THE last time we encountered Mike Skinner, on the uneven third Streets album The Hardest Way To Make An Easy Living, he was a self-confessed mess, unable to cope with the proverbial pressures of fame, and living an unglamorous daily existence of drug
gy paranoia.
It was a difficult record to love, particularly coming after his inspired, supercool, agenda-setting debut Original Pirate Material and its mega-selling concept album follow-up A Grand Don't Come For Free, which articulately documented the courting, blossoming and fall-out of a relationship, using the sort of free-flowing colloquial language and kitchen sink observation that paved the way for other young urban poets (most notably, Alex Turner of Arctic Monkeys).
Despite its cool reception, Skinner now considers its claustrophobic meltdown to be "the bravest of my albums", and he has a point. He could have channelled his coke-fuelled excess in the same direction as every other musician, and released a lazy, disappointing album. Instead, he chose to lay his unattractive vulnerabilities bare in a manner that seemed more honest than indulgent.
But where do you go when you have skimmed the depths? That's right – fast-forward to redemption, enlightenment, self-improvement, whatever you like to call it. Skinner likes to call it "peaceful, positive vibes". He describes fourth album Everything Is Borrowed, quite accurately, as "the sound of an inner monologue and imagined beach-like new horizons". Among those new horizons are some bizarrely anachronistic musical choices. Having been quite the tastemaker in the past, helping to nudge the UK garage scene overground with the soulful skitter of debut single Has It Come To This?, Skinner now chooses to make his first forays into jazz (I Love You More (Than You Like Me)), funk (Never Give In) and then jazz-funk (The Sherry End). On The Edge of a Cliff actually sounds like the incidental music from some early 80s Britflick.
But Skinner's new horizons are mostly of a laidback, philosophical nature. He has moved on from pondering the not-so-subtle art of pulling birds to the bigger questions of human existence. The Escapist – the last track on the album, but the first to be made available for download – gives a good idea of where his head is at on this outing, complimented by an already classic video with footage of Skinner walking from Dover to the south of France. Having left the city behind, he gets some healthy perspective on his place in the natural order, and emerges contented and contemplative.
Addressing his fate with beatific calm, this new, relaxed Skinner is happy to impart platitudes throughout the album. The gently swaying, insidious chorus of the title track takes the no-pockets-in-a-shroud argument as its thought for the day: "I came to this world with nothing and I leave with nothing but love, everything else is just borrowed". Further to this epiphany, Skinner has the fledgling idea that he will "borrow" items brought by fans to his tour dates – along with the items' owners. That's one way of amassing an entourage, and a whole load of stuff he doesn't need. At least he's still brimming with ideas, even if they are daft.
Likely future single Heaven For The Weather, on which Skinner weighs up his afterlife options, is insanely chirpy, even more so than Fit But You Know It. In the space of a few listens, it is possible to oscillate between bemusement, outright horror and a Skinneresque zen-like acceptance of its bouncy nursery rhyme inanity.
At least it is not aiming at serious debate. Alleged Legends aspires to provide something weightier, but has all the sophistication of a pub discussion on religion, trotting out all the usual unresolvable arguments.
The Way Of The Dodo, meanwhile, lays out Skinner's ecological views, which appear to involve tending to his own backyard.
Skinner flexes his storytelling muscles with a couple of modern fables. On The Edge Of A Cliff is an overly sentimental tale about averting a suicide attempt and recycling positive advice, while On The Flip Of A Coin advocates spontaneity and a spirit of adventure over a satisfying, cool John Barry-like backing.
Back on more familiar Streets ground, The Sherry End celebrates the minutiae of matedom, while Skinner counts the ways on slushy love song Strongest Person I Know. Hopefully the individual concerned remained strong when they were first exposed to such hopeless schmaltz.
Overall, Skinner deserves credit at least for moving The Streets on once again. But, true to form, just as we are digesting our newly serene protagonist, he is already consumed by the next album, which he claims will be the last Streets release. So far it is shaping up to be a "dark Berlin-influenced electronic album", which rather sounds like doing things the wrong way round. Surely this is the natural end credits for The Streets, with our hero strolling off nonchalantly into the horizon?
The full article contains 840 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
