If I’d listened to this blind, I would have absolutely no idea who it was by. This isn’t the voice I remember on those Spandau backing tracks. In fact, it’s a sound straight from mid-80s soft rock. If that makes you feel queasy, step away now.
Apparently Gary, like the rest of us, has been having a bit of a rough time. The pandemic, doomscrolling the news, the sudden realisation he hadn’t properly mourned his parents – all of this built up to an episode of anxiety and self-doubt. You’d expect the man that written some of the most popular pop songs of all time (selling more than 25 million records) might be a tad cocky. But not in the slightest.
“Borrowed Town” muses on London’s transitory nature and the Pink-Floyd-esque guitar solos are courtesy of the progger’s late 80s contributor Guy Pratt. Title song, “This Destination” could well have been belted out by Tony Hadley. “Dancing in Bed” is also laced with an 80s feel – but what a great expression for joy.
The stand out song for me is “Take the Wheel” – a cry for someone to step up and take the weight off when the going gets tough. It’s a classic. Lots of sweeping strings (by John Metcalfe, formerly of The Durutti Column and more recently string arranger to Peter Gabriel, Blur and U2), yearning vocals and purposeful sense of drama. The press release wants us to know that this is his most personal record – “the album is simultaneously semi-autobiographical and an exercise in empathetic scene-setting” – and this does feel truly heartfelt. “Windswept Street (1978)” is all Whitesnake in feel (but given that Gary provided uncredited backing vocals for Def Leppard back in the day, this kind of makes sense).
His voice has something of a Rod Stewart rasp in “At the Chateau”, a song that mocks the parlous state of the art world these days. He clearly hasn’t forgotten the tough Islington days and his parent’s hard work ethic. “Work” is a tribute to them and his own family.
The album ends with the gently celebratory “I Know Where I’m Going” (the therapy’s worked) which features throat singing by Sam Lee. And the CD jacket thanks to Richard Hawley is for his services to shifting Kemp’s writer’s block.
The long and short of it is that he’s still got those songwriting skills in spades – one listen and many of these tunes will bury themselves in your brain whether you like it or no. It’s not really my thing but it’s a hell of a lot better than the bafflingly popular dirge Gary Barlow produces. Plus I owe my introduction to socialism to this man (via an interview in the briefly vibrant ZigZag magazine), for which he cannot be thanked enough. And there's “Chant Number One”.
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