I’ve never had to go to Milton Keynes, thanks be to God. I mean, this is a town so duff that not only did it have to nick another place’s football team, but it had the bad taste to nick the worst one in the league. Even the name is awful, being an arbitrary lumping-together of a difficult Puritan poet and the economist most to blame for Britain’s seventies meltdown. Still, the impressive Dave Kirk comes from from there, demonstrating that even this unlovely town can throw up the odd pleasant surprise.
”Waltz in the Air” starts the demo and immediately exemplifies Kirk’s charm. The accompaniment is little more than some delicate Spanish guitar and a well-realised acoustic solo thrown in at the end, but the effect when combined with Kirk’s limpid, reedy voice is rather bewitching. The tone of the lyrics is a long way from the usual “poor little me” school of singer-songwriting; instead the song has a powerful elegiac feel, displaying a gratitude for the sensations of a past love affair, rather than the conventional focus on the unpleasant aftermath.
”I’ll never let you down” is equally disarming. The first two verses of this warm, soulful ballad contain some of the loveliest singing I’ve heard in months; Kirk at his best seems to have a limitless range, at times sounding like an English Art Garfunkel. The third verse wobbles a bit, however, due to a tad too much ornamentation. There’s no real need, as Kirk’s melodies are generally strong enough without him going all Christine Aguilera on us.
”Sunday Snow”, despite some evocative lyrics doesn’t hold the level, being conventional jazz blues and has that kind of erotic complacency which bugs me about the likes of Jack Johnston (apparently all twelve songs on his debut album were written about his wife: I mean, ten out of ten for morality, pal, but not so many for invention!). Like Neil Young, whoever is playing lead guitar on this track shouldn’t. And the handclaps are cheesy and out of time. Apart from that, fab!
“Broad Street” pushes the demo back up thanks to some fine acoustic guitar playing and an admirably grown-up attitude towards cheating girlfriends. Whereas some singer-songwriters would be writing stuff about smoking that bitch like it ain’t no thang, Kirk’s narrator shrugs, mutters “Cosi fan tutti” or words to that effect and saunters coolly off towards the Sheldonian, there no doubt to resume his Greats or PPE studies. Class act.
A highly promising demo then, from a singer who has a potentially wonderful tenor voice, and a writer who can conjure romance and remembrance from a few simple chords. Alchemic.