Despite being perennially thrashed by ye olde Pitching Fork, I can think of worse bands than Hefner. It might take me a few seconds, but I can totally do it. Hell, once in a while, the band even manages to stumble over something pretty great-- I was briefly enamored with "I Love Only You", and I'm only a little ashamed to admit it. Still, if Darren Hayman started offering me musical advice, it might just give me pause. I'd sooner trust my musical career to the psychic crapshoot of Miss Cleo, given Hayman's recent decisions, but then again, I'm not the guitarist for Hefner, so what do I know, anyway? Jack Hayter, on the other hand, is the guitarist, and when Hayman cajoled him into putting his meek acoustic balladry to tape, he heeded the call. Practical Wireless is the result. And how is it? Let's say this: it's nothing Earth-shattering, but as sensitive solo artists go, the guy can hold his own.
Ever since the traumatic singer/songwriter drought of 1983, global stores have rebounded forcefully, and we've all been able to enjoy the mixed blessings of a surplus for the last few years. That aggressive climate, however, means problems for Jack. Most of us are already hip-deep in wool-cap wearing dudes armed with acoustics, and Hayter's more-of-same technique isn't likely to set him apart from the crowd anytime soon. Occasionally, he trades his acoustic guitar in for a steel pedal rig, and there's some accompaniment to speak of in the form of maracas, distant flutes, and the odd accordion, but in general, the album is almost uncomfortably sparse. Most tracks leave little beyond Hayter's voice and his slight, often repetitive compositions to hold a listener's interest. He breaks stride with standout tracks like the awkwardly, uncertainly charming "Blind Man's Fog" and "Narrow Skies", but even three minutes of most of these arrangements could bore the brass off a doorknob.
Really, though, it's Hayter's voice that gets top billing on Practical Wireless, and with good reason. Hayter has one of the weariest, most world-beaten voices around, his ace-in-the-hole. His strains to hit the highs, and extended notes reek with character; if it were any more pained, it would sound forced, and if it were any less so, he couldn't even begin to sell these lyrics. He falls into neither trap, though, and nails these songs with all the sincerity they deserve, giving the album a surprisingly personal texture. In fact, his vocal work even helps to salvage its musical accompaniment-- the acoustic plucking is so whisper-soft that even his exquisitely tired voice sounds somewhat strong in comparison. It's this underlying implication of strength that really adds depth and humanity to his work, and it goes a long way to redeeming the overall blandness of the record.
Between that and a set of uniformly sweet, but slightly absurd lyrics, even the worst songs on this solo outing at least glimpse redemption. All but one, in fact. As soon as Peter Perret kicks off, he'll be spinning in his grave at Hayter's cover of his Only Ones classic "Another Girl Another Planet". For his part, Hayter certainly "makes it his own", but this means reducing the gorgeous burn of the New York Dolls-inspired punk classic to a dull ember of a song. He manages to bring out a lot of emotion that probably wasn't there in the first place, but also completely neuters the original's dramatic crash of breathless emotion. In the end, it becomes sincere and sweet like all the other songs on the album; not terrible in its own right, but not great, either. Still, if it comes down to a choice between this and Hefner? Hayter could build on this album if he threw in some more inventive arrangements; at this point, Hefner's just holding you back, Jack.
