Fate has been kind to singer-songwriter Neil Halstead. He found indie success with his first band, Slowdive, chord-chugging shoegazers of the highest order. Next came critical plaudits for the country-tinged, Gram Parsons-esque melancholy of Mojave 3. Now, just as a sensitive soul and an acoustic guitar have become de rigueur, he has chosen to go it alone.
It's the simplicity of his melodies and sentiments that have enabled Halstead to move with the times. With his fragile voice, full of too much heartbreak and too many cigarettes, he was never going to become a rock god or star of plastic pop.Instead he is content to sing about emotions and expose intimacy to public inspection without regret.
Which makes it all the stranger when he starts playing with a toy beaver. He holds the toy up to the microphone, presses a button to allow a gurgle of tinny beaver-like sounds to spill out, and his tortured exterior slips away. In fact, he looks comfortable for the first time. The moment punctures the heady atmosphere of awe that smothers his every utterance, as bemused expressions fall on the faces of those sitting at his feet.
Not that he looks like a man who seeks to be worshipped. Dressed down in a white T-shirt and jeans, his boyish good looks and shy nature make him appear a hopeful newcomer. But when Hi-Lo and Inbetween begins, its intro eerily reminiscent of Lionel Richie's Stuck on You, his experience and ragged edges become clear. As with much of the material featured on his debut album, Sleeping on Roads, there is an air of movement to the song, both in terms of actual motion and a sense of letting go.
The album's title track has an outdoors feel, influenced by Bob Dylan and the theme tune to The Waltons, its cynicism and homespun goodness reflecting the contrariness of love. Martha's Mantra (For the Pain) includes the gorgeous observation that "Heaven is the place that's open when all the bars in town are closed."
Halstead knows that a little humanity goes a long way. He forgets lyrics and laughs at inopportune moments, and when a blue harmonica refuses to cooperate, he simply abandons its wheezing sound. At one point he looks up from his strumming fingers to say: "This is a typically professional performance." In his voice there's a hint of pride.
