Ed Harcourt hears a storm coming, and he wants you to hear it, too. Except this is no ordinary storm. It’s a Harcourt storm, so it’s beautiful, dreamy and intense, but never hopeless. On his third album, “Strangers,” Harcourt promises that storm in the aptly titled opening track, “The Storm Is Coming.” And then he delivers it.
He first follows through with “Born in the 70s,” a song that tumbles along at its pop-heavy pace. The title isn’t misleading; the lyrics are a free association of personal memories and social declarations that elevate the song to an unpretentious generational anthem.
It’s here that Harcourt claims he “was born the year punk broke.” No, Harcourt’s music isn’t punk music. It’s the rude punk’s pretty girlfriend, an opposites attract perfect match. And while punk music evokes the attitude of a certain age, Harcourt’s songs recall many eras and ranging emotions.
Most bands willingly trap themselves in a traditional guitar/bass/drums box, but Harcourt considers the sounds they make rather than the instruments themselves. Then, he wonders out loud just how to weave those sounds together.
This is shown when title track “Strangers” uses an organ and a kazoo, two instruments that the average mind limits to narrow purpose, but the Harcourt mind fleshes out into full potential. The result is a gorgeous melody supported by a deliciously (to use a Harcourt word) disjointed beat.
The dramatic build-up in the lovely “Let Love Not Weigh Me Down” reclaims the storm, but the song’s lightheartedness reminds that this is still a Harcourt storm. Here, Harcourt is a poet, mixing the romantic dialect of the Renaissance sonnets with the modern verse of a hesitant lover. Still, he doesn’t hesitate with passion; though all his songs have an orchestral heart, “Let Love Not Weigh Me Down” is Harcourt’s aria.
The storm’s eye is the triad of “Something to Live For,” “The Trapdoor,” and “The Music Box.” The demo feel of “Something To Live For” sets aside the armor of elaborate production to expose raw artistry. Beneath its charming shell, “The Trapdoor” is sneaky and sinister. And the passive yet pulling “The Music Box” owes much to its rock ‘n’ roll-spirited drums and doubled-up vocals.
As soon as this calm stride is comfortable, “Loneliness” bursts in. The ironic sing-along communion chorus slyly suggests that loneliness is a universal struggle.
Harcourt’s heart bleeds through every note of “Open Book,” a conventional ballad that grows increasingly impassioned. Here, Harcourt is engrossed in his own mysterious world as he pours over an old piano. Next, “Kids (Rise Above The Ashes)” lays down his legacy while managing to spare the cheesiness that usually accompanies the “our children are our future” sentiment.
The dancing “Black Dress” could almost be mistaken for a country song, if only country songs included trumpets and were sung by British guys. The album would end here, if not for the bonus track “Only Happy When You’re High.” Only the sharpest edges are polished, while the vibraphone and echo fuel this drug-fed voice in your head track.
With the stormy 13-song “Strangers,” Harcourt’s signature joins the list of lesser-known singer-songwriters who are good enough to make you wonder why John Mayer still has a job. Sure, John is cute and has that diet Dave Matthews sound down to a science, but Harcourt understands passion; and he really knows how to express it.
