MAN OVERBOARD - Ian Hunter (New West/Shock)
I'm a notoriously slow learner, just getting onto the curve often a long, tortuous crawl through broken glass, shattered expectations, and just plain refusal to accept the fact that the heroes from my musty past have simply moved on with their lives and careers and agendas that have absolutely nothing to do with me. Living in the '70s. Please hold all calls.
At the tender age of 70, Ian Hunter's own mortality is apparently staring him right in the face most mornings - instead of Saturday gigs, walking mountains, marionettes, or Sweet Angeline - turning him into a tortured English pop poet with a wheezy Bob Dylan harmonica and most of "Man Overboard" into an anxiety marathon. It won't exactly set your brain on fire
It's crammed full of discontent, life-is-shit lyrics, in-and-out-of-love songs and confessions of confusion with just about anything and everything, resulting in a world view that's miles beyond prickly. It's hard to believe this is the same Hunter who soon plans on a return to active duty with a moth-ridden-yet-chomping-at-the-bit Mott the Hoople. He'd better splash some cold water on his face and quick.
Radiant with angst, "Man Overboard" is not so much an album as an endurance test for case-hardened cynics, a giant Tupperware party for a 70's glam pariah getting acquainted with his darker impulses.
Where's Mick Ronson now that we really need him? - Clark Paull
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