Divan

This bleak yet not entirely hope-less album epitomises Freud’s findings: ‘In melancholia, a person grieves for a loss (s)he is unable to fully comprehend or identify, and thus this process takes place in the unconscious mind.’ Are you sitting comfortably? Let us begin …

The happy/sad balance is difficult to pull off (successfully, at least), but, the weepy ‘Sale of Lakes’ nails it. Caught in the hinterland between tears of joy and those of laughter (© Russ Abbott) this a sucker punch to the art strings, a body-blow torch song, subtle surf guitars with distant, distinct echo-vocals from the throaty Clarke. Take note, Brit-school uber-bores and Nina Conti faux-hemians.

The rebel-rousing ‘Shards’ is Celt-Rock at its finest, a battle-cry anthem ridden with picky guitar. Looping drums versus plaintive ivory-tinkling is the spine that holds ‘A Clarity Appears’ together, all in all a doleful aria.

‘Patron of the love I lost’ is equally folkin’ upbeat and plucking downcast, a saddy-hap blend of heart-mend, apart-break with its cry of ‘There’s no shame in holding out for better days’. ‘The soulless kind’ deploys Clarke’s wistful Irish ‘buurrrr’ as he identifies ‘the sinners’ before the song explodes into a rock and Celtic Soul finale worthy of The Waterboys.

The haunting ‘Plans’ has the line ‘I am making plans for us’ which could be the interior monologue of Frederick Clegg, John Fowles’s kidnapping and imprisoning ‘butterfly’ Collector as he exhorts in guilty defence ‘shed some light on the darkest parts of me’.

The jaunty ‘Preserving Light’ casts its beam far and wide, directing a brightness in contrast with the shade prevalent throughout, reminding of Big Country’s heartland, hope and glory.

These ten songs seep in, burrow deep and inescapably become part of your very being, when you wake, walk or work, this will be the soundtrack to your every move and thought. Embrace it and drift along on memory bliss.