Tuesday 7 April 2020

Album Review: Born & Bored by Guilhem (by Lee Morton)


Guilhem is a singer/songwriter hailing from Montreal in Canada who clearly doesn’t like sitting still. As well as this, his first full length solo album, he has also released a couple of solo EPs, albums with his band, the excellent Lost Love, and is one of the team behind the successful Pouzza punk festival held in Montreal every year. In fact, it was back at Pouzza 2016 that I first encountered Guilhem, playing his folksy punk during one of the many early acoustic shows that were the perfect pick me up from the debauchery of the previous night.


If you’re familiar with Lost Love then this solo record is exactly as you’d expect, a stripped-down version, with dollops of their darkly quirky humour, often downbeat themes over upbeat music. It’s a very simple format but that means that there’s nothing to hide behind and it has to stand on the strength of the songwriting which shines through, not always brightly but enough to illuminate the path over the journey of the album. When I say journey, that doesn’t mean to say this is a concept album but there are recurring themes that crop up across the record.

The album starts with the delicate intro of “Just A Little Bit Above The Bottom”, which has a simple nursery rhyme quality to it. At just over a minute, half of which is instrumental, it eases you into the album proper with “Jurasticly”, an upbeat folky punk number packed with an infectious charm that worms its way into your ear and gives your heart a massive hug.

One of the main themes of the record is the stress and reality of growing up and this is perfectly captured on “5tr3sss”. With hints of Weezer at their best, this is another catchy number that shines a light on the pressures of modern life and, whilst the subject matter can sound depressing, it’s delivered in such an upbeat, positive way that you are quickly humming along.

What makes this album so accessible is the simplicity to the songs, which is not to take anything away or meant in any derogatory way. “Sober Realism” is a great example of this, a simple song structure that is instantly familiar and captures your attention. “Downward Spiral” follows and has that easy-on-the-ear sound, although with a bit of the alt-folk-rock vibe of a band like The Eels.

One of my favourite tracks here, “Happy On Paper” is up next and addresses anxiety and depression and how although things look like you should be happy, if you scratch underneath the surface things aren’t always as they seem. Depressing? No, this quirky track will still manage to make you smile with some upbeat brass parping in.

The mining of dark and depressing topics, and turning them into musical gold continues on “Heart (Attack) Of Gold” which in the chorus asks “how will you die” and continues to list ways to die during the verses. It’s darkly comic but retains a sense of light relief, especially during the spoken word fade out where the voiceover talks about what a great life they had, until they died.

Penultimate song, “Slow Song”, is exactly what you would expect from the title – slowed down verses that once again are simple to sing along to but then increases in volume over the chorus. It’s another that has a real familiarity to it and the choir-like backing vocals provide an extra layer of depth to it.

The album ends with a real highlight for me. Slightly rockier than the rest of the album, “The Needs” hits the sweet spot between folk and rock. Almost the flip side to “Happy On Paper” this addresses what you need, or don’t need, to be happy and is more upbeat in both tempo and volume, although the extended fade out of weird ambient noises perhaps goes on for longer than necessary.

Overall, this is a well-made album that has its finger on the pulse of the modern world but doesn’t take itself too seriously. Catchy, melodic and relevant, this is a great listen that reveals more depth every time you listen to it.

Stream and download Born & Bored on Bandcamp here.

Like Guilhem on Facebook here.

This review was written by Lee Morton.

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