Before launching into the review proper, let’s spare a moment for some a modicum of praise for Flying Nun’s decision to make Grayson Gilmour its first new signing. Having him on board makes several quite significant statements. Firstly, it reasserts the label’s commitment to an underground, DIY aesthetic, as Gilmour is well known for his commitment to self-release and retention of artistic autonomy, both in his work as a solo artist and as a member of So So Modern. Secondly, it demonstrates a willingness on the part of Flying Nun to avoid being typecast as an exclusive club for jangly guitar bands. Sure, this stereotype has always been somewhat unfair, as the label has always had a diverse roster, but the signing of Gilmour renders any accusations of conservatism invalid from the outset.
Given all this, it’s a shame that No Constellation itself isn’t a little bit more substantial. It begins strongly enough, with opener (and advance single) ‘Loose Change’ sketching out a sonic blueprint for the rest of the album by the fourth bar. After an idly plucked bass note, a stacked procession of piano, glockenspiel and drums pound and arpeggiate their way up the scale before dropping out. The melody is carried on only by Grayson’s right hand on the piano, and then everything else cuts back in. Loud/Soft, Loud/Soft, Loud/Soft.
To anyone who has heard Grayson’s earlier albums it’s an instantly familiar device, and it makes up the entirety of ‘Loose Change’. It’s a brash statement, but one that also reaffirms Grayson’s commitment to an approach which has served him well throughout his solo recording career. And this is the primary complaint with No Constellation, because for all its embellishments (pellucid production, prominent use of glockenspiel and strings) it’s hard not to see Grayson himself stuck in the kind of holding pattern which Flying Nun paradoxically seem to be striving to avoid by choosing to release his album.
For the opening suit of the aforementioned ‘Loose Change’, the more varied (and very glockenspiel-driven) ‘Chromosomes’, and the anthemic ‘I am a Light’ (one of the most potent songs Gilmour has ever written), he gets away with it on the strength of their songwriting and melodies. Unfortunately, the predictable switch to ballad mode for the unremarkable and overlong piano lilt of ‘Fire Downstairs’ releases much of the tension that its predecessors had worked up. The rest of the ride is riddled with further inconsistencies. ‘Circa Skeleton 31’ is an inconsequential instrumental interlude, and ‘Gem Apple John’ is a self-indulgent attempt at introducing variety through diversionary tangents into finger clicking and jazz-inflected piano workouts.
There’s no doubt that Gilmour is a gifted technician, but he’s always been at his best when channeling his off-kilter efforts towards the service of melody and songwriting (his more muscular songs tend to be his best). On No Constellation he doesn’t quite get this balance right, and the result is an uneven record whose opening promises plenty, but delivers without decisiveness. It’s a bit of a shame, but as a (re)start for both (post-So So Modern) Gilmour and Flying Nun there’s still enough here to suggest that the future could be plenty bright.
3/5
Album: No Constellation
Artist: Grayson Gilmour
Label: Flying Nun