Scott Lavene is back with his latest album of songs rather than stories, although many of these songs are great short stories of life on the skids, surviving growing up in Essex, trying not to be a total Casual, I can't believe I hadn't heard of Scott before, his Essex bonhomie is right up my streets, he also sounds like he should have been signed to Blaang records. The album was Produced by Stew Jackson and Ryan Rogers who also provide any instrumentation that Scott doesn't play, it was recorded in five days in Bristol last September. Scott is currently on a long UK tour to promote the album.
The album opens with Muscle Car a very down at heel song about being able to afford to buy the number plate from of a Chevy Impala, before Scott expresses his feelings that you mean more to him than that hood ornament, with some sad reflections on a trip to Graceland's with his step dad that goes off to some strange things, but whatever happens you'll mean more to him than any muscle car.
Breakdown is a sad lament for another car engine that's blown its top, the sorrow and pain of waiting for a tow, his 2 CV has caught fire, I guess that vinyl roof melted, the sparse backing for all the difficulty of having to find a hotel to stay in, while stranded a long way from home, it almost feels like the Breakdown is a good thing if they can at least down some more Stella.
Cars is a tale of the first Car Scott could afford, a Grenada that he did wheel spins in Basildon with, lucky he didn't go racing on the front in Southend, the distended blues backing for all the adventures, racing it all the way to Edinburgh and getting into more scrapes, A Renault comes and goes in its rickety way, more breakdowns and adventures on the road to ending up with a red Volvo, now he's become an almost responsible parent.
A Bus In July is strummed English folk guitar for a tale of living with a Moroccan armed robber and a crackhead lawyer from Finchley and why you'd need to escape from your reality, on A Bus In July with a bag of custard, he's struck down by a bolt of lust and desire, for the woman who sits next to him and everything that then goes down to totally change his life.
Pound Shop Al Pacino is not only a brilliant song title, but the true down at heart reflection at being King Of The Losers even more bitter than the Danny & Dusty tune of that name, love might save him in the end, if he can survive living on cigarette butts, coffee and ketchup sachets, his regular diet as a denizen of the darkest corner of Leigh On Sea, he's got the down home estuary blues for certain.
Home is a trip back to Romford market, to the days when this reviewer could have still been selling shoes, handbags or watches there on the cobbles, dreaming of spending my wages in Penny Farthing Records, for Scott however he finds love among the vegetable stalls, like a true Essex lothario he takes her on dates to Southend, thankfully avoiding Peter Pans playground and all the drug dealing at its periphery, he keeps his love intact and has more blasted adventures, making this sound like an Essex Springsteen memorializing the wonders of an Essex Youth.
Safeways takes us back to the days when Safeways supermarkets still existed, he wants to take us back to the Romford branch, that if my memory is right was near Queens road, close to the brewery and dog track, now did he take the checkout girl for a date down the Dog Track or something less romantic, well yes he cooks her an out of date chicken with plenty of gravy, will her heart melt or will she disappear, heels clacking on the pavements of North Street.
Services need to be offered to try to keep him off the streets, cooking you something awful, he's a proper romantic that's for certain, Scott promises to be your winter drinking problem, to stink up your gaff and he'll let you walk all over him, anything so he's got a place to rest his head once more. He is so certain he can win you over, he deploys his secret weapon a cool breeze sax solo.
Bedsit Dreams of the good old days, going to see the Cramps at the Forum near od'ing in the heat, love in the depths of poverty, trying to scrape by and find a way forward. The album closes with Funny How Things Change the sad regrets of a middle aged man, who used to be a real Jack the lad and how things change, if only he could still be doing hand break turns to impress the girls, somehow these reflections could easily be sung by someone like Bill Withers, if only he came from the mean streets of Gidea Park, strangely having grown up in Essex I recognise all the things he misses and some of them it would be nice to have back.
