The release of Neil Halstead's third solo album produces a new wave of speculation about whether or not Slowdive will reunite. But it's helpful to remember that his artistic position has basically been the same from the start. He's a craftsman of, as a friend described it, "cozy sweater folk". From the outset, Palindrome Hunches feels like the kind of hushed, close-gathered singalong that's been idealized in indie rock since the start of the millennium.
The opener "Digging Shelters", in its calmly melancholy way, and the softly chugging "Bad Drugs and Minor Chords" that follows it, essentially define where the rest of the album goes. Between those two poles there's some variety; it does get a little too samey by the end, albeit never without feeling pleasant. Adding to the cozy feel, we're told Palindrome Hunches was recorded live in a weekend at a music room in a UK primary school.
So, theoretically, it's neither Slowdive nor Mojave 3; instead, it's the kind of understated solo release that tips its hand to Nick Drake ("Full Moon Rising" is one of many moments where you basically can't think of anyone else) as much as it does a whole swathe of early-70s, acoustic guitar-based releases, Halstead singing a half-whispered reflection on where everything's been in his life and others. At this point, he's not about reinvention so much as he is exploring possibilities from a central start.
Returning to the first Slowdive release, the self-titled 1990 EP, where both versions of "Avalyn" open with a treated acoustic strum and where on the first one Halstead's vocals (blended with Rachel Goswell's) are delivered softly and calmly, what has changed most in Halstead's work isn't the wellspring, per se, but the means of delivery. He has, even at Slowdive's loudest and Mojave 3's most sweeping and stately, always implicitly argued for the virtues of gentility, of understated retrospection and performance, and emotion recalled afterward. It's little surprise that the crypto-goth/post-punk roots of Slowdive via bands like the Cure and early New Order tie into this sense of splendid near-isolation, and that a solo career by default puts the focus all the more clearly on this core.
So if "Wittgenstein's Arm" draws its lyrical inspiration from the story of a wounded pianist from World War I (and therefore includes piano) and if the title track is indeed all about palindromes (you'll never think of Satan quite the same way), then everything still comes back to that point of origin. But as with his earlier bands, it's the choice of arrangements and performance that drives his solo work, a specific aiming for a sound. Halstead's performing reinvents no wheels but never is anything less than well-done regardless, and the full performances can often find their own impact, the violin of Ben Smith-- one of several performers from Band of Hope playing as the backing group throughout-- often providing a softly killer touch on songs like "Love Is a Beast", "Full Moon Rising", and especially in the nervous opening moments of "Tied to You".
By the time of the piano-led "Hey Daydreamer", one of the peppier songs in context, the album's been the type of thing that seems right for the closing in of the year through fall, something best heard in fading light, bundled a bit against the cooler air, a little shared warmth-- cozy sweater folk, indeed. Nope, it ain't shoegaze as it's been codified and re-codified. But why be disappointed in someone following his muse to a logical conclusion when that path was always the one he walked on?
