Album Review: The Last Dinosaur – The Nothing


The Nothing




It shouldn’t strike us as odd that some of the greatest musical ruminants on death – Cohen, Morrissey, Mark Everett – have at the same time been able to create wonderful songs of life affirmation.

The reasons for this are as diverse as the people themselves, but it’s apparent that this perversity sometimes comes from losing the indirect fear of the event itself, the writer pouring a giant slug of defiance imbibed neat over the rocks of self destruction.

Sometimes the prism refracts a different light. Jamie Cameron – singer with The Last Dinosaur, of whom he shares the name and performing responsibilities with ‘Friends and guests’ – had already had a collection of songs released in 2004 whilst only 16 under the moniker When I Was A Little Girl, but soon afterwards he was involved in a car accident which left him severely injured and claimed his best friend’s life. After physically recuperating, Cameron then began writing material based largely on his parents’ divorce, the resulting collection Hooray For Happiness released in 2010.

Sessions to produce its follow up began soon after, but came to a halt after the singer’s spiral into a depression fueled by a lack of closure over the accident; gradually, as the years elapsed, The Nothing took shape, a redemption shaped as one man’s attempt to address both his own latent grief and our fragile mortality.

This tenderness and uncertainty gives us sound without ego, Cameron’s voice barely above a whisper on opener Atoms (which starts with the words “When I die..”), the funeral parlour strings and apologetic strum locked in a condolent hush. It also leads to a conscious duality, a state of mind where the boundaries between dark and light are porous; on The Sea an eerie calm settles, the shadows long, whilst We’ll Greet Death with arcing piano and soulful multi tracked voices is almost euphoric, the strangest of affirmations wrapped in godless, pioneer naivety.

The Nothing is a body of work quietly proud of diversions such as these, of warm celebrations against the grain. Sporadically, Cameron’s rediscovered I.D. breaks into unexpected stride; Grow’s lilting banjo is simply glorious, whilst the gilded, sparkling ambience of The Body Collapse could’ve stemmed from the cathartic moment at which his mind threw out the notions of being trapped by the past.

It’s true that these moments are broadly occasional sunshine through a canopy, but at the least approachable The Nothing seems to be at its most human, the austerity of On Water and closer Goodnight’s vulnerable, almost-nothingness being equally as fleeting but drawing the listener in with fascination. Like their creator, they’re stripped bare, imperfect, in need of reassurance.

Given the circumstances a set of pitch-black dirges would be understandable, but instead The Nothing’s warm, uplifting melancholia provides hope and a resounding feeling of joy.

It’s the basest of thoughts to wish further anguish into the life of its maker, but if the product were to be as spiritually fulfilling as this, Jamie Cameron could forgive us just the tiniest of longings.



(Andy Peterson)


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