Shoved down into the depths of a basement somewhere to listen to Hobo Johnson is, in hindsight, a real treat. Time echoes little positivity for a man who sings about cockroaches and embarks on a stylish project where hopes run high. Cementing Hobo Johnson as a label-signed artist was unlikely not for his attitude or reception but because it does not quite gel with the implication of production meetings. Hobo Johnson, for good or for ill, demonstrates an independent flame on The Fall of Hobo Johnson – likely his best record. Whether he shoots past this in future is yet to be seen but the comeback is on, the gigs are flowing and the creativity he showed on his spoken-word pieces here is considerably stronger than first thought.
Overlapping band relationships and why Johnson walked away from it all are featured in that ever-present tongue-in-cheek manner on opener Typical Story. It has a slick electronic beat as all his songs do, with sharp mixing which does its best to mask the weaker pockets intermittently found in his lyrical work. Still, the light-hearted nature of this piece verges on slam poetry, a worrying development for anyone not in possession of a trilby or a purple polo shirt. Anxieties over relationships not working out are charted well and with an explosive character on this opening track, an energy Johnson cannot quite keep up as he samples his way through the deflated Mover Awayer. Jazz fixtures and backing vocals on the Elohim-featuring Uglykid are a real draw for The Fall of Hobo Johnson, where the pop-rap pieces come to life.
Explosive jazz collections appear to be the constant game plan for The Fall of Hobo Johnson. He is lucky coffee and fatigue pair nicely with saxophones and barrages of brass. His political commentary is as shaky as the jokes made on a particularly loose episode of Saturday Night Live though this reliance on jazzy proportions is a welcome production which, to his credit and shortcoming, Johnson is keen to use anytime he feels there is a dip in the mood. A good song to blast in the car while careering toward a twenty-four-hour Asda. Pretty forgettable action on Subaru Crosstrek XV is traded in, once again, for those silky jazz tones. Buried deep but identifiable on hidden gem Moonlight, the likes of Ode to Justin Bieber and February 15th are the tracks Hobo Johnson leans into best of all.
Lean he should – his talents lie in composition and lyrical flow, rather than the writing process and the hype man emo-pop mentality which drives the lesser tracks of this album. Johnson’s politically motivated pieces, the slow ballad All in My Head, in particular, is the usual shrug of the shoulders and desperation presented as mopey fact. No chance for change and not even a challenge against the struggles and troubles, just a bitter acceptance and a funky little jazz solo. Salvation comes from smooth trumpets rather than consistent and at least depthful commentaries on the world around him. The equivalent of an Instagram story post detailing an issue for a pocket of time. It does not work – though the instrumentals at play here are ridiculously good.
