The Great Atlantic

As an alumnus of the Conor Oberst/Ryan Adams school of songwriting and restless former front man of Indie fivesome Pier Nineteen, Keith Mullins has all the makings of a perfectly beige musician. Modest strumming, hushed but impassioned vocals, classic folk arrangements, a dour disposition (presumably) – all signs point to singer-songwriter Version 1.0. Even his Twitter biography (by Gates, it’s 2010, I’ll reference the realm of microblogging if I want to) bears the line “I write and sing songs. They are not very happy songs.”
But don’t be duped by the Galway native’s words: there’s nothing whiny or indulgent about The Great Atlantic. In fact, Mullins’ debut LP is a record of surprisingly pleasurable twists. Take a song like ‘Not Strong In Me’. To begin, it trips along on a whimper (“I wrote a letter to an old friend last night/ I wonder if she’ll take the time to reply…”) and you’re just about to write it off when it breaks into a treacherously catchy hook and hopeful refrain.
Indeed, the ten-tracker could be easily split right down the middle: about half of Mullins’ tunes are solitary and reflective (see the jangley ‘In God’s Heaven’); others, like the symphonic ‘No Hercules’ are aurally rich family affairs, brimming with diegetic sound and musical camaraderie.
The great Atlantic is a recurring theme, as is the big guy in the sky with the dusty sandals, although thankfully, Mullins’ religious tendencies are more curious ponderings than gospel acclamations. It’s not all waves and Jesus either. On the innocent lament ‘Neil Armstrong’ Mullins muses: “How’d you get to be an astronaut?/ Is what I’d like to ask you Neil Armstrong/ As I colour you in…” and it’s a moment of perfect whimsy.
The stunning piano-led closer ‘Apple Song’ gives a whole new meaning to the term ambient music, propelled to a crescendo by the hum of muted conversations and creaking chairs (the album was recorded entirely in the singer’s mate’s echo-ey log cabin in Tuam).
Granted, there are moments of routine folk fare on The Great Atlantic, but it works because of some decidedly good vibrations. The subtle strings, the clever production and the gentle backing vocals courtesy of Ciara Delaney all represent a fantastic support system that props Mullins up as he sings his sad little heart out, and this is precisely what sets him apart from the rest of the singer-songbots.