It always seemed a flawed argument, but childhood still tended to come crowded with advice nuggets such as “you can have too much fun you know!”. That particular line seemed at direct loggerheads with the very essence of fun as it had been taught up to that point and was presumed (reasonably correctly) to be an outright lie and part of some larger adult conspiracy. But perhaps here, with Peter Moran’s debut solo album, away from the carefree flippancy of the day job with Swedish twee-poppers Peter Bjorn and John, we have evidence that it may have contained a grain or two of truth after all. Because the ten tracks that segue into one another to become ‘The Last Tycoon’ are so serious, or at least they’re not really remotely frivolous or frolicking. It’s kind of like Jim Carrey going from rubber-cheeked Bruce Almighty to the straight-faced charm of Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, and only the most puerile or genuinely infant amongst us would quibble over the superior film from that pairing. Though please understand, this is merely a comparative metaphor – Ace Ventura: Pet Detective makes Peter Bjorn & John look like Stephen Fry playing Aristotle. There is no stylistic similarity.
There is a humming, timeless quality drizzled generously over and throughout this record, it’s free of unnecessary distractions, reduced to or at least focussed on the man and his guitar alone for the most part. It is kept afloat by imagination rather than innovation. And strings, where necessary. It is a handsome, soft-toned record, with subtleties weaved in afresh from beginning to end. He reminds often, and especially on the forlorn plucking of ‘Reel To Real’, ‘This Is What I Came For’ and ‘I Don’t Gaze At The Sky For Long’, of a young Paul Simon, especially the confident, compassionate timbre of his voice and intricate, darting folk fingers. There are also lines to be drawn more directly to peers from his particular corner of the globe, the likes of Kings Of Convenience, Jose Gonzalez and Sondre Lerche. And on ‘Le Petit Coeur’ and ‘Missing Link’, with lights down, smoke fragrance hanging heavy and chamber orchestration providing ambience, he draws from the morose booth belonging to Scott Walker and Serge Gainsbourg, as if to remind you that we’re not having a laugh here. But if you can have too much fun, this rich album is one hell of a way to chill out.