The musician crippled by pathological introversion is a familiar trope of indie-pop, a hackneyed pose long since drained of artistic potential. Yet the Amazing Pilots, a Coleraine act built around the songwriting partnership of brothers Paul and Phil Wilkinson, eke fresh possibilities from the stereotype of tortured shyness.
For the Wilkinsons’ moping is infused with an epic, even noble air. In their clutches, the bedroom sulk assumes the eloquence of a grand tragedy. Couched in creeping chamber-pop arrangements, their music traffics in subtly seductive melodies and soft, chiming choruses. If pop songs were drugs The Amazing Pilots would hit you like a valium overdose.
The band grew up near the sea and the mournfulness of the open water hangs over their debut album, Hello My Captor, like a cold drizzle. The record exudes a briny tang, its hesitant, lullaby structure possessing the quality of a slowly swelling tide. There is an aching sadness in the undertow, a horrified recognition of creation’s towering disinterest in the suffering of individuals.
Oddly, the bleakness gives way to a hopeful flourish. While Paul Wilkinson sings as though his heart has just been mangled, he appears to find comfort in the fact that rejection hasn’t quite destroyed him. He’s not smiling exactly yet his tears gleam with defiance.
Occasionally the listener may experience a violent urge to grab Wilkinson and shake him until he cheers up. But as Hello My Captor ebbs to an end it is apparent that he is happiest dipping his muse in the murk of the human condition.
Gorgeously morose, The Amazing Pilots are set to soar.