A Glaswegian singer-songwriter emerges from darkness and loneliness to embrace and revel in a more optimistic frame of mind; at least that's the plan and on the evidence of this album it seems to be working.
Meade has the bearing and background of a folk singer but the urge to rock out proved too tempting to resist.
His song lyrics derive mainly an experiment of writing letters to, for and from himself as a method for dealing with the anxiety and depression caused by sobriety.
Temporarily dispensing with his Flying Mules backing musicians, he plays and sings everything apart from the drum parts and paradoxically produces a full one-man band sound.
In the uplifting opening number (As Good As It Gets) it's plain that he's in no mood to get overly heavy or philosophical. Likewise, the liberating sentiment of Nothing Really Matters is like pop Dostoevsky.
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The Day The Clown Stopped Smiling and If The Bombs Don't Kill Us are daunting titles but are just as cheery.
Occasionally the mask slips so on How High We Fly, he remembers that he's a folkie at heart and gets more didactic ("Ain't nothing true, 'cept the lie").
Aside from this, anthemic singalong choruses trump poetry or politics on tracks like Oh My My Oh and Don't We All. So Much For Sorrow is an unaccompanied campfire holler to similarly raise the spirits.
All in all, the power of positive thinking combines with some cracking tunes for a vibrant collection.
Daniel Meade's website
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