At the age of 14 I was (and happily still am) in a band and I got my mum to write a sick note to school so I could take the day off to play our first ever gig – a lunchtime slot at a college in Nottingham. It was the most nerve-wracking, exhilarating 30 minutes ever. That afternoon was topped however by the evening – The Smiths at Rock City on their inaugural tour, quite a trip for a teenage lad from the Midlands. My memory is hazy, but I recall my gaze being continually pulled away from the flailing, self-flagellating Mozzer to the uber-cool, virtually motionless guitarist stage left with the Keith Richards‘ haircut and the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Johnny Marr was my hero. What a day that was.
Fast forward 30 years and here we are with the same cool cut and, finally, a debut solo album (if we discount The Healers‘ effort). The Messenger does not disappoint in that it sounds just what you’d expect a Johnny Marr album to sound like, and those shimmering flourishes which defined The Smiths and rescued Modest Mouse (and, let’s face it, much of The Cribs) are evident amidst some occasional moments of ho-hum-ness.
So welcome back How Soon is Now tremelo and Strangeways glam crunches, as The Right Thing Right and the catchy Upstarts set the tone for what is a lively, beautifully played yet, somehow, rather unambitious album in places. It all sounds great, the guitars do everything you’d wish them to and in European Me, Marr has written and recorded one of his finest works to date with a skewered Radiohead-esque arrangement and downward melancholy minor chords. Someone should remind him that weird is fine. It’s just a shame he couldn’t have maintained the same quality control and sense of danger throughout.
And yet…and yet…repeated listening provides some gorgeous standout moments and as a whole The Messenger hangs together pretty well. As (what else?) Smithsy closer Word Starts Attack fades out, you’re left feeling that, even after 30 years, there’s a great album in him yet.
[Rating:3]
