Danny George Wilson delivers a reflective and beautifully crafted set of songs exploring loss, memory, and the difficult business of moving on.
Danny George Wilson follows up the Danny & The Champions of the World album, You Are Not a Stranger Here, with a collection of introspective, powerful songs. The cosmic landscapes of You Are Not a Stranger Here give way to something more plaintive, rawer and earthier. It may or may not have been Wilson’s intention, but the two albums make wonderful companion pieces. Arcadia seems to find Wilson at a crossroads: it feels retrospective and nostalgic, but, like Janus, also seems to look forward – although sometimes it feels as if Wilson is stumbling towards the future.
If Arcadia finds Wilson in a moment of transition lyrically, this is not the case musically. Wilson has, for a long time, been a brilliant songwriter, singer and master performer. There is now an added layer of confidence, maturity and complete surety in what he does. Arcadia also showcases just how wonderful Wilson’s voice has become: it can be mournful, powerful, rich and honeyed all at once.
The album begins with Strange Weather, a song about finding your way after loss; it also reflects Wilson’s frequent thematic use of weather. This time it is, “Strange weather without you”. Musically, the song builds wonderfully with strings that rise and swell and support Wilson’s powerful voice. At the heart of the song is the poignant cry for connection, “Can you still hear me tonight? / I just need to know you’re alright”. But the emotional impact might be overwhelming as the strings are allowed to drift towards the end of the song, perhaps indicating that the storm is passing.
Looking forward after loss is also the theme of Distant Suns, a song that is also contemplative but is more upbeat. There is a lovely plucked acoustic guitar part, and the synth backing provides a creative and lush sound. Wilson’s musical confidence seems evident here: embellishments are here to add to the song, not disguise nor experiment for the sake of it. The song begins with the sad reflection that, “Thought you’d slipped away / We were too busy looking the other way”. But Wilson makes a link to the new year and the need to be “ready to start again”: there is a resolution to try and make things better. Masquerade treads a similar path. Again, it feels as if Wilson is trying to turn his mind towards the future, but this time, an odd turn has been taken: change feels weird; it is a “masquerade”. Perhaps there is also the reflection that personal mental health can get in the way, “I can’t see in front of my mind”. Musically, this is reflected in the way that Wilson’s voice is a little more in the back of the song, as if it is slightly out of focus. The classic pop, acoustic-led song structure is also subverted by a great, fuzzy guitar solo, which adds a bit of chaos to this beautifully simple song.
One of the standout songs on the album is Before September. This is a piano-led number, but the introduction of strings adds real power and beauty, as well as emphasising the emotion of the song. That emotion is one of nostalgia. Here is Wilson singing of “Rolling down the hill on a red bike / finding summer love by the roadside”, and yet the song offers strength: memories can take you back, you can think about loss, but they are also rescuers, signs and parts of who we are. Arcade flips the dial to forward again, and the hope of moving on despite what has happened; the mood is that it is not going to be easy, but it is necessary. The music seems to echo this need. It is up-tempo, full of major chords, and the bass and piano create a sense of urgency by almost mimicking the sound of a train. As Wilson sings, “But there’s no time like now for pretending / Us dressing up like sound for remembering”.
Golden Decay, another song that leans into the acoustic and makes some lovely use of strings, reflects on ways of measuring time, “Clock ticks / rain drips / days slip away”. Nostalgia here becomes almost like a place, a place to watch things slip by. All these things, though, are replaced by the “golden decay”, and the juxtaposition of these words is jarring and adds to the ambiguity behind the song. Grain of Sand has the clearest lyrical connection with You Are Not a Stranger Here: it shares the imagery of grains of sand with Future Past. It is another reflective, retrospective number. “How long must it take / to learn from my mistakes”, sings Wilson, this time with a touching bit of echo on his voice. This sadness feels like wisdom gained from age and loss. It also feels personal rather than philosophical, “Reasons fade away / Feelings tend to stay”. And yet Wilson does give a sense that there is something to hold on to: “It is time to realise that memories never die”. The hope is harder to detect in the last song, I’m Lost. This is musically a very low-key, almost childlike number. Here nostalgia seems to leave a slightly bitter taste, “I think I was happier then / Nothing left unsaid”. It is also a bold, and perhaps ironic, way to end the album.
Arcadia may not have some of the experimental flourishes of You Are Not a Stranger Here, but its emotional clarity and songwriting strength give it an immediate pull. It grapples with the relationship between past and present and has as its heart Wilson’s wonderful voice. It is another rather brilliant piece of work from a writer operating at the very height of his powers.
