Antony Szmierek – ‘Service Station At The End of the Universe’ album review: a new legion of garage fans arise
THE SKINNY: In the comedy podcast Athletico Mince, Bob Mortimer has created a charcater called MC Boro. His backbeats and rants about health and safety in the British Isles are a parody of garage. But they are also, inadvertently, perfect presentations of the nation, instantly catchy and beautifully characterful. They are, unironically, in their own little way, masterpieces. You find a lot of parrallels with them in Antony Szmierek’s work, but that doesn’t make his debut album an A*.
There’s a caveat that has to be attached to all that follows: I’m old enough to remember The Streets first time around. And Service Station At The End of the Universe is most certainly derivative. Szmierek will have to brace himself for that being pointed out a lot, you can’t ride quite so closely to the coattails of someone else’s style and sound without being prepared for the inevitable criticism that you’re unoriginal.
However, his retort perhaps should be, ‘I know, I like The Streets, why wouldn’t I write like them?’ Because although there might be modes and motifs reminiscent of Original Pirate Material, you can’t disregard the sincerity behind it all. The record clearly showcases an artist expressing themselves. Szmierek rattles off poetry with a quirkiness and a sense of that quirkinesses importance. Alongisde catchy beats with propolsive rhythms, his words earnestly paint pictures of today with wry brushstrokes.
In the process, the Manchester musician and former teacher captures a resonant world without a preordianed lense, placing in amber the strange ways of this nation and the many human comedies that unfurl within it. You know the scenes he sings about, you recognise the characters, and there’ll be a whole host of youngsters unaware that Mike Skinner came before, joyously having their worldview expanded by a record that – to use the horrid parlance of our times – makes them ‘feel seen’. And it makes them feel seen in a refreshing way that is both figuratively and literally upbeat.
For fans of: being a kid on the brink of discovering The Streets.
A concluding comment from the rides outside of supermarkets: It’s nice to feel seen again, and not just sit here like a forgotten relic of a time when parents had a spare 50p for their child to gently modulate on a plastic seat.
Service Station At The End of the Universe track by track:
‘Service Station At The End of the Universe’: An anthem that defines Szmierek’s style somewhat, with a propolsive beat that sits a the midpoint of dissonant and catchy, and references to those rides outside supermarkets. [4/5]
‘Rafters’: A more house orinetated beat provides the cornerstone of a song with ectasy in its pocket. Little vignettes of rogue confetti flakes form a tapestry or vivid and resonant snippets of party life. [4/5]
‘The Great Pyramid of Stockport’: “You’ve got one life, live it,” he just about sings, and you just about hear the ice chink in his glass. While it feels a lot like a song you’ve heard before, you also simply cannot listen to it without being transported to a bar somewhere you know all too well. [3.5/5]
‘Big Light’: By this stage, the record has firmly estbalished its themes and sounds. ‘Big Light’ comes as no surprise, but for those locked into its swaying grooves, it is also no letdown. [3.5/5]
‘Yoga Teacher’: A schmoozy ’80 snyth takes the lead while a rumbling bass guarantees that this track may well become a favourite amid the equivalent of a Northern Soul scene 40 years in the future. Melodically, it might be the album’s best. [4/5]
‘Crumb’: A fat, heavy bassline forms a bed that keeps his words moving forward. And it is in this sparser moment that you realise how adept he is at finding grooves that syncopate and add bite to his phrasing. But, on this occasion, some of those phrases don’t quite land. [3/5]
‘The Hitchhikers Guide to the Fallacy’: One of his leading singles, it is easy to pick this track out as the most gripping track on the record. With a whirling beat and gags about dipping biscuits in tea, it’s the album at its best wrapped up in a disco ball. [4/5]
‘Passingthru’: After the high of ‘Hitchhikers’, Szmierek slows things down with a more ambient soundscape and a Scottish lilt. It’s a welcome change of pace and tone that hints at a possible feature with fewer ties to the past. [4/5]
‘Take Me There’: A little bit too much ‘Weak Become Heroes’ for comfort. [2.5/5]
‘Restless Leg Syndrome’: Once again, the intro is a slower, ambient affair as legs go numb and heads are sent skyward. A soulful vocal interlude offers a welcome surprise. [3/5]
‘Crashing Up’: It’s not that ‘Crashing Up’ is a weaker effort than some of the jams that come before, but at this stage in the album, it does little to distinguish itself from them, and for a moment, you can be forgiven for checking your watch. [2.5/5]
‘Angie’s Wedding’: There’s a joyouness to a finale that seems to happily embrace everything that has come before it. Szmierek clearly knows what he’s about and he’s happy to be a bit cheekily cheesy, boldy youthful and gladly boxed up. [3.5/5]
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