Info: In 2010 when Conor O'Brien released Villagers' debut album Becoming a Jackal, it was a perfect example of an extremely gifted song-writer offering up a collection of music and feelings with no inhibitions and expectations, it was pure in that sense, and entirely at ease with itself. Often when an artist hits the ground running from the very beginning and is suddenly faced with a huge weight of expectation, that freedom slowly evaporates, and external forces both real and imagined can inhibit and hinder natural expression on future releases. O'Brien may have experienced internal peaks and troughs from subsequent albums in an almost symmetrical pattern from 2013's {Awayland}, Darling Arithmetic 2 years later, and Where Have You Been All My Life? in 2016.
Tellingly, the very opening lines of The Art Of Pretending To Swim on track 'Again' seem to speak to this age-old struggle; "I found again, a space in my heart again, for God again, in the form of art again, I let it flow into the bottomless hole again, as I feel it ripple and ready its soul again...". The brevity of this opener also reflects a happy acknowledgement of returning to this welcome space, with the chorus ending on the word "home", like a large sigh of relief.
Latest single 'A Trick of the Light' was the first track to be written in its entirety from the new album, and for me captured the brilliance and awe that I felt when I first heard the title track from Becoming a Jackal 8 years ago. It's very interesting to note at this early stage of the album the religious and spiritual imagery conveyed in O'Brien's lyrics. "And if I see a sign in the sky tonight, no one's gonna tell me it's a trick of the light, may never come but I'm willing to wait, what can I say? I'm a man of faith".
Powerful expression which reminds me of the story behind the apparition at Knock, where the local villagers (yes!) claimed to have seen the Virgin Mary, St. Joseph, John the Evangelist and Jesus on the gable wall of the local church. Often explained as merely being the reflection of lamplight on shadows, and occurring at a time of colossal cultural change, the local witnesses perhaps gripping on to the last vestiges of a traditional life that was under threat. To take this idea further, it could also be an observance of the tumultuous and rapidly changing world we find ourselves living in today, and a desire for an anchor in the storm.
There's a distinct soulfulness to many of the songs on The Art of Pretending To Swim which is captured in the gorgeous, heart-breaking music and vocals of 'Sweet Saviour'. A hopeful yearning is painfully recanted on what may be one of the finest tracks O'Brien has written to date, it's an expertly executed balance between a duality of joy and scathing torment. On 'Long Time Waiting' the message is clear, a protagonist sits on our shoulder, chiding us as we stare into a bleak void of despair, wagging his finger in a condemnatory fashion, you and you only can lift yourself out of your malaise. Doing nothing and expecting an improvement in circumstances to occur spontaneously is naive at best. Like all of the songs here however, the brightness of the music surrounds these sometimes heavy themes with a peripheral optimism.
There's a hypnotic and wry swell on 'Love Came With All That It Brings', a track that provides momentary detachment from the rest of the album. Visually we are pulled aside and told a story with no metaphors or hidden meanings, it is what it is. Once again the backdrop dazzles with colourful musical accompaniment in the form of a soulful vocal sample and wistful brass arrangements, all revolving around the linchpin of a simple piano sequence.
The most enchanting of moments comes on the sometimes unnerving 'Hold Me Down', this is Lewis Carroll levels of a severely distorted musical landscape, there is no limit to how lost the listener can become here. It's as though O'Brien has lifted the lid on our imaginations and demanded that for the first time ever we run truly free, as far away from ourselves as we've ever been, it's an outstandingly visceral mirror into our own souls, and terrifyingly dark. I'm actually haunted by it.
Closing track 'Ada' is a pure classic piece of indie pop, a morphing of light-touch 70's piano rock รก la Elton John and grandiose prog elements such as The Alan Parsons Project or King Crimson. The rabbit hole comes in for one last appearance after the four minute mark before disappearing just as quickly, as the track extinguishes, O'Brien bounds off into the distance and out of sight, taking a large part of ourselves with him that we'll never get back.
