Some albums are made to dazzle. Others, like “We Are Not There But We Are Here”, seem to simply exist quietly, honestly, and deeply, as if they’ve always been with you. Shopfires, the recording project of British songwriter Neil Hill, returns with a collection that’s both delicate and self-assured, weaving stories of memory, youth, distance and affection through the hazy light of jangly guitars and softly whispered melodies.
Jangly, laidback bedroom psych pop drenched in reverb and sadness, perfect for rainy afternoons, long drives, and going thru heartbreak. This record would have slotted beautifully into my teenage listening, alongside other sadboy psych titans like the Church, Echo and the Bunnymen, and the softer side of the Jesus and Mary Chain. Swirly guitars, hooky tunes, and lots and lots of reverb is a winning formula, even if it isn’t the latest trend. Those of you who miss the days when it was, and those of you who simply missed those days because you weren’t around yet, will be glad to find this one.
“We Are Not There But We Are Here” is another masterclass in contrast, one of my favorite elements in music. The sound is absolutely what you’d expect; gentle guitar sounds with plenty of reverb, light drums, and a bass that serves as a connection between melodic and rhythmic instruments. And also with a liberal use of shakers and tambourines. The vocals fit in the same style; very conversational and not very excited sounding, and with light echo effects added, for that dreamlike feeling that is a signature of the style. In general, the sound is indeed light, pleasant and very easy to listen to.
Things change when the listener pays attention to the lyrics, however. They speak of heartbreak, trauma, insecurities and poverty, but without the anger or sadness that could be expected. Instead they also bring up deep human connections, perseverance and dignity. This approach, of mixing a sound that is simply “nice” with pretty heavy subject matters, is not something everyone in the audience will pick up on, but the creativity that is required to imagine, and the skill to pull off something like this, is pretty amazing to me. It feels like a pretty watercolor painting that depicts a car accident would, making it a work I’d even call subversive.
Overall, this is an album I’ve enjoyed quite a bit. It feels honest in the way that the songs talk about troubling topics; never really pushing their messages, but cloaking them in the most inoffensive music possible. This music is gentle and soft, but there is a lot of meaning behind it. If the listener allows it to, it invites reflection, and that is never a bad thing.
An audio cross of Poor Cow and The Knack …and How to Get It.
There’s not an awful lot more to say to be honest, It’s very good at what it does and if your tastes are Jangly guitar pop with a bit of social realism thrown in this will be right up your street, I like it well enough and you’ll probably love it.
There is something wonderfully simple about this album. The music twinkles and jangles with a sweet melancholy. The lyrics touch on deprivation, alienation, and aimless youth from the perspective of a survivor. It’s sad, but there’s a note of hope present throughout and a loveliness that draws out the sweet from the bitter.
Neil Hill, the creator behind Shopfires, has described his extremely DIY setup as intentionally minimal: a few instruments, a microphone and a grocery-store laptop. Despite this humble array, the resulting music is complex and multifaceted. The vocals, guitar, keyboard and tambourine are layered and stretched around each other, creating echoes and harmonies that feel both dreamy and down-to-earth.
This album has really grown on me with repeated listens. It’s fully of wistful longing, tinged and complicated with a wry sort of realism. Put it on when you’re by yourself, or in the company of someone with whom you can comfortably share stillness. You have to lean in a little for this one, but it’s worth taking your time for.
E.A