The constant guitar-plucking starts to grate long before the end of the album
Fionn Regan’s fourth record sounds like what people who’ve never actually listened to Bob Dylan imagine Bob Dylan sounds like. The 31-year-old is a guitar-picking Irish folkie who recorded this album himself with just a four-track and a single mic, eagerly reciting his careful poetry while flicking at the strings as if trying to dislodge some chewing gum. There’s none of the fierce passion, wicked wit or withering sarcasm of the real deal. Short of being cast as the baddie in a remake of The Passion Of The Christ, nobody’s ever gonna shout “Judas” in anger at this guy. There are pretty moments scattered about, especially when he picks up a bit of verve on ‘67 Blackout’ and the title track, but that constant guitar-plucking starts to grate long before the end of the album. Lyrically there are a few choice morsels (for example: “Cat fight, swollen lip/Hair caught in the teeth of your zip”), but taken as a whole it leaves a taste of saccharine.
Kevin EG Perry