Hozier sets a great example of slow-burn art. Wasteland, Baby! came five years after his self-titled debut. It is hard to gauge the impact of his work and the longevity between the two releases, but it seems clearer in the lead-up to Unreal Unearth. However long we spend waiting for a fourth, there is trust and faith from Hozier in every release. There is no space for filler. In pop, this is a surprise. Especially now when songs are released for the sake of extending chart-topping runs. What a hell we live in. Yet Hozier and artists of his pop-soul ilk are trying hard to extract us from the perils of the real world. How heartwarming an intention. Good on them for making us feel like we are not just cogs in the financial machine, instead we are real and breathing people. Wasteland, Baby! hopes to inject this burning love for life with powerful, persuasive lyrics.
Impressive vocal range and the introduction of backing vocalists on Nina Cried Power, the Mavis Staples-featuring opener is better remembered for its tone and openness than its lyrical motions. This may surprise the ardent Hozier fans who see his words and work as gospel. His tone certainly maintains such holy-adjacent tones but the lyrical context of Wasteland, Baby! is grappling with less than the self-titled debut. Where this drop-off comes from is likely the divide between plucky starter and cemented contemporary artist. The instrumentals and tremendous vocal range are found, more than enough to drag even the worst writings to a mystifying, moving high. Those stomp and holler-adjacent tones overwhelm the chance of heartfelt occasions all too often on this Hozier release. Almost (Sweet Music) feels tepid and it is not until the stripped-back Movement that any classic slices of his work can be found.
Groovy bass work on No Plan and the boastful instrumentals accompanying it nearly steal the spotlight from the best lyrical work to be found on Wasteland, Baby!. Perhaps this second Hozier record is just a slow burner. Nobody settles well, even with its unusually flat writing. Gin o’clock, is it? Right. Still, the slaps and claps heard within are welcoming enough, the whoops and cries of a man trying to figure out how it went so right for his debut. But Hozier has always been a staple, whirring away in the background of formative years when these songs were meant to be listened to. But at nineteen, between spirits and stress, there was no time to hone much attention on anything, let alone the sophomore albums of Irish artists.
So, we play catchup and reflect on what was lost in those times of contemporary ignorance. We cram what we can into the dying hours of the day and hope to find some emotional connection to an album thousands have beforehand. Unreal Unearth made it clear where Hozier’s strengths lay and with the benefit of hindsight we can hear the charm of finger-plucked acoustics and additional strings. But they pale in comparison to what lay head. In that regard, Wasteland, Baby! is a success. It is not better than the album to follow. Yet it does have a tenderness and skilful tact to it which even stony-hearted swine whose daily routine includes a walk to the corner shop for discount pastries can find warmth in. Shrike is a gorgeous example of this – a lush pang of grief paired with violin work which would make Warren Ellis blush.
Hozier is simply cool. He has extracted the best parts of a dying genre which was being kicked to death by Mumford and Sons, and made off with quality. Wasteland, Baby! is a slow burn, worth listening to but not as essential and tightly woven as the albums either side of it. A middle child of a record. His Finsbury Park performance is not too far away and, with a Duolingo-like presence resting in the shadows, that reminder is constant. How many lyrics remain in the brain? Not enough. Mouthing the titles of the tracks will have to do. Wasteland, Baby! is good fun and filled with the usual repertoire founded by Hozier, but it goes through the motions a tad.
