EDWARD ROGERS: Astor Place (TLAK Vinyl/CD/Download)
When the singer whom Quentin Crisp referred to as "Mr Sting" immortalised him in the wonderfully apt An Englishman In New York, it conferred, even now, long after the death of its subject, a lingering sense of exclusivity to the title. Crisp never made it into the new century, bowing out a month shy of it and his 91st Christmas Day birthday in Manchester on the eve of a sold-out tour of the UK. After a long-haul flight from his adopted city, one he had been strenuously advised not to undertake on account of his failing health and advanced years, it was a suitably provincial end to a strangely international life.
There are, of course, a plethora of English exiles in Manhattan. The singer-songwriter Edward Rogers, born in Birmingham but raised in New York, whose output is both nostalgic for the music of his birth country, whilst imbued with a certain Manhattan grit and edginess, is one to consider. His new album, Astor Place, is a gaudy sequence of nostalgic postcards to an era of English songcraft by which he has been cultured and informed. A nod to here, a wink to there, sixties beats collide with a fey, world-weary glam, creating an intoxicating brew that steps free of the shadows of his influences to present a modern, eclectic cascade of memorable, poetic songs. A curious series of English thoughts and Manhattanite references rise and fade.
The title track, a tribute to the central heart of the East Village, skips into life with an exceptional yet appropriate breeziness in its gait akin to the Psychedelic Furs, whilst deploying a rumbling string arrangement of rock refinement.
"Lost stories and forgotten facts
a world of art that still attracts
a new facade with a current twist
still the spot for a secret tryst."
"The Olde Church" presents as an exceptional piece of baroque psych, with elements of Colin Blunstone, mannered yet exquisitely casual, and languid eloquence. A Mott The Hoople swagger emboldens "Lies, Cries and Alibis," a wonderfully confessional piece of down-side rock weariness with an up-tempo glide. "Romeo" could be Blondie circa 1977, devoid of Debbie Harry, a slab of Max's Kansas City meets CBGB's sweatiness and grit. The single "Magical Drum" harnesses Donovan-like whimsy in a tryst with Ray Davies at his conversational best. Effortlessly louche and melodic. Nick Drake on an upward glide.
There's a gossamer psych-folk delicacy to the madrigal "Diamonds Hidden In the Pearls." Haunting and occasionally ethereal, it drifts along and away all too swiftly, whilst "Tears In My Martini" possesses a certain late sixties "Image-era" Bowie vibe, with shades of Mick Ronson's undervalued early solo efforts. Sprinklings of glam seasoning leave a crackling of neon in its wake. "I Walk Behind Your Shadow" could be The Zombies in their baroque best, with a dash of The Left Banke, a beautifully realised paean that lingers in the mind.
"It takes two to make it perfect
It takes two to do it right
'Cause one's the loneliest number
At the end of the longest night"
"15 Eldon Road" swaggers in awash with glammy chords; "All The Young Dudes" with a certain backward glance of sad nostalgia for the loss of childhood. "Every day was summertime, at least in my mind," underscored with wonderful piano stabs and a climax of "cry in your gin" tarnished glitter 'n' regret, akin to Cockney Rebel at their shimmering and moody best. The journey completed from the dark, stark monochrome of '60/'70s Birmingham to Manhattan's vibrant East Village, accompanied by memories that taunt and linger.
"On The Other Side Of the Rainbow" is introduced by a haunting trumpet, a world weariness possessed by wisdom without descending into bitterness—a perfect balancing act of recollections, their pull, and strange power.
Beautifully produced by Don Fleming (Sonic Youth/Teenage Fanclub), Astor Place combines a poetic backward glance with an air of contemporary relevance whilst providing the proceedings with a sense of intimacy and immediacy. Adorned by a gaudy, vivid sleeve, a contemporaneous take on psych sensibilities, the perfect packaging for an album that perfectly wears its influences whilst never drowning under their weight. Eloquent, reflective, and sincere, it presents Mr. Rogers as a likely English contender for Quentin Crisp's Manhattan crown.