It will come as no surprise that this record, the second from Major Matt Mason, comes from the stable of Glasgow’s Shoeshine Records, project of Francis Macdonald, long serving quaint-pop merchant and drummer in Teenage Fanclub and the BMX Bandits. Because it’s not that the solo New York folk poet shares a direct similarity with either of Francis’ bands, more that they all come from the simple life-affirming side of an otherwise normal existence. The kind of musical and lyrical simplicity that puts a smile on your face and makes everything else seem that touch less dreary.
Part of the humour laced New York anti-folk scene (whose most famous export – due mainly to some well chosen costumes and adorability despite their content – are The Moldy Peaches) these are songs built mainly around clear lone guitar lines that you’ll have heard a thousand times before in a hundred different places but are importantly defined by very personal and often unique tales and rhymes and quirks. And the more that they are truthfully unique and personal and cute and lovable, the more they justify their simple existence.
It just takes till stupidly uppity second track ‘Misdirected’ (which seems like a joke until you realise that, well, it is) to realise that his existence is absolutely justified. He’ll go on to muse over the most ridiculously mundane, so much so that you probably rarely think these things yourself and 9.30 on a rainy Monday morning, but laces them with such sparkle and wit that they’re irresistible. Take ‘You’re A Girl’ (“You’re a girl, and I like it a lot. You’re a girl, if you don’t know it by now girl, I’m not”) and ‘Mittens’ where he ponders watching TV, getting hungry and suggesting a Chinese. This doesn’t really amount to much at all, but then that’s the point.