TO start, a confession. I've never really heard much of Psychedelic Furs, the band fronted by Richard Butler. How I am now glad I've heard Mr Butler.
His first solo outing is a classic of mellifluous melodies, heart-tugging harmonies and lariat snap-sharp lyrics.
I can't recall an album where its entirety is so down-tempo - other than straying to the sad ballad-lands.
In collaboration with Jon Carin, Butler has wrought a collection of 11 impeccable songs laced with intelligent introspection.
The subject matter is the usual: love and loss, shot through with the melancholy of the last man standing at a run-down city bar.
But it is never anodyne nor maudlin, even the outstanding Breathe, a near-homage to suicide that is one of the most hauntingly beautiful songs I've ever heard.
The Butler's done it - and in mesmerising style too.
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