Album Review | Joel Harkin | Never Happy

Sometimes years of hard work, ruthless dedication and perfect timing conspire to create something outstanding. Occasionally, the sheer fact that it's brilliant is enough. In Joel Harkin's case, the pendulum of graft and ability sits at peace in the middle, with 'Never Happy', his debut record, the fruits of a life addicted to music.

On first listen, 'Never Happy' already feels essential. Unlike it's introverted younger brother, (2018's 'Rose Water' EP) the hooks here are so sharp you almost don't want to touch them, for fear of it piercing your heart. The instrumentation shimmers; backwards banjos, plucked strings and thunderous drums all take their turn at the front of the mix at different times, never overshadowing Harkin's cries. It's been a fascinating journey for the Donegal native, which we detailed somewhat in our previous review of the single 'Vada'.

In a brave move, Harkin places his trust in the four songs that made up 'Rose Water' to form the backbone of Never Happy. These songs are given a facelift in the process and each is exponentially improved as a result. Producer George Sloan gifts an alt-country twang to proceedings, and pedal steel guitarists are drafted in from America. This is all perfectly befitting of Harkin's maudlin life lessons. On opener 'Old Churches', the introduction of Deirdre Kelly's harmonies play in tandem with Arcade Fire inspired synthesizers, and guitars that crash like waves off the coast. 'A Letter To Mark Loughrey' is similarly revitalised, but it's the primal howls at the end of 'Charlie & Deirdre' that hit home just how special this record is, and how much of himself he's poured into these songs.

The brilliance hinted at in Harkin's live shows has found its home on this LP. We hear it most clearly on 'Lake Irene''s bottleneck guitar solos and Damien Rice swell. On 'No Recycling''s bouncing chorus and stark anti-capitalist sentiments. It's a record bereft of opportunities for the skip button, designed for vinyl listening on autumnal evenings.  'Beautiful Clouded Sky' is underpinned by Belfast rain, as Harkin talks of his soul slipping from beneath him. When he sings, 'This house is cold, but Deirdre's been writing and we've a blanket on' in 'Silver Lines', you're in the room with him, taking shelter from the dark. 'We Ate Sorbet In La Rochelle' drifts in and out of focus like a fast fading dream, but there's just enough detail to keep it real.

You see, this is where Harkin truly blooms. In the aforementioned 'Lake Irene', he arrives in Kyoto to 'get off the grid' from his fictitious Tokyo home. He admires the cherry blossoms, the simpler way of living and how this may change him. He then returns us to Belfast, Dunluce Avenue, and the friends he'll never really leave behind. The trust that we've built with Joel Harkin 6 songs in to 'Never Happy' is rock solid, metaphorical or otherwise. This is a friend talking.

By the time we reach 'Thought I'd Go Home', everything has gone full circle, a song that sounds like he recorded it on his kitchen floor at 4 in the morning. The party is well and truly over, the last of the guests have left, and we're alone with an acoustic guitar. There's one last story to tell, of a beloved friend and their big brown eyes. He wonders if he was enough, and how to celebrate the simple stuff.

Despite this records title, somewhere in the debris Joel Harkin finds the contentment he's longing for. There's echoes of Oberst, Bridgers and Burnside, but the voice emerging from the gatefold vinyl is sincerely his own. A very important record.

Taylor Johnson