Ghostpoet: peanut butter blues and melancholy jam

I rarely write about music (I leave it to the experts), but I’ve been loving this man’s sound since a friend sent me his way last year.

This album deserves attention.  He’s an elegant and eloquent lyricist with a unique sound. His beats are lazy, fluid, assured, his hooks ensnare you.

I’m not swayed just because he’s a fellow Coventry kid, but to escape the crushing deadendedness of that defeated city, then turn it into poetry and light, well, that’s a beautiful thing.

Ghostpoet is more than an emcee; he’s a raconteur. His voice is mellifluous, languid, the lyrics rich with idiom, popculture and puns. You sense he loves language, is gleeful at clever rhymes and artful linguistic juxtaposition. And this all undercut with eclectic samples, languorous beats and gorgeous backing vocals.

It’s a late night record, comfort listening, like sinking into an evening of slightly maudlin self-analysis with an old friend and a fine scotch.

There’s no bullshit posturing, no MC attitude. There is humility and humour, tales of everyday life and struggle told with compassion and kindness. At times defiant, like the strident insistence of Finished I Ain’t; at times discordant and portentous (Gaaasp), at times tranquil and reflective (Floating): every track takes you on a journey.

Even the moments of melancholy hold glimmers of optimism. He’s down but not out.

A man on his way, in his own sweet time.

Go buy it. Or stream it here courtesy of the Guardian and the Streets (together at last..)