Album Review: James Vincent McMorrow, We Move

One of the more mercurial artists to emerge from these shores in recent years, James Vincent McMorrow isn't easy to pigeonhole. His 2010 debut, Early In The Morning, was a Bon Iver-ish collection of guitar folk that mostly stayed within the boundaries of that genre, and went to No.1 in Ireland, with platinum sales.

Recorded in Texas, 2013's moodily orchestral Post Tropical saw the sombre Dubliner doing a complete musical about-turn - blending electronica, R&B, hip-hop and strings with meandering and often indecipherable lyrics. The polar opposite of Early in the Morning, it earned him a Choice Prize nomination. Where he'd go post-Post Tropical was anybody's guess. What he's actually done with We Move is, as the title suggests, keep on moving - physically, mentally and emotionally more than musically.

Having come off the road after the lengthy Post Tropical tour, McMorrow spent some time travelling around Spain and Canada, before setting up camp in Los Angeles, for six months of songwriting. Upon his return to Dublin, where the initial recording sessions were conducted, he decided not to produce the album all by himself, but to reach out to certain producers he'd met on his travels - namely Nineteen85 (Drake, DSVN), Two Inch Punch (Sam Smith, Years & Years) and Frank Dukes (Kanye West, Rihanna). Recorded in Dublin, London and Toronto, We Move was largely mixed in Miami by Jimmy Douglass (Donny Hathaway, Timbaland), who finessed the album's warm, vintage, yet forward-thinking feel.

Musically, it's as soft, smooth and soulful as they come - and, although a lot more stripped back, still not a million miles away from the sound of Post Tropical. His amazing falsetto voice remains his greatest instrument and it's used to full effect throughout. On previous albums, it could often be hard to figure out what he was actually singing - however, lyrically McMorrow is really laying himself bare on this collection.

In a message posted on his website, he admitted that he is "not the most confident person... Every time I've made an album before this one, I've worked so hard to shroud the thing in metaphor and imagery, until I'm so blurred in the picture that even I can barely see myself in it."

So this is a more open, honest, vulnerable and reflective offering, as McMorrow sings about love, loss, and mental fragility. Opening track and first cut Rising Water is a starkly produced cathartic song of (no) regret over his bad treatment of a lost lover: "We're in it now/ everybody knows what I've become/ truth is I never once/ was sad for what I've done. 'I Lie Awake Every Night' sees him addressing the eating disorder he has battled since childhood: "Have you come here to save me/ Have you come here to waste my time again/ You're asking too many questions/ Asking too many questions I can't stand."

McMorrow recently tweeted that 'Evil' is the new track he's most looking forward to playing live. Featuring some truly glorious harmonies and infectiously insane musical undercurrents, it's about trying to figure yourself out, and wondering if maybe you're a bad person because you don't see the world the way others do: "Because I think if I'm evil/ then I'll be going down/ If I'm evil maybe I had you fooled/ If I'm evil and you're still right beside me/ If I'm evil then we'll be going down."

Tinged with a slightly jealous edge and featuring some low-key buzzing guitar riffs, 'Get Low' - addressed to another ex - is easily the album's coolest moment: "Heard you're getting married (get low)/ Everybody says it (get low)/ Greatest man alive (get low)/ I've been told (Oh you're never sure)."

If McMorrow has learnt any hard lessons in recent times, they're acknowledged on wittily titled album closer 'Lost Angles': "There's a reason that people move/ or people don't/ people change or people stay the same completely." When he sings the line, "Don't let fear control you," eight times in a row, you realise that he's probably conquered whatever inner demons were holding him back. Musically brilliant and lyrically permeated with anxiety, regret and social unease, We Move is a fascinating third chapter.