Our Daily Bread 459: Heyme ‘Moving On’Our Daily Bread 459: Heyme ‘Moving On’

July 22, 2021

ALBUM REVIEW/DOMINIC VALVONA

Heyme  ‘Moving On’
(Jezus Factory) 15th July 2021

A solemn lovelorn Scary Lodger In Another World, confined to the attic troubadour Heyme Langbroek is at it again with another despondent songbook of self-flagellation and modern world bewilderment. Still imbued by the oozing snozzled saxophone of Hansa Studio period Bowie and Eno and forlorn Northern European maladies, Heyme’s fourth solo release is yet another understated album of pained, resigned and cynical post-punk crooning.

The former Kiss My Jazz, I H8 Camera and Lionell Horrowitz maverick and general Benelux underground alt-rock instigator (rubbing shoulders with ex-members of the dEUS brethren), splits his Moving On songbook into scuzzy rockers and more lingered, slower jazzy numbers: though the jazz in this case is a transmogrified version of the smoky lounge set, and often sounds like a knowing pastiche.

A deeply voiced, almost emotionless, mix of Blixa Bargeld, a dive bar Scott Walker and very removed Leonard Cohen, Heyme’s white man’s blues delivery ruminates on various ill-fated relationships and travails, weary noted observations of a social media, mobile phone obsessed world. There’s also a punchier fuzz-scowl plead for an end to the madness of the Covid restrictions that have strangled the life out of live music, but also the promise of tactile human connection: ‘Ready2Roll’ takes a swipe at streaming with a “fuck Spotify” sneer. Most often than not, the anger and rage; the longing and suicidal love lost angst, are disarmed by the languorous, romantic music. A sort of mellowed doo-wop meandrous walk for instance, enervates the intention behind the Jello Biafra-does-the-most-odd-Cohen-impression antifa anthem, ‘It’s A Beautiful Day (To Kill A Nazi)’. And the country Dylan-esque harmonica breezed and folky ‘Without A Paddle’ almost conceals the “up shit’s creek” despair of a suicidal breakup or divorce: Alone, isolated, left with nothing but a “guitar and the bills”, and so low and penniless that he fails to do a Cobain because his ex even took the bullets from his gun in the settlement.

Swaddled cornet-trumpet, Hunk Dory subtle Ronson guitar arches and bends, Casio keyboard preset rhythms and malingering sax all mingle on an album of stark humored resentment, lament and (again) the blue. It’s a melancholic, isolated toll of the times we find ourselves; the detached sulky plaints of a Northern European romantic, stuck indoors with only his thoughts to keep him company.

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