Art by Paul Archer – Album Review
By Ellie Victor
I’m not sure if you could call Paul Archer an outlier – the Belfast-based singer-songwriter already has musical links with fellow Bangor natives Snow Patrol and has wrote for Hollywood blockbusters – but an array of musical monikers (Disraeli Gears, Ghears, Burning Codes) has, at least, passed by my listening ears unheard.
Could his debut solo release find the bigger audience his songs deserve? On Art, Archer answers with a record that treats genre as a revolving door – alt-rock, cosmic-soul contemplations, krautrock pulses and fuzzed electronica all drift in and out – yet keeps a sort of faith with melody as the organising principle, even if killer tunes are a little thin on the ground. Conceived for vinyl and visually tied to his abstract expressionist paintings, it feels like a late-career clean slate rather than a summary of past glories.
Opener ‘Heavy Soul’ sets the tone, chugging on a motorik beat before accelerating into an earnest workout. The lyric circles self-worth and stewardship – love of self, others and planet – but the arrangement is what lifts it, guitars shouldering forward as if escaping gravity. It’s a reminder that Archer’s compass points north towards rock rather than singer-songwritery confession, even when the soul-searching is present and accounted for.
Paul Archer, 2025
“Clever feint”
The title track is a light-fingered busk that threatens combustion without quite getting there – a clever feint that leaves the chorus ringing anyway. Then comes ‘Struggles Won’, widescreen and wind-in-the-hair, the sort of open-armed anthem Snow Patrol have overdosed on. Archer lands the ascent; it’s the extended outro that lingers too long. No matter – such overrun proves atypical on an album that keeps pivoting.
When ‘FEAR Destroyer’ hits, he shape-shifts into a Belfastian Eddie Vedder, baritone urgent over hard-rock musculature. It may be the standout, although it’s hardly representative – proof that Archer can drop the guardrails when he wishes. Elsewhere, ‘I’ll Be There for You’ reaches for an arms-wide confession and finds an echoic vista; what it lacks is the single, luminous hook to brand the chorus on the inner ear.
Part of the pleasure here is tracing the family tree. Archer’s mid-90s Belfast roots peep through in locked-groove instincts; his long-running Burning Codes project taught him how to build atmosphere without losing traction. Friends and fellow travellers – from Snow Patrol alumni to scene godfathers – colour the record’s edges, but Art never feels like a guest-list exercise. Instead, the palette suggests those painters he cites in his gallery work: Rothko’s fields of feeling, Richter’s blur, Newman’s verticals. Archer tries to render similar depth in sound – blocks of tone, sudden ruptures, slow fades.
“Rhythmic undertow”
Side A leans to euphoric alt-rock; Side B relaxes into what he calls “cosmic soul”. That phrase can read like branding until ‘Detector’ arrives to close the set, disguising itself as a pretty, keyboard-led sunriser. Gradually he layers twisted electronica, then drives into a fuzzed denouement, the dust settling on a vista both hopeful and scorched. It’s the album’s mission statement in miniature: start small, tilt the frame, let noise and light argue, then leave a silhouette on the wall.
Comparisons? File the tuneful uplift alongside Elbow’s humane sweep; clock the rhythmic undertow that nods to Neu!; note the grain in his voice that occasionally shades towards Vedder or Richard Ashcroft without mimicry. But Archer is most persuasive when he’s simply himself – a craftsman with a survivor’s patience, shaping choruses to carry burdens he no longer over-explains.
Is Art perfect? No – a chorus or two undershoots, a coda overstays. Is it compelling? Yes, enough. It is ambitious, mostly intriguing, and, at times, slightly out of focus in ways that feel human rather than hazy. More importantly, it sounds like a door opening. If this is the first chapter of a newly aligned solo career – songs conceived as paintings, paintings echoing as songs – the next one could be blinding.
7/10
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Ellie has spent over three decades dissecting riffs, rhythms, and rockstar egos, all in pursuit of the perfect review. Her music writing journey began at 12 with a glowing 10/10 diary entry for Echo and the Bunnymen, and she’s been chasing that high ever since. Armed with encyclopaedic knowledge and a soft spot for the sonically daring, Ellie will review anything that’s put in front of her – as long as it’s on vinyl.
