Passing Strangers

Yes, all awards are pointless and pernicious (including, I admit, the numeric one I’ll type at the bottom of this review), but – by dint of their absolute futility, their Himalayan inconsequence – I can’t prevent myself from having a soft spot for the good old Ivor Novellas. Unlike the hyper-inflated MTV baubles, or the self-important Mercury’s, the Ivors (and yes, I’ve checked – that is the collective noun) don’t seem to yearn for relevance. No. Scattered around like confetti - with recipients seemingly chosen, Wonka-style, by golden tickets hidden in chocolate bars - they’re the equivalent of end-of-year cups dished out (with a firm paternalistic pat on the head for each winner) at school. The list of past recipients has a crazily scattergun ring. The Feeling have one, as do S Club 7, the Spice Girls and John Lennon.
In fact I’m pretty sure I have one as well. I think I got it the same year as Katie Melua.
Scott Matthews has one too.
And – for better or worse – when you hear Passing Strangers you’ll see why.
Matthews is what was once (horrifically) known as an A&R Man’s Wet Dream – marketable, stolidly talented, slightly dull – and the consummate singer-songwriter sheen that dominates his debut album will have his handlers dreaming of the kind of sales figures enjoyed by Jameses Blunt and Morrison.
If that’s your bag, fine. There are a handful of songs here (from ‘Dream Song’ to ‘Blue In The Face Again’ to ‘White Feathered Medicine’) that will slip effortlessly onto the drive-time schedules. Only a churl would dispute the quality of his voice. In fact – as showcased most impressively on ‘Elusive’ - Matthews could depose LaMontagne in the emotive Alpha Male crooning stakes.
But anyone looking for some grit, some mystery, something that doesn’t sound like the bedding of a US beer commercial, may be advised to turn elsewhere. Although, given that most of his contemporaries aspire to mobile phone commericals instead, this may be a plus point after all.
From the hopeful Led Zep and Jeff Buckley references, to the odd mid-Atlantic phrasing (Matthews is from Wolverhampton), Passing Strangers is a record with a big front, but shaky foundations.
The so-so album of the year? Hard to tell. But I’m sure it’ll make the shortlist.