Black Grape – The Limelight Review

Orange Head came and went without much fuss. A sincere shame, it was Black Grape at an intense best not heard in almost thirty years. But the fanfare surrounding the band has diminished and so too have their chances of recapturing that blissful moment in the warmth, in the spotlight. The Limelight, an afterthought EP of leftover pieces, is one last shot at throwing Shaun Ryder and company into the glow. A flimsy narrative attempt is trialled on The Limelight. Keep the motor running, as opening track The Limelight does. Utterly demented work here. This is like a baby throwing their toys out of the pram, only for the parents to collect those plastic items and try to make some noise of interest with them. Slap it together and rely on the public persona Ryder has moulded for himself. The Limelight is a disaster.  

Moments like this shine a bit of light on why Orange Head was delayed in the first place. Messy would be putting it nicely. What came of Orange Head was a decent, Ryder-led experience which distinguished itself from the hits of his past, Black Grape or otherwise. Aimless opener and title track The Limelight is, at best, a forgettable scrape of leftover studio material. An attempt at capturing the acid house and baggy glory days but without the seasoned veterans having much more to add. Orange Head was a catastrophe of a release, and it is a shame considering the quality found on that album. Patchy but irreverent style which holds firm to the scope Ryder and company can offer with the Black Grape project. But The Limelight is too erratic, too underwhelming, to constitute much of a surprise. Liquid Sunshine suffers the same fate, a messy club noise pop which feels more like being dragged along the sweat and spirit-soaked floor than dancing above it.  

Stumble through the nothing conversation and garbled speech, the slam of electronic misery and find your way to the door. Black Grape hinges on the forgotten conversations pub talk consist of but never makes good on the shock pride and principle which can be found in those dark moments. Ryder talking nonsense into the microphone is nothing new and here it loses its charm, unable to contend with what Orange Head stands for. It is less clear now than ever before to figure out what Black Grape now intends for its audience, especially after failing to make a splash with their ill-fated, delayed album. Three extra songs are not exactly kindling a fire beneath our feet and while Liquid Sunshine is a slight shuffle in the right direction, it all comes apart with Part of Everything.  

Those alleged mind games heard on the EP closer are probably the best of the bunch. But they claw at the successes of a genre which has long passed Black Grape. Ryder has a particular vocal range now, and he navigates those changes tremendously. What he cannot keep up with is the soft, Underworld-like sound within, the unfortunate and cloying style heard throughout The Limelight is too heavy a burden. It is not like Ryder and the gang are offering anything of shocking variety here, it is another sloppy selection of trying to understand the need to pause. This desire to have more and more has never worked out and Part of Everything becomes a well-connected if futile experience. Underwhelming, sure. But passionate, at the very least. That is what Orange Head had. At least it rubs off on The Limelight.