After spending a lot of time with his first two solo albums a few years back, I’d kind of drifted away from Greg Ashley’s work as he moved from creeped out psychedelia toward more straightforward acoustic/confessional stuff.

Last year’s ‘Pictures of St Paul Street’ – which I listened to for the first time today – however turns out to be a master-class in hate-filled, grand guignol singer-songwriter type business; a few wannabe Leonard Cohen moves gradually suffocated by the glowering ghost of Alex Chilton, leering distantly in the darkness.

Lyrics “go there” in a way they probably shouldn’t, but the settings are so swell they can swing it for me.

Check it out, why don't you.

Just imagine, had I heard this one earlier, I might have had to slot it in at, ooh, I dunno, number #6 or #7 or something on the list I posted last month. A shocking upset for you all, I realise, but you'll just have to live with it.

Labels: best of 2017, Greg Ashley