September 13, 2004 by A.S. Van Dorston

Ed Harcourt is bursting with songs and love. He supposedly had written over 300 songs before his first album, 2001’s Here Be Monsters was released. With Strangers being only his third full length, it must be a maddening process picking which songs will be immortalized on album and which will die in obscurity. As a singer-songwriter, Harcourt’s destiny is not to define a new musical genre, but to release dozens of albums full of consistently great songs, perhaps have a fluke hit or win a Grammy for his contribution to a hit romantic comedy and grow old as a cherished musical treasure. He won’t be idolized like tragic heroes Jeff Buckley or Elliott Smith, but he’s likely to produce more great music than the two of them put together. For now, Ed’s in love, and at 26 (at the time he wrote them), he’s still young enough to convey the giddiness of new love untainted by the jaded pessimism of older souls.

Though oddly characterized as a Tom Waits acolyte, Harcourt’s best songs are usually the happy, lighthearted pop songs. While he’s proven to have the depth of character and soul to pull off doom and gloom worthy of Nick Cave, this time around, the downhearted tunes don’t ring as true. “The Storm Is Coming” could be interpreted as predicting doom, but it sounds like he’s happy to meet the challenge, featuring the most aggressive guitars that have ever graced a Harcourt album. “Born in the 70s” is a great tune with funny lines like “My parents named me Ed / I tried my hardest to smile,” managing to delve into nostalgia without being cloying. “Strangers” is another sunny jaunt, stripped down to simple hand percussion, tambourine and even a kazoo. “Something To Live For” features delicate tinkling bells and a soft organ, its arrangement actually does resemble, ironically, some of Tom Waits’ softer tunes. “Music Box” is an earnest attempt at a wartime tale.

Recorded in the heart of a Swedish forest, Strangers generally features richer production than the minimalist From Every Sphere, lending resonance to the heavy violin-driven “Let Love Not Weigh Me Down” and the surprisingly radio-ready slickness of “Loneliness,” which sounds similar to Hawksley Workman’s more successful attempts at a commercial sound. Even on the slighter songs, Harcourts heart-on-sleeve lyrics and wonderfully rich voice are always beguiling. This winning, highly personal album makes Harcourt’s success rate three for three. A great start to his forty album oeuvre.