Review: Daniel Pearson – ‘Mercury State’


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There is a certain sense of trepidation that greets television and radio news broadcasts in current times, including the now habitually pessimistic rhetoric from leading politicians that public spending cuts are a necessary part of modern life on our journey to economic recovery.

Daniel Pearson, a musician from the humblest roots of East Yorkshire, is in an appropriate position to contrast hollow apologies from those in privileged roles with an attempt to portray exactly what life throws at the common man in such a difficult period, as he gears up to release the boldly ambitious ‘Mercury State’, the follow up to last year’s critically acclaimed debut record ‘Satellites’.

‘Satellites’ was a mature exposition of Pearson’s adept songwriting, containing the country influenced ‘Tracks’ and the strikingly fragile acoustic ballad ‘Waves in the Sea’, highlighting an Americana influenced sound that at its heart comprises a varied mixture of tender acoustic folk, country and even tinges of unabashed rock & roll for good measure.

‘Mercury State’ takes significant strides in developing more overriding themes from the previous record, depicting an unmasking honesty not dissimilar to Pearson’s female acoustic contemporary Lucy Rose. The existing foundation of melodiously gentle songs and unique vocals have grown to produce a set of tracks that incorporate acute observational statements on the social disparity that exists in post-recession Britain, alongside delicately introspective takes on his and his friends own personal struggles during the economic mire.

In appropriately authentic style, the album was recorded over five summer days in the isolated wilderness of the Pennines and co-produced by Pearson alongside long-time collaborator Jeremy Platt at the latter’s home studio, with live takes and minimal overdubs providing fitting poignancy to the stripped back emotion ever present on the album.

Lead song ‘Factory Floor’ is an unsubtle indicator of things to come, with early Bruce Springsteen material – in particular ‘Darkness on the Edge of Town’ – a likely influence given the lyrical content outlining a discontent with working class life. Pearson describes relatable frustration at redundancy and the ensuing ‘revolving doors’ and rejection that greet his lengthy work quest, sung over light acoustic picking, aptly poignant bass notes and foreboding piano chords.

Any suspicions of the album descending into wallowing self-pity are quickly dispelled on the stomping garage rock intro of ‘Promises’; a prime example of Pearson’s ability to intuitively switch between musical genres, indicating a depth in music knowledge and a confident willingness to add textured layers to a base acoustic sound. This track also sees a vocal adjustment as a direct response to the audibly amped electrical signal stemming from the semi-acoustic guitar, sounding much like Jack White’s Raconteurs band mate Brendan Benson.

Comparisons can be drawn between tracks from Benson’s cult adored power-pop solo effort in ‘Lapalco’, matching with the same effortless buoyancy in voice and full sounding power-chord distortion of the guitar, which is in direct distinction to the mellowed out acoustic numbers, seeing a vocal style more representative of Ryan Adams’ softer moments as a richly refined emotive delivery.



Pensive piano is brought to the fore in a return to Pearson’s customary ballad style on ‘I Still Believe’, which harbours hope that good still exists amongst a ‘world of deceit’, despite coming to a dawning realisation of unfulfilled ambition as time ebbs unnervingly away. The burning passion to write such an angst ridden album after coming home from a tour of the U.S. is best revealed in the lines: “Walked the movie scene streets of New York, without looking the whole world had changed, I hoped I’d stayed the same.”

Dependent on personal inclination, ‘Hard Times’ exacerbates the feeling that the best elements of this supremely divergent record are to be found when the volume is cranked up, which can leave the listener craving for a slightly more focused sound. This is particularly apparent as the Hendrix infused guitar swagger of the hammer-on lead notes kick in to sound like a possessed Black Keys and Band of Skulls blues rock mash up outpouring from the guitar of only one man.

Rat Race’ continues the initial trend of a quiet/loud alternation on subsequent tracks, solemnly describing the feeling of despondency when people all around are insistent on papering over the cracks. Broken adolescent dreams of a potentially steady job are shattered, causing family division over unpaid bills and worry over crushed pride as a father tirelessly trying to fund a family unit.

The slow pace continues on ‘All Is Not Lost’, acting as a continuation of the previous track and revisiting the faint optimism seen in ‘I Still Believe’, in which the husband nostalgically remembers more carefree times and achingly states a repeated parting gesture to his partner of, “I know we can’t go on, but oh let’s pretend that we still believe”.

The stuttering palm-muting of distorted chords on album highlight ‘Medication’ sees a welcome return to abrasive power-pop sensibilities, as Pearson’s vocal pitch shifts seamlessly from quietened spoken word, before rising alongside more frantic guitar strumming patterns to a near Kurt Cobain-like rasping scream during the chorus outcry for release from torment via salvation in medicine form.

The album concludes with the ode to camaraderie and the carrying of mutual hopes and fears on ‘Old Friends’, before the brief closing words of ‘Lights’ encapsulates the sentiments filled within the album, contrasting previous deceptive expectation with the almost pleading final cry of, “I hope that you will find whatever gets you through the darkness”.

A fine line inevitably exists between pretentious preaching and speaking for the masses when musicians write about political stances or social struggles, but Pearson’s take on current hardship is a tale that unravels with each listen to become a story of communal and personal strife, as opposed to a one-sided cry of disconnected dissent as part of any political agenda, which the album may have become in less capable hands.

With each listen, a growing feeling of sympathy can be felt towards the plight of a man who shares the same collective inner fears for our future in an increasingly harsh world, thereby marking the album out as an emotional crutch for the modern day listener, being at once undeniably human and heart-rending.

(Jamie Boyd)


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