“It’s the best record since Revolver” – Liam Gallagher.
Evidently, Gallagher has a gas leak in his home with chatter like that. Most of the records which touch the crystalised platinum of Revolver are not named Liam Gallagher and John Squire. There is usually more than a hint of creativity within rather than a self-titled duo etching their name into a product-laden cover. Sound of Silver, Different Class, and Speaking in Tongues are all better albums – in title and production. It matters not though, Gallagher has made his bed and must now lie in it, fidgeting alongside The Stone Roses guitarist John Squire. A lacklustre pair of singles and here we are, not from Mars to Liverpool as promised but from desperate track to miserably buried guitar solo.
Deflated opener Raise Your Hands sets the tone. Gallagher trying to muddle his way through Squire-written lyrics, while the legendary Stones guitarist fiddles away the hours with some tiresome instrumental work. He has his spots. From Mars to Liverpool is fine. Take things one day at a time as Gallagher charms on aptly titled One Day At A Time. Simplicity in motion, though it is hard to dislike the looser charms and shock peak in form from Squire and Gallagher’s collaboration. Sharp hits against the suburbia standard. I’m A Wheel passes on by without so much as a whimper of interest and lead single Just Another Rainbow was dead on arrival, flogged into place in this ten-track display. Nothing terrible, though nothing to shout about either. Plodding stuff from two alleged legends who should do better than wax their influences on an album sold on their name value.
Keep an eye on I’m So Bored – you’ll certainly feel that way by the time the ninth track rolls around. A creative rut for both men means they are at their lowest in some years – a mighty step down from C’mon You Know for Gallagher and painting in isolation for Squire. Bleeding together the likes of Make It Up As You Go Along, the similar guitar structure and the neutered, almost spoken-word exploits of Gallagher as he and Squire try their hand at politically adjacent tunes. They are out of step, the movement of rattling the “thoughts and prayers” cage has passed – and in turn, it provides a dated sense to the duo’s efforts, where they coast off the Poundland aesthetic without shopping there themselves. Mother Nature’s Song is an expressionless boast of environmentalism which feels more like padding the room to make way for some lacklustre and improvised guitar strokes.
Gallagher claims to have made the best album since the middle point of The Beatles’ creative output. He has not a scratch on The Rutles, let alone the Fab Four. But his inspiration and demented need to be John Lennon is never to be crushed, not even Squire on guitar can stop him. His lyrical output is systematic and tethered to how cool it must be to be from Manchester. Vocally inept and charmless the whole way through – a real squeeze of the ever-growing Oasis and The Stone Roses fandom crossover. Biblical this is not, though it will have you praying to the divine for it to be over as soon as possible. So no, Liam Gallagher and John Squire do not “piss all over” Revolver, but the stench wafting in from this compartmentalisation of daft and spotty product placement hit backs does smell a bit geriatric and stuck in a rut.
