I suppose the question is: does East Belfast force people to conjure up alternative realities? Or does it enable them to?

Traditionally working class (although the property boom – remember that? – of the last few years has seen an influx of young professionals), and predominately Protestant (although those new arrivals have mixed up the formulae), it’s an area which, to outsiders, can appear as imposing and implacable as the shipyard cranes that dominate its sky-line.
Informed observers, however, will know that’s not the full story.
You see, there’s a weird dimensional worm-hole that hovers over these parts.
The statue at Holywood Arches showing (local lad) C.S Lewis heading Narnia-ward through a half opened wardrobe hints at the fantastical counter-current that also courses round here. This is Astral Weeks land, remember, and the place responsible for the world’s first free-verse footballer.
So, when Peter Wilson, resplendent in full Duke Special duds (his by now familiar Red Army and Rasta chic) strolls into a Belmont Road coffee shop, it’s no surprise the patrons barely look up from their mugs. We’re a five minute stroll from Cyprus Avenue: it’s par for the course round these parts.
“You know, I’ve seen Van in the restaurant down the street,” he beams when he settles himself down. “Just sitting in the window having a meal. I think it’s actually incredible that he’s from round here. My wife’s grandmother bought me a CD box set of music ‘Legends’. It was made up of Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, James Brown and Van Morrison. Oh my God. You take it for granted a lot of the times, but there’s the odd moment when you realise just how significant a figure he is. In years to come people will look back and be amazed by it. And the Belfast thing is important. I mean, he would always have written songs. But would he have written those songs?”
We’re here to talk about I Never Thought This Day Would Come, Duke Special’s brassy and big-hearted new album.
If his debut release, Songs From The Deep Forest, was a subtle, personable introduction, it’s subsequent success (sold out tours, Top Five placing, appearance on Later...) has obviously emboldened Wilson and encouraged him to walk tall. Two years on, and we find him in confident creative form. Orchestras swoop, choruses soar – and from bed-sit ode to pantomime set-piece: the record’s reach proves entertainingly vast. Crikey, in Bernard Butler, it even has a big name cameo.
“I actually discovered him through the McAlmont and Butler records rather than Suede. A friend played me ‘Yes’ and it was absolutely amazing. Where did this come from? I played some shows with Duffy last year and we were chatting one day and she told me she had written a few songs with Bernard. I didn’t know he wrote with other people. So, my manager got in touch with his, I think Duffy put in a good word, and next thing you know, I’m sitting in a studio with him, and he’s knocking out these amazing chords. There was no messing around. He’s pretty inspirational.”
The resultant tune, ‘Those Proverbs We Made In The Winter Must End’, is one of the new album’s stand out moments. Butler’s trademark string arrangements and airborne guitar providing the perfectly grand backing for an enigmatic lyric that references both the Book of Revelations and a more recent dark classic.
“I took the title from a line in The Picture Of Dorian Gray,” he reveals. “I think there are times in people’s lives when they can get stuck in a certain frame of mind, or a set of habits that are formed in very specific circumstances. When times change, they still cling on to their old ways of thinking and behaving. It’s about that. About being able to come to things fresh.”
This juxtaposition between sonic exuberance and grave lyrical concerns is perfectly in keeping with I Never Thought’s M.O. Peel away its vaudevillian excesses (courtesy of a magnificently Technicoloured production job from Paul Pilot); ignore the nods to Broadway and Tin Pan Alley; sidestep the swelling choruses and massive sing-along sentiments – and what you’ll discover is a collection of songs dominated by domestic concerns. ‘Why Does Anybody Love?’ may have an Opera House scope, but listen to the lyrics (“We said at the beginning that we’d help each other up again/But I’ve fallen down so often I’ve proved that I’m the weakest of men”) and you’ll discover a kitchen sink drama unfolding. ‘If I Don’t Feel It’ could easily run over the credits of a Baz Luhrman film, but tune into its motivating sentiments (“I’ve left you for so long but I’m coming back/Won’t drift away/Won’t lose you in the dark/Believe me love, I won’t leave you behind”) and it would be equally at home on Albert Square.
“I’ll never be the kind of artist who sums up a moment in time,” he admits. “But I feel like I’m involved in something that’s going to last a lifetime. I came late to things, and it took me a while to find my voice, but I’m glad it’s turned out how it has. I’m glad I didn’t have that massive life-changing hit at 18.”
Which is an important point. Pop musicians tend to become obsolete just around the time when other artists are beginning to find their voice. I Never Thought is a record with lots of miles on the clock. These are frank and personal songs – anxious about facing up to responsibilities; preoccupied with the difficulty of sustaining long-term relationships. It is full of complex emotions and grubby realities. It is, in short, very clearly the work of a grown-up.
“I don’t feel very cool,” he smiles. “I play piano and have an okay singing voice. I’m married with three kids. I’m not going to write those amazing teenage anthems about falling in love for the first time, losing your virginity, getting hammered for the first time. But if I’ve anything to say, it’s about being honest and being real and not settling for anything less than an adventure. I think it’s valid for me to write songs about struggling with the mediocrity that getting older and settling down inevitably brings. And I don’t believe that being fucked up makes for great art. I love Babyshambles, but I also love Tom Waits – someone who writes incredibly challenging songs, and does so while being teetotal and married to the same woman for many years.”
The fantasy element could easily overwhelm the Duke Special project if the songs themselves weren’t so grounded in everyday life. Because it’s clear Wilson uses a mirror for more than just applying his eye-shadow.
“It’s about trying to make a connection and exploring the need for connection – whether that’s with a father, a mother, your kids, your lover. And that’s a life-times worth of exploration. It’s universal, really. Doesn’t matter where you’re from or during what time in history you happen to be alive.
You’re writing has to be open to experience. If that means wanting to smash the place to bits, or stay out for ten nights in a row, then you reflect that. If it means doing the school run, that goes in too.”
Wilson’s wife, Heather, is a visual artist who has been establishing a reputation in her own right of late.
Do they share a common approach to their respective work?
“I’ve never really thought about it,” he says. “She’s still finding her voice. She works with installations and in arts crafts. There’s a bit of snobbery around the crafts thing – almost like if something is functional, it somehow makes it less worthy. But I suppose we share the idea that if you’re being led in a certain direction creatively, you should follow it. It’s cool to go after the unexpected, (laughs) even if you don’t earn much money from it.”
And I suppose there’s little support in the Wilson household for Byron’s hoary old notion that “the pram in the hall way is the enemy of art”?
“I find it’s the opposite,” says Peter. “If anything, having a family gave me a hunger to make my songwriting work. There are a lot of people who try for a while but as the years go by the numbers start to thin out. Many better people than me have given up because of family commitments. But it’s something we’ve both decided. We’ve had many, many conversations about the best way forward. Every decision, you need to ask yourself why you’re doing it.”
From which I’m assuming there have been some dark nights of the soul?
“There have been many, many,” he smiles. “Listen to the record. When you’re with someone, neither of you stop changing or growing. A few years down the line and you’re both different people. The challenge is – how can you change in a way that allows you to move towards one another and not apart. Having kids is that massive common bond. It also brings out the best and the worst of you.”