Review: John Grant – ‘John Grant and The BBC Philharmonic Orchestra’


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Those searching for a handle on how far John Grant has come as an artist had a timely reminder at the end of last year, when a retrospective collection of songs by his former band The Czars was released at broadly the same time as this concert was recorded.

Grant himself has often in the past been critical of the body of work it was drawn from, claiming that out of all of their half-dozen albums, a diligent listener could’ve scraped together merely a single Czars effort that he himself would’ve been happy with.

Listening back to the ‘..Best Of’ (there were of course no greatest hits, in fact no hits at all), it was immediately apparent however that the singer was being cruel to the point of self flagellation; littered with gentle, lovelorn stories played out in front of at times exquisitely understated Americana, it showcased a group whose work stood on its own fascinating merits.

The period during and immediately after Grant’s time in the band was personally desperate for him, but the results ultimately cathartic. The man who harnessed the bigotry and ignorance that littered his young adult life is now the same John Grant that after all collaborates here with the old lady Beeb’s 60-piece Philharmonic Orchestra, a spectacular feat for someone of whom tokens from the establishment are both amusing but equally of more than symbolic importance.

Working in conjunction with long term collaborator Fiona Brice, despite the slightly grandiose premise the sixteen-song running order presents something of a tour de force, drawn from that quixotic, vulnerable part of his canon that most fits the setting, as it were. What this means is that where the listener is drawn in by the singer’s tendency for being lyrically confessional – such as on opener ‘It Doesn’t Matter To Him‘ and white knuckle balladeering of ‘Where Dreams Go To Die‘ – the extra touches are background tweaks rather than throwing the wind section out with the bathwater.

In the case of the latter the contrast of the bittersweet lyrical angst and the John Barry-esque arrangements concisely sum up this project’s appeal; Grant’s music as it could be heard, seen from another point of view from which it’s possible to imagine him as a profane, schlock-free Elton John for the twenty first century.

With two almost diametrically themed but equally superb albums to draw from in 2011’s ‘Queen of Denmark‘ and 2013’s ‘Pale Green Ghosts‘, there are opportunities to showcase the aspects of a personality which is worn forever on his sleeve. Here then ‘Sigourney Weaver‘ is full of the sharply observed humour that littered his first release, whilst ‘Vietnam‘ is typical of the darker poise of the second. As ever there’s something awkwardly voyeuristic about sharing ‘GMF‘ with him, despite its evergreen laugh out loud quality and boiling-piss invective for the erstwhile life coach/preacher.

‘Pale Green Ghosts’ was long in gestation, the difficult second album recorded after the singer found out he was HIV positive, it deals with the subject with an almost unbelievably wry sense of fatalism. It’s two finest moments are coincidentally the highlights here: the title track retains its sparing majesty, mixing analogue and synthetic textures with the singer’s to-be-treasured voice, whilst ‘Glacier‘ is perhaps the greatest song about intolerance of any kind to be written in recent years. Both are complemented but not overwhelmed by the orchestral counter points, such is their quality and the intelligence of their arrangements.

Like their composer, the dignity and craft that would make them compelling if he was on his own in the shower enables them, and this project as a whole, to become a rightful standalone work of goodness and a worthy addition to his catalogue.



Although perhaps scarily you sense that he’s far from done in astutely pricking everyone’s comfort zones yet.

(Andy Peterson)


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