ALBUM REVIEWS
Pacino and DeNiro, Nicki and Beyoncé… Tinchy Stryder and the Chuckle Brothers? Look, the point is that pop culture is packed with long-awaited team-ups, clashes of titans that sometimes soar with ineffable magic and sometimes crash-land on the same cultural scrapheap as Metallica and Lou Reed’s ‘Lulu’. Just because someone’s great in their own right, it doesn’t necessarily mean their talents will mesh with those of another creative giant.
Liam Gallagher and John Squire, though, have spent decades courting one another like One Day’s Emma and Dexter. Liam’s never been shy about his adoration of The Stone Roses – in fact, Oasis’ mission was essentially to finish what the earlier Manchester band, with one classic album and an underwhelming follow-up to their name, started in the late ‘80s. When the Gallaghers invited former Roses guitarist Squire to perform ‘Champagne Supernova’ at their epochal Knebworth show in 1996, they were all but getting on their hands and knees to declare: “We are not worthy.”
Yet it’s taken some 30 years for ‘Liam Gallagher John Squire’, which is more imaginative than its title might suggest, to come to fruition. Although he’s been more focused on creating visual art in recent years, the guitarist’s genius remains undimmed, as he adorns these bluesy arrangements with slow-burning grooves and wailing licks that ache with his life-long love of Jimi Hendrix and Jimmy Page. This is psychedelic, on occasion even transcendent music brought down to earth by Liam’s gravelly sneer, an intoxicating mix that often comes good on the singer’s promise that they’ve combined “the best bits of Oasis with the best bits of the Stone Roses”. You think: why didn’t they do this before?
The duo have collaborated once previously – on 1997’s ‘Love Me and Leave Me’, a keening track released by Squire’s short-lived post-Roses band The Seahorses – but this new project didn’t come to life until Gallagher returned to Knebworth as a solo star (he scoffs at the word ‘artist’) in 2022. Just to ram home how successful his comeback has been, and the extent to which it’s placed him back in the midst of former glories, Liam had the guitarist perform ‘Champagne Supernova’ again. During rehearsals, Squire revealed he’d written a couple of new tunes: would Liam like to sing on them? The answer was – presumably swearily – in the affirmative, and the project spiralled from there.
If they haven’t exactly walked their tasselled moccasins into a bold new direction, the result is a thoroughly modern record that meshes Squire’s gritty guitar work, which revels in imperfection, with the studio sheen of Liam’s solo albums. As their courtship blossomed, the musicians exchanged photos and video clips for a moodboard that set the tone of the album: Liam sent Bob Marley and the Pistols; Squire sent Hendrix, the Faces and the Humble Pie track ‘30 Days in the Hole’. The resulting 10 Squire-penned tunes were demoed in the guitarist’s home near Macclesfield, before they decamped to LA to record them with uber-producer Greg Kurstin, who helmed Liam’s three solo albums.
Squire, the auteur, was nervous about such a move – but it’s proved a canny one. What could have been a spit-and-sawdust psych-blues record is instead augmented with a glam crunch (the woozily assured ‘I’m A Wheel’); warm, rolling keys (joyous second single ‘Mars to Liverpool’); and buzzing electronic accoutrements (self-explanatory opener ‘Raise Your Hands’). The Roses-meets-Oasis promise heaves most gloriously into view on ‘Love You Forever’, as Liam’s loved-up delivery gives way to a thrillingly indulgent guitar breakdown. By the time Squire’s lashes of guitar weave around stabs of boogie-woogie piano on ‘You’re Not the Only One’, you’ll be digging out your tie-dye.
Sonically, the tracks are admittedly of a piece, though that’s sort of the point. Squire, who’s previously withheld his musical output like Scrooge McDuck hoarding riches in his bank vault, teems with ideas, overlapping gorgeous melodies with howling solos. Having overcome a near-catastrophic hand injury and the collapse of the Roses comeback, the guitarist sounds absolutely invigorated – and uses that inspiration to paint on one large canvas, rather than craft individual portraits. His lyrics are perhaps more questionable, but Liam isn’t exactly inexperienced at transforming even the most pedestrian rhymes into terrace-ready chants. “These aren’t the droids you’re looking for,” Obi-Wan Gallagher shrugs on ‘I’m A Wheel’. No-one else could get away with it.
If fans were vaguely alarmed by lead single ‘Just Another Rainbow’, which pulses with a reassuringly Roses-style riff but also sees Liam recite the colours of the rainbow and ponder, “am I your windmill?”, it’s hard to imagine anyone feeling short-changed by the album itself. Obviously this isn’t a ‘Definitely Maybe’ or ‘The Stone Roses’ – no-one could touch those hook-laden masterpieces. As a triumph of style and mood, though, ‘Liam Gallagher John Squire’ is well worthy of their enduring legacies.
ALBUM REVIEWS
Grandeur sits at the heart of ‘This Music May Contain Hope’, RAYE’s second album, and the result feels nothing short of breathtaking. On this record, the singer born Rachel Keen explores a wide spectrum of sounds across its 73 minute length, moving from emotional ballads to lively funk moments and the jazz pop style she has become closely associated with. It can feel overwhelming at first, yet the magic that comes from RAYE fully committing to her vision makes the experience rewarding from start to finish.
‘This Music May Contain Hope’, a conceptual project about pushing through insecurity and heartbreak, unfolds like a lavish stage production. RAYE takes on the dual role of main character and guiding voice throughout the story. “Allow me to set the scene. Our story begins at 2:27am on a rainy night in Paris. Cue the thunder,” she says during the opening track ‘Girl Under The Grey Cloud’, which arrives with sweeping orchestral strings. Spoken passages appear across the album, helping shape the narrative and giving the project a sense of direction, almost like hearing the official recording of a Broadway show.
With this framework in place, the South London artist allows herself to fully explore the album’s diverse musical palette, and most of the time it works in her favor. Sometimes she fully embraces the theatrical side of the concept, especially during the closing section of the smooth R&B track ‘The WhatsApp Shakespeare’. Other moments are delivered more straightforwardly, such as the emotional slow building ballad ‘I Know You’re Hurting’. She also revisits her earlier dance influences with the impressive house track ‘Life Boat’.
Across the entire album, two things stand out clearly. RAYE’s flexible vocals sound better than ever, and her songwriting feels sharper than it has before. Take the playful highlight ‘I Hate The Way I Look Today’, a swing jazz inspired track reminiscent of Ella Fitzgerald, where she admits “I’m okay to be lonely / If I’m lonely and skinny / I have such silly self-loathing thoughts, it seems”. Then there is the emotional storytelling in ‘Nightingale Lane’: “It was right there, early June / Next to Old Park Avenue / Standing in the rain, I watched him walk away”.
Despite all the vulnerability and emotional struggles explored throughout the record, RAYE ultimately reaches a place of optimism, staying true to the album’s title. She gathers her close friends on ‘Click Clack Symphony’ with support from Hans Zimmer, finds closure with guidance from Al Green on the smooth seventies soul inspired ‘Goodbye Henry’, and reaches toward something greater alongside her sisters Amma and Absolutely on the uplifting ‘Joy’ as she searches to be “free of all the pain and every fear”. After the stormy opening imagery of that “rainy night” and “thunder”, RAYE eventually realizes that “the sun exists behind the clouds”, as she shares on ‘Happier Times Ahead’.
‘This Music May Contain Hope’ shows RAYE performing at her absolute peak. The album feels huge in scale and emotionally powerful, yet it remains rooted in honest experiences and real feelings. Yes, it asks a lot from the listener, but that is also what makes it so special. Every dramatic moment and musical shift feels like RAYE claiming her independence and finally creating music entirely on her own terms.
