22 Dreams
22 Dreams is the sound of a Paul Weller who’s no longer hemmed in by his ‘craft’.
Patrick Freyne, 22 May 2008
This is not a sentence I planned to utter this year, but – up Paul Weller’s arse isn’t too bad a place to be. Because this album is undeniably the sound of that venerable veteran of English indie-music disappearing into his anal cavity and seeing what he can find therein. 22 Dreams – a double album – is all over the place. To extend my metaphor – Weller is throwing shit at the wall to see what will stick. And you know what? It works. This is particularly apparent on CD number 2, in which – on the face of it – he seems to give in to whatever musical whims come his way, and it contains, as a result, a rich, wonderful and wacky mix of folk balladry (‘Where’er Ye Go’), bossa-nova (‘One Bright Star’), spoken word (‘God’ in which he lets rip with some incoherent but no-nonsense, Northern style cosmology) and some quite lovely experimental instrumental music (from the jazzy meanderings of ‘Lullaby Fur Kinder’, to the electronic noodling of ‘111’). And it’s actually quite a delightful basket-case of a record.
The first CD isn’t quite so confidently nuts, however, and Weller’s bountiful and melodious arse remains relatively un-scathed. It does contain some lovely touches like the Mike Oldfieldesque opener ‘Light Nights’, the string n’ triangle-soul-fest ‘Empty Ring’ (I could continue my arse metaphor here... but I won’t), and the cracking instrumentals ‘Song For Alice’ and ‘The Dark Pages Of September Lead To The New Leaves Of Spring’. But it also features Weller in full-on white funk, jam-session with-meaningless-lyrics-mode on 22 Dreams, ‘All I Wanna Do (Is Be With You)’ and ‘Have You Made Up Your Mind’. These tracks sound like they might have been thrown on at the last minute in a fit of panic by his management team, fearing that his more conservative and easily frightened fans might be ready to move on to Michael Bublé (or, indeed, the sweet release of death) rather than listen to Paul vigorously rummaging around his musical anus for 21 songs. But that’s hardly likely, given that 22 Dreams provides the album with its title. Either way, they are same-old-same-old, Weller and – for me at any rate – they detract from the more adventurous elements elsewhere on the record.
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