Paul Heaton - Acid Country
- Written by David Lichfield
Acid Country, the third solo album from former Beautiful South and Housemartins man Paul Heaton, is a raw, rootsy, country-tinged gem, finding it's author at the top of his lyrical game. Although record sales have seemingly eluded Heaton for the best part of a decade, long before The Beautiful South ground to a surprisingly low-key halt, Acid Country marks a politically-edged return to the creative fire with which his first chart act first rose to prominence a quarter of a century ago.
Preceded by a tour of failing but apparently snug and welcoming public houses (Heaton travelled from venue-to-venue via bicycle), themes of nostalgia, patriotism, growing old and technology permeate the album, which, for all it's countryfied charm, is typically British in terms of words, yet finds Heaton at perhaps his most acerbic. It’s not terribly ambitious musically on the whole, but completely engaging lyrically, with welcome but restrained female guest vocals. Both sad and biting, but never sounding bitter, this is an album in love with the genres it emulates, and pop music itself. From the 'Jailhouse Rock'-namechecking of the captivating opener 'This Old Radio', to the epic, 8-minute genre hop of the title track, the epicentre of which incorporates rousing, military snares giving way to a squelchy electro breakdown that Heaton's former bandmate Norman Cook could well be proud of, and a seething Socialist chant of “Fight a war on greed, not a war on poverty”, possibly the most enraged Heaton has ever sounded on record, and truly thrilling. The choppy rockabilly 'Ladder's Bottom Rung' isn't too far off The Housemartins musically, either, and also wears its socialist sentiment on it's sleeve, talking of the “strange moral fibre” of the more humble lifestyle.
Heaton's previous band, with their polished AOR hits and greatly reduced sense of the political, were rarely scathing in their approach, more famous for tales middle-aged, domestic jauntiness than fire and grit for the most part, even sounding smug when employing expletives, most famously on 'Don't Marry Her’. However, the often venomous lyricism here is engaging, mirthful and touching, not least on the seven-minute ode to ageing and loneliness, 'Young Man's Game' (“Reading books and tying laces can't do me much good/Not compared to feeling you running through my blood”) in which Heaton laments his supposed shortcomings with trademark honesty.
In the hands of another writer, Acid Country could easily conjure up comparisons to a musical version of 'Grumpy Old Men', all clichéd cynicism and paint-by-numbers disapproval. The topics broached within are hardly new topics for a British singer-songwriter of his age, but are handled brilliantly when compared to a contemporary like latter-day Morrissey for instance. Musically, it's comprised of largely inobtrusive, traditional country melody with a Woody Guthrie slant, backed with simple arrangements and chord sequences, but the stamp of Heaton's personality keeps the proposition engaging rather than predictable, conjuring of images of humdrum rain-sodden Pennine mountains rather than New Orleans or Tennessee.
When Heaton laments cultural and technological acceleration, it doesn't make him seem like a Luddite or a nostalgic bore. His quest for a simpler and more organic life seems like an entirely valid aim. Closing with 'Cold One In The Fridge', a tender and personal document of Heaton's struggle with sobriety, it's a fitting way to end a brave album from one of Britain's most underrated, candid and skilled songwriters. Whether he likes the 'man of the people' tag or not, Acid Country once again cements that reputation.