I have always believed in a certain distance between the artist and the audience. Which was why it puzzled me so much when a professor of English Literature at my university once said that she admired the works of John Fowles to the extent that she actually wrote him a letter. On telling us that, she blushed profusely. She was actually glowing. That John Fowles replied was merely an afterthought, not the punchline of her story. James Joyce, young and arrogant, wrote a fan letter to Henryk Ibsen. A classmate of mine was so enamoured with the lyrics of a little known metal band from Belarus that he crafted a passionate message to their songwriter (I was the one who sent it - this was in 2001, and I had the Internet). I guess at some point - this happens to everyone.
To me it occurred back in 2014 when John Moore released Lo-Fi Lullabies and Floral Tributes. Those two albums spoke to me - and in a day or two, I wrote a letter to John. Why? I guess it was all so simple in the end: I just had to tell him that his songs were fucking amazing.
Since then, John Moore has released three albums. In 2018 came the playful Knickerbrocker Glory and in 2019 came the moody and 'difficult' It's Hell Out There that paired an upbeat melody with lyrics about life being a 'fucking fiasco'. The mood of this new album, ambiguously titled All's Well That Ends Well, is this constant interplay between joy and regret. Which, in many ways, is classic John Moore.
"Things To Do In Hastings In The Rain" is a downbeat opener. We start with the miserable sound of English rain, and the emergence of the acoustic guitar brings little relief. If the melody comes off murky and laborious, then the waltzy "Old Father Time" is pure undiluted joy. "Bells Catalogue Blue" is elegant and understated and the infectious "35 Different Kinds Of Snow" is a toe-tapping delight. To avoid name-checking every song, I will say that the biggest highlights are the chiming (literally, not figuratively) "Everybody Dies A Little On Valentine's Day" with brilliantly acerbic lyrics and the anthemic, personal "It's Actually The One I Use Myself" which ends the album on an inspired and uplifting note (I first wrote 'Dylanesque', then changed my mind, then checked John's brief notes - and saw the very word: 'Dylanesque').
Waltz or rockabilly, accordion or harmonica, this is unmistakably a John Moore album - fragile, sincere, endearing. Many could start this review by saying John Moore used to be in Black Box Recorder. That he used to play drums and guitar for The Jesus and Mary Chain. Me, I just think he is a great songwriter.
