LEE GRIFFITHS is back with a vengeance, as well as a brand-new album - and a band!
THE LEE GRIFFITHS (TLG) is a four piece outfit also featuring long-time friends and collaborators Colin Ridyard (guitars), Cheyne Towers (bass) and Lee Worrall (drums).
If I’m allowed to go all biographical on you, Griffiths was first discovered as a soulful teen prodigy by Paul Morley in the late 1990’s and subsequently signed to Morley’s ZTT label. Almost immediately, he found himself back in Manchester after a spectacular fall out with producer Trevor Horn over the studio mix of his debut album ‘Northern Songs’. Griffiths severed his ties with ZTT, and disowned the record (I believe it’s still available for download, gratis, on Lee’s website), and for a while it was feared that this gifted artist would be completely forgotten.
‘Armchair Anarchy’ is subtitled ‘diary of a space cadet’. A collection of songs written between 2004 and the start of this year, it represents his best work to date also - apart from contributing tracks to Manchester compilation albums from Blue Cat and Adelfi (and featuring on the Acid Jazz compilation ‘The Reinvention Of Folk’ last summer), it’s his first release in six years
So the question is this: Has it been worth the wait? Answer: You bet it has, every single minute.
‘Armchair Anarchy’ is proof positive that the one-time teen prodigy has matured into one of the finest singer/songwriters of his generation. Some tracks were produced by Ian Grimble (Manics, Texas, Travis, Wannadies etc) on the Abbey Road Beatles desk at 2khz studios, while some of the newer, edgier tracks were recorded in the TLG home studio in Moston. There are also mixes by Steve Levine and Tom Robinson. In all of them you hear talent at work, whether it’s his roots/folk/blues-inspired command of a guitar or the fragile power of his singing voice that turns your head.
A livewire performer, Griffiths is known for speaking his mind rather than his tolerance where ignorant folk are concerned (TLG devotees are collectively known as ‘Gobshites’ in honour of this). This is readily apparent in much of his work, and ‘Armchair Anarchy’ is no different. However, whilst it glows with the kind of short-fuse impatience and head-mashing frustration that brought his career to a grinding halt, it’s also plain as day that both characteristics have kept his creative edge razor sharp (or highly-strung) during the everyday struggle of picking up the pieces.
Commencing with the downbeat resignation of ‘I Won’t Do’ – an exasperated ninety second slice of brain-numbing life and unrequited love – the combination of engaging beauty and deadly accuracy is heartstopping.
Following this reverberating blues-y lick and the cheer of the crowd bubbling below the echoing squeak of his fingers on the fretboard, ‘Golden Rule’ is alive with passion and driven by blinding and infuriating matters of the heart. Spearheaded by a declaration of intent, it could be the angriest love song you’ve ever heard, but it hits the nail on the head in a way that will have you pointing at the speakers.
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‘Hippy Dippy’ plays like a radio anthem, but in reality it’s a masterclass in songwriting. A pop art collage, it encapsulates the 20/20 hindsight we learn from history, chiefly by citing the Bob Dylan ‘Judas’ incident as being the signal for free-for-all craziness in the sixties. Grabbing your attention by the lapels, it also name-checks characters from Beatles songs and brilliantly explains the Second Coming in scientific terms; just one of a dozen or so profound observations captured by a song that has the kaleidoscopic ability to reveal something more every time you hear it.
Though Lee has been the first to acknowledge the love, support and advice of his family and friends, along with everyone who helped make ‘Armchair Anarchy’ a reality, his solo efforts shine.
With just an acoustic for company, the tender antithesis of all this soapbox spleen venting proves just as urgent and twice as sincere. The vulnerable ingenuity of the absorbing ‘Meet Me Halfway’ is that the track is laid as bare as his heart. Mesmerising guitar work ensures that you feeeeel the resignation behind the gentle plea from which the song takes its name. Like the gravity-defying finale, ‘Slow Down’, it’s touching and filled with soul: either track could stick out amongst the many as being the definitive answer to any criticism.
‘Scared’ is pure pop with unfathomable depth (you can’t even say it’s hidden) and the sparkling melody comes from the heart via the keys in this shifting, gut-wrenching malady.
‘Shoes’ seizes upon a lifelong hang-up, that often forms the basis for his frequent and sardonic attacks on the superficial. The shimmering guitars are beguiling, but the bouncing chord sequence elevates his bitter contempt for A&R sychophants until it becomes a taunting celebration of his own single-mindedness. The shite shoes are nothing more than an afterthought, but the message once more is crystal clear - if you’re any less than genuine, Lee Griffiths will see straight through you man.
Everybody’s Leaving’ is another wholehearted appeal to the senses that was written in order to melt away any resistance, but you will have long since lost your mind somewhere in this captivating scrapbook.
An awe-inspiring combination of soul-drenched folk, rock n’ roll and the blues, there’s not a single weak track here. ‘Armchair Anarchy’ is the work of a talented artist at the top of his game.
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