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Rating: Wide cliffs crossed by northern skies, white cottages speckled in the green countryside at the mercy of the elements, restless spirits in search of something. Above all: freedom. An endless desire for freedom. The desire of the wanderer, the traveler who seeks freedom but simultaneously dreams of the refuge where to stay. Patrick Wolf shares with few others the ability to evoke convincingly an entire imaginary, a world of images and words that allows one to savor more deeply the purely musical aspect of his work. When listening to Morrissey in the '80s, one dreamed of conversations about Keats and Yeats at the gates of the cemetery, went back to reread Oscar Wilde, discovered old black and white films, and came into contact with a different idea of homosexuality. Similarly, listening to Nick Cave projected you into a universe of biblical characters, murderers and wicked men, prodigal sons, and a thousand other anti-heroes and societal outcasts. Wolf envelops instead his works in a romantic mythology (romanticism in the sense of a literary/cultural movement) made of Nordic landscapes, melancholy/spleen, Tristans and Jacob's ladders, and above all a desire to escape that often leads to a departure from the city towards the desolate yet welcoming lands of Northern Europe where Nature still speaks and seduces with its play of light/shadow.
"Wind In The Wires" is the second work of a young man with a great personality who has lived, at little more than twenty, three times the experiences of the average European teenager (having fled from home very young, he wandered homeless across France, stayed in Paris, and now lives between London and Cornwall). The album expertly takes advantage of this wealth of experience, showing a surprising compositional maturity and balance for the second effort of such a young man. Wolf manages to distill his compositional references (a certain doomed singer-songwriter tradition in the Cave/PJ Harvey lineage, the Central European atmospheres, those of Celtic folk) with a remarkable dose of personality until he creates a truly original work, a thematic and linguistic universe with its own laws and semantics. From the first notes of "The Libertine", the opening track, there is a clear perception of a compact, unified listening experience. The arrangements are complex and sophisticated (viola, cello, ukulele, etc.) and are enriched by a constant background of noises and electronic sounds that further expand their dimension. The songs have their individuality, but the uniformity of a unique vision prevails, even in the difference of styles (from the cursed rock of Tristan to the folk of Eulogy to the pop of the concluding Landsend). It is definitely another point in favor of "Wind In The Wires". Patrick Wolf is an enormous talent. One on whom I would bet. We'll see what he accomplishes in the future; in the meantime, we can only enjoy this excellent work.
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 The Libertine (04:23)
The motorway won't take a horse.
The wanderer has found a course to follow.
The traveller unpacked his bags for the last time.
The troubadour cut off his hand and now he wants mine,
(Oh, no )
Oh no, not me.
The circus girl fell off her horse, now shes paralysed.
The hitchiker was bound and gagged, raped on the roadside.
The libertine is locked in jail.
The pirate sunk and broke his sail.
But I still have to go,
I've got to go, so here I go,
I'm gonna run the risk of being free.
The magicians secrets all revealed.
And the preachers lies are all concealed.
And all our heroes lack any conviction.
They shout through the bars of cliche and addiction.
So I've got to go,
I've got to go, so here I go
I'm gonna run the risk of being free.
And in this drought of truth and invention, whooever shouts the loudest gets the most attention, so we pass the mic and they've got nothing to say except:
Bow down, bow down, bow down to your god.
Then we hit the floor, and make ourselves and idol to bow before.
Well I can't,
And I won't
Bow down,
Anymore...
No more.
02 Teignmouth (04:50)
Teignmouth
On the night train
From the city to the south
I saw spirits
Crawl across the river mouth
In skewed ascension
With no destination
Like this lone bachelor in me
This constant yearning
For great love and learning
For the wind to carry me free
So when the birds fly south
I'll Reach up and hold their tails
Pull up and out of here
And bridle the autumn gales
Down to the burning cliffs
To the unrelenting roll
To marry the untold blisses
And anchor this lost soul
From my window
I saw two birds lost at sea
I caught our reflection
In that silent tragedy
But with hope prevailing
I draw galleons sailing
In full sail billowing free
So when the birds fly south
We'll reach up and hold their tails
Pull up and out of here
And bridle the autumn gales
I give you my hand
The fingers unfold
To have and forever hold
To marry the untold blisses
And anchor this lost soul
05 The Railway House (02:24)
We've found
Our home
Let`s paint these walls
And pull up the weeds
And cast
Our fevers
In stone
Growing out of the drugs
Growing up through the night
Growing up
Growing older
With treasure to be told
I see us growing old
I watch us growing old
Together, together
Together
E
11 Tristan (02:35)
I am the tragedy.
And the heroine.
I am lost And I am rescuing.
The storm is come.
And I am following.
My name is Tristan.
And I am alive.
Forever young.
I come from God knows where.
'Cos now I’m here.
Without a hope or care.
I am trouble.
And I am troubled too.
My name is Tristan.
And I am alive.
Sorrow by name.
And sorrow by nature.
Working for joy.
On overtime.
Stuck on a line.
Of misadventure.
I fear no crime.
I am the victim.
And the murderer.
You speak of love.
But I’ve never heard of her.
I am fucked.
And I am fucking too.
My name is Tristan.
And I am alive.
Sorrow by name
And sorrow by nature.
Working for joy.
On overtime.
Stuck on a line.
Of misadventure.
I fear no crime.
My name is Tristan, and I'm alive. (x2)
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Other reviews
By Danny The Kid
Wind In The Wires is a theatrical spectacle detailed to the smallest particulars; a show with one single actor, protagonist and antagonist at the same time.
Metaphors, vivid and fascinating images to describe his torments and moods… discomfort, alienation, pain for the crudeness and pettiness of 'real life' is clearly felt.
