From Stockport pyramids to the allure of a strong service station, Antony Szmierek has found the subtle beauties in the everyday. There is at least some love to have for a Loco petrol stop-off, the taste of diesel and whiff of Wild Bean coffee. That blur of spoken word work and electronic thrills is so well-balanced by Szmierek here, a climb through the thrills of sharp production and everyday encounters. Add the magic, the imagination, which runs three during those dull moments, and what you have is a project like Service Station at the End of the Universe. It is not the thrill of a stop-off at the supermarket or a drive on an open road, but the dullness which lets the mind drift off, the automatic feel for familiarity. We are all guilty of it, but Szmierek shares how to deal with it. Through thriving electronics
Post-party hangups and reminiscent moments, even immediately removed from one event or another, which already feel they are reliant on what is not real. Szmierek captures the memory, the lack of care for it, brilliantly. A small bit of post-party confetti on Rafters is an outstanding observation, building on his well-paced lyrical drops. Where the motivational moments, the lyrics of getting one life and living it to its potential, feeling like some cheap greeting card message, fall flat, the project as a whole, is fun. A consistent tone is all part of the thrill for Service Station at the End of the Universe. Instrumentals which make a difference but do not steal the spotlight from Szmierek’s sharp writing, the wants and hopes of being in the right place at the wrong times. Little bits of life, cut out of context and shared as ordinary but overwhelming. Falling asleep with the big light on, as found on the aptly titled Big Light, shines through.
Crucial to Service Station at the End of the Universe is how genuine Szmierek comes off. Yoga Teacher has some slick guitar riffs and a spoken-word style which merges the sexual hang-ups Jarvis Cocker perfected with the modern-day decay Yard Act are storming through. A blur of both those worlds with a confidence, an adaptation of everything from yoga to the post-pandemic club scene, is blisteringly strong. Those Manchester-based situations, the brief and fleeting encounters heard on Crumb, are given a crucial, colloquial edge. Putdowns of the modern problems, from attention span deficits to the immediate want and gain of experiences. There is a little lost in the consistencies of the electronic tone, with latter songs like Take Me There a little slack compared to the whirlwind of brilliance beforehand.
Szmierek navigates the modern world with a fearsome and uncanny perspective. He is right there with us, shoulder to shoulder as the intricacies of the ever-evolving cities continue to overwhelm. Service Station at the End of the World does not offer a conclusion or way to break from those anxieties which prevail in a socially addicted world, but it does present a new understanding of everything. Now we have a chance to Google any trouble or concern we have; the immediate call and response of the internet has added a new layer of anxiety. Szmierek explores this throughout Service Station at the End of the World, best of all on the symptom fears of Crashing Up. Microscopic commentaries from Szmierek are the real strength here, as consistent as the electronic thrill backing his comments on the alienation we feel in modern culture and romance.
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