel Gallagher with a perplexed shrug, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend the question. “Of course I’m all right.”
Of course he is. Gallagher must be the most reliable man in British rock. In advance of his second solo album and sold out arena tour in March, he offered a sneak preview of what fans might expect in an intimate, 500-capacity London club. There were no surprises on a night of big, solid songs with massive singalong choruses, delivered with panache by unshowy, accomplished musicians. Gallagher’s four-piece backing band answer to the name High Flying Birds but look more like Van Driving Blokes. Drummer Jeremy Stacey is big, bearded and hits hard. Bespectacled keyboard player Mike Rowe shifts with grinning enthusiasm from soulful Sixties Hammond grooves to Kinks-style pub piano with a bit of deep synth to edge the sound towards modernity. Second guitarist Tim Smith slots seamlessly into whatever Gallagher himself is playing, from T-Rex electric boogie to country lilt and flowing psychedelia. Bassist Russell Pritchard has nimble fingers, which puts him several leagues ahead of anyone who ever played with Oasis. They called it a warm-up show but the set was delivered with the casual equanimity of road warriors in the middle of a long tour. Gallagher sang with soft yearning, played guitar with juicy chords and melodic leads, and chatted with ready wit. To audience members begging for his plectrums, he sniffed, “Don’t you know there’s a recession on?”
You could (dismissively) call it meat and potatoes rock. But Gallagher is the meat. And the potatoes. A proper square meal, served up in healthy proportions, where everything tastes just right. Songs already familiar from his debut solo album are treated like Oasis classics, inciting lusty, arms-aloft singalongs. Obscure Oasis B-sides are greeted like he’s playing their greatest hits. His actual greatest hit, Don’t Look Back In Anger, is sung with near hymnal joy by the crowd whilst the band strum along in unplugged mode, Noel shifting the melody with minor modulations.
It is almost too easy and that would be my only concern. It lacks the grandstanding edge of Oasis, the frisson that Liam Gallagher’s sociopathic charisma brings to any occasion. He would have killed Lock All The Doors, a storming rocker whose riff dates back to pre-fame Oasis, although the sneering new lyric: “We might never live to meet again,” could well be a comment on the current state of fraternal relations. Noel played five new songs, all boasting choruses big enough for stadiums. There was even a tiny hint of musical expansion during the lush, dreamy Riverman, with a jazzy lead and an extra musician joining the band. Gallagher was at pains to put the audience at ease. “Do not be alarmed,” he said. “It’s only a saxophone.”
[Source]
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