Ed O’Brien goes on a fantastic voyage for his solo debut

Perhaps these are things which come from the releasing your debut album at 52 years of age, having spent far more than half of them as part of one of the most acclaimed bands of all time. There is little voice-finding or unsureness here, rather the sense of zen invoked by an album whose first song is called “Shangri-La”.

There is no sense of stagnation though. Earth is a record expressly interesting in capturing at least a fragment of the planet’s wonders, with long songs winding with distinct musicality through suites exploring Brazil (which O’Brien and his family now call home) alongside the general strangeness of living on this “pale blue dot” on “Olympik”. Lead single “Brazil” opens with the luscious guitar playing which should be expected of one of his generation’s greatest guitarists, but the delicate balladry is cut short by a sudden back-beat, laying the path for the song to explode into a bongo-driven house cut. O’Brien says that the album was inspired in part by rave and carnival culture and it’s on display here most of all, where he’s unafraid to paint in bright colours.

These unexpected diversions become a defining feature of the record. Following track “Deep Days” is a lolloping cut with an easy-going chorus which reminds of Glenn Frey (I kid you not) and is certainly more relaxed than anything you’d catch from bandmate Thom Yorke, whose ballads tend to come laced with a healthy drop of dread. Opener “Shangri-La” is grimier, with a decidedly sunny opening melody thrown aside in aid of a roaring brit-pop riff and a vocal line straight out of the Blur playbook.

Quaint ballads “Long Time Coming” and the closing duet with Laura Marling show another feather in O’Brien’s bow, but much more exciting however is clear standout “Olympik”, a largely-instrumental epic which reminds very much of 1980’s Pink Floyd, and is exactly the kind of soaring prog-rock I did not expect to hear in 2020. “Banksters” on the other hand reminds of the more unfortunate of side of Roger Waters’ catalogue; a somewhat dated rocker which toothlessly rails against the bankers in the only piece of music here in which O’Brien shows his years, rather than being energised by a new outlet which makes contented sound like an exciting thing to be.