Much has been written down the years about Liverpudian Michael Head's status as the great neglected British songwriting visionary of the last forty years. To the point of cliche really. Despite the any number of quite classic songs he's written down the years, the man's never actually had a Top Forty single. This beggars belief frankly.
One more classic record to add to the case for the man. Head and his current band The Red Elastic Band have just put out another album, , Dear Scott and it's probably among the very best he's ever released down the years. Twelve classically crafted and beautifully wrought and produced songs, all immediately recognisably Michael Head.
I saw Head and the Red Elastic Band play last Thursday at The Cluny in Ouseburn the day before Dear Scott came out. There was something vaguely triumphant about the performance. Head has struggled with heroin and alcohol addiction down the years and is really doing well just to still be with us, never mind putting out such great records and playing such magnificent gigs.
Because last Thursday was magnificent and Dear Scott is a great album. Full of Scouse melancholy, ennui and regret but pride and dogged endurance too. A story of survival against the odds. It has all the defining features of Head's work. Another essentially nautical record, water is almost ever present in his songs, with his underlying and abiding inspiration points running through it like Liverpool Rock if such a thing exists; Love, Baccarach, The Byrds and Simon & Garfunkel.
It was great finally seeing the man perform, having enjoyed so many of his records from Pale Fountains, Shack and probably his masterpiece, The Magical World of the Strands. It was also nice to see that he's not entirely a prophet without honour in his own land. There were any number of people in the audience in clear rapture at points when career favourites were played. It was a special evening.
Any number of the songs on Dear Scott stand shoulder to shoulder with anything he's ever done. It's a tale of Liverpool more than anythng else, Head namechecks its streets at one point in The Ten, and you feel like you're walking down them with him. It's an evocative and, yes, magical record.
Best heard as a piece at single sittings. It was perfectly clear on Thursday how deeply proud of the record Head is and he has every right to be so. It won't top any charts apart from personal ones. Head never will sadly, but those who appreciate the man's special gifts will cherish it.
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