Zac Lawrence – ‘The Hate’ album review: A bright idea lacking edge
Zac Lawrence, the frontman of London-via-Yorkshire post-punks Deadletter, has arrived with his debut solo album, The Hate. A collection of ten tracks greatly indebted to the great North American troubadours Bob Dylan, Townes Van Zandt and Leonard Cohen, creating a palliative listening experience. But, on a more forensic level, it fails to really penetrate the soul à la the figures above, leading to more questions than answers. It lacks that good ol’ bite of those it takes so much from.
The album does offer some warmth to sate the cold months, though, and Lawrence is evidently a talented artist who set out on a clear path with The Hate. Unfortunately, though, the album’s most compelling parts are undone by songs that fade into tedium and conjure feelings of boredom.
It’s a tried and tested formula that is rearing its head once more as an increasing number of artists swap more visceral musical choices for stripped-back folk, and on The Hate, Lawrence fails to cut through as he cuts back. His guitar playing is good, and his lyrics are intriguing at some junctures, such as the surreal brilliance of the line: “The pink gloves slide on / And I’m playing Kim Woodburn” in ‘Glued’.
However, there is a corniness that derails other tracks. Take the following segment from ‘Moreish’: “With you I’m dumbfounded / ‘Cause girl, you keep me grounded / Don’t want to sound bore-ish / You really are moreish”. This laughable prose does a great job of stifling the song’s effective vocal melody. Ironic or not, it doesn’t matter; the track is tarnished by an aura of Hanson.
‘A Day at the Carnival’, ‘Allowances for Devotion’, ‘Unreasonable Deeds’ and the closer ‘Respite’ are undoubtedly the highlights of this record. They do away with the stock and laboured 1-2-3 of the country rhythm and see Lawrence fuse himself more closely with the blueprint. Unsurprisingly, in these instances, his work is the most cogent. In these moments, his voice dovetails potently with Misty Miller – who adds a welcome edge across the record – and is helped along this worn stretch of road by the simple but accurate assortment of brass and strings that the songwriter employs to bring his creative vision to life.
Despite its pronounced artistic slant, the main issue with the album is that it is guilty of being too routine. In short, we’ve heard the majority of what is in store countless times. Many of the lyrics, despite the touches of unique surrealism and incisiveness they sometimes offer, are forgettable, something which can be said for much of the music, which again, fails to fully immerse bar the finale ‘Respite’, plainly because it is nothing new.
All in all, it’s a case of ideas contrasting execution. The album’s called The Hate, so where is it? Presently, the world is on a precipice peering down, but this record does little to either lift you up or examine the pitfall with potency. Perhaps it should have been an EP.
Listen to The Hate below.
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