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2002: a beautiful album comes out, perhaps among the best of the decade. No one seems to notice. The problem is that the author's birth date reads 1983. The problem is also that the album in question shows, among other things, an unexpected maturity for a 19-year-old. The final problem is that ten years and three more works have passed, and the young man, now 29, remains on the fringes even of the most informed criticism.
Martin is primarily (but not only) a voice, a rare voice, a voice that has been rarely heard since the times of Buckley (Tim), a voice that lives in the songs, doesn't just sing them.
Martin is also soul, the kind that seeps from his interpretations.
Comparing him to the Radiohead is, in a certain sense, blasphemous. It is true that his music has gathered some influence from the Abingdon group, but to pure formalism (impeccable) he has added substance, the kind that has always been lacking in a group so widely acclaimed (overrated).
Thus, there is nothing to do with self-indulgence; here the music is a dreamlike extension and, as often happens, dreams are not pleasant. Better to get lost then in the falsetto of "Open Heart Zoo" or in the overflowing slowness of "Notorious."
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