There is something quintessentially English about Tom Minor, perhaps quintessentially suburban, definitely quintessentially Tom Minor, unique and recognisable about the music he makes. Whereas most artists try to make their songs and narratives big and dramatic, heightened and self-aggrandized, Tom’s small dramas feel more as if you are peering voyeuristically through a window into someone’s everyday life.
The troubles are those that we go through – the concerns and events that are recognizable, the hopes and aspirations, the broken dreams and failed relationships, not just of the everyman, but more particularly of the English suburban everyman…and of course, woman.
As “The Loneliest Person on Earth” tells us, relationships can often reach a critical point, an emotional crossroads, but when you express your concerns, you just make everything worse; speaking your mind exacerbates a situation that could have been dealt with more delicately. Honesty is not always the best policy.
It is a lilting piano ballad that is gradually underlined and emphasized by slashes of guitar, swelling and swooning organs, washes, and waves of vocal harmonies, perfectly balanced and brilliantly orchestrated, like the story it tells, wonderfully nuanced.
Our hometowns are collections of such stories; behind the potted aspidistra and net curtains, the suburban calm and the clipped lawns, such kitchen-sink dramas universally play out unseen and largely unsung. But, as is proven here, they make for the perfect subject matter for such poised yet poignant songs, and Tom Minor feels like the sonic Alan Bennett shining a light on these personal plays and unseen performances.
