Listen to the nota bene which appears in the occasional album liner notes. Do not read the lyrics while listening to the song. Not only does it steal away the magic which comes from the pairing of music and sound, but it also has the potential to shine a light on weakness. Richard Ashcroft was never an all-time great lyricist. He found himself relying on the instrumental strength of The Verve and, in his live shows, still does to a degree. Ashcroft has not fiddled around with the accepted style of his work for some time, though Lover offers him the chance. A pretty and inspired song which no doubt has emotional value to Ashcroft and the song’s target, but love songs are let down by a mention of the feeling. To look directly at it, to mention it by name, is its own nota bene. Lover, from the aptly titled Lovin’ You, is an agonising new song from Ashcroft, a man whose best work is, it would seem, far behind him.
A familiar instrumental sound is presented, one which ties Ashcroft to the strings of his earlier works. But the mixing, the choices made in the studio here, are a muddle. A to-the-pop-beat disaster with some of the worst songwriting you may hear this decade. Forget this year, there has been a serving tray of criminally poor tunes, but Lover is the main event. Ashcroft cannot decide whether he wants to stick to his guitar music guns or expand into the novelty of chart-chasing styles. He does both, and the effort is an unsteady piece. At its very best, it is unpredictable. Not in a way which implies hidden quality, but in a nonsensical way as Ashcroft launches into tributes to lovers, lazy synth-like additions and a barely audible series of vocal changes which have his voice fade in and out of the foreground. Lover is an alternative pop-chasing sound, fair play to Ashcroft for challenging audience expectations.
But is the individual challenged if, instead of a water balloon, a brick is thrown? Not really. The surprise wears off, and what’s left is a stinging feeling. Ashcroft can shuffle the deck of genre influences all he likes, it will not make Lover any more or less interesting. The clear problem is the writing, horrific work which those at the top of the charts on similar-sounding songs would turn their nose at. Half the song is Ashcroft moaning and oohing after an undefined lover, the other half is a collection of worthless comparisons and metaphors for the relationship with the titular other half. When a love can only be expressed through the banal and overused synonyms and trotted-out clichés of life, is it truly that strong a love? Lover is unconvincing at the best of times.
A grossly dull song which has Ashcroft too loved-up to think of better lyrics. It’s a song without a fitting tempo or even style. Those moments which could suggest sincerity are overloaded with electronic spare parts, a staggeringly bad attempt at offering Ashcroft to new listeners. Those who loved his old work will find nothing of interest here, and those who were not aware of his work outside The Verve are given little reason to return, other than to laugh at the effort. It’s a song which has no uniqueness to it. Every lyric is extracted from an overused phrase, and it is not built on from there. Birds of a feather may work for Billie Eilish, but that is because the questioning, longing, and skill found within that song overhauls the well-known phrase. Ashcroft merely hopes the phrase itself will do the talking for him. It does, and that is the problem.
