Happy 20th Anniversary to Badly Drawn Boy’s debut studio album The Hour of Bewilderbeast, originally released June 26, 2000.
A masseuse once told me that I built a cage around my heart. It made me smile in a bleak sort of way. Until then, I thought I was only dealing with an unplanned wall or two.
Dismantling this self-imposed prison has been an ongoing campaign, with no clear game plan or timetable. But every once in a while, the unexpected transpires, lending the situation a shred of hope. The Hour of Bewilderbeast, the debut album by Badly Drawn Boy, is central to one such story.
A chance encounter at my neighborhood bar had led to a charming first date. We had enough in common (including musically) to make conversation easy, but plenty not in common to create the appropriate amount of mystery. Our evening flew by—a dazzle of cocktails and kisses—but it’s the next morning I remember most.
An enchanting serenade of cello and horns had filled his room, each instrument majestically beaming, then mingling before seeping together into the June morning sunshine. And then, the grandness of that minute melted into something far more intimate, but equally powerful—the gentle guitar and glistening vocals of Damon Michael Gough, the British songwriter behind the Badly Drawn Boy moniker.
“The Shining,” lambent opener to The Hour of Bewilderbeast, was spilling its gorgeous light all around us—the magical combined effect of Gough’s delicate poetry and endearingly unsteady voice awash strings, brass and sublime strumming. After months of feeling so cold and dead inside, adrift in “The Shining” in that room (“To put a little bit of sunshine in your life / Soleil all over you / Warm sun pours over me / Soleil all over you”), I remembered the warmth I’d forgotten. Such a perfect start to summer.
That was four years ago—16 years after the album’s release. Since that sunburst intro, I felt compelled to study the whole of Gough’s catalog. In a discography rich with treasures along the lines of Sam Beam/Iron & Wine, I still consider “The Shining” to be his most resplendent (although “In Safe Hands” from It's What I'm Thinking (Part One Photographing Snowflakes) undoes me in equal measure) in part because it sets in motion an unlikely masterpiece.
True to its name, the 18 varied tracks of The Hour of Bewilderbeast clock in just over 60 minutes, coalescing into a scintillating debut that managed to scoot past Coldplay’s Parachutes (2000) and Doves’ Lost Souls (2000) for the Mercury Prize. I, for one, am not surprised. It’s true I was more than fashionably late to the party, but if I had been in the know, I certainly would have favored Badly Drawn Boy for the win. The elegant instrumentation throughout is undoubtedly magnetic. But, it’s Gough’s bare, yet brazen delivery that uniquely transfixes, pulling the listener into his innermost reflections on his relationship—in all its beauty, agony and vulnerability.
At home alongside timeless talents like Nick Drake and Elliott Smith, Badly Drawn Boy’s writing is raw yet confident, coaxing emotion from our most desperately secret places, while offering sanctuary for the sentimental.
In an interview circa the album’s 15th year anniversary, Gough described this earnestness, noting, “I think that one thing that I can be proud of with the album is the naivety that went into it; it being my first attempt to record an album. I think that the naivety shines through. I think that probably is the main reason why people took the album to heart. There is a certain honesty in the sound of it. That is something that you can never really repeat. Try as you might your first album is your first album. I think that is what is special about that album to me.”
In general, I gravitate to the unvarnished impulses of artists just starting out—authentic, innocent, largely unencumbered by commercial expectations and pollutants. But, it’s misleading to suggest The Hour of Bewilderbeast was Gough’s first collection of songs. Before signing to XL Recordings in 1999 and issuing his full-length studio debut, he’d released a handful of EPs on Twisted Nerve, the label he co-founded with DJ, graphic designer and fellow Mancunian Andy Votel.
By the time of Gough’s first release, the five-track EP1, in September 1997, he’d already devised his Badly Drawn Boy alter ego, a name that captures his childlike imagination and self-deprecating humor. Although he’s expressed mixed feelings about the quirky moniker, it’s served as an effective marketing tactic in that it’s both attention-getting and disarmingly sincere. Coupled with the cute portmanteau, bewilderbeast, the aesthetic presents a bit of an enigma for the uninitiated.
“I am always half putting myself down and half saying that I am the best thing ever. I am a bit of a contradiction so Bewilderbeast was just a reference to me being like I haven’t got a clue but this is the best that I can give you,” Gough recalled.
But, it’s clear the then-30-year-old Gough didn’t need a clue. He had something far more instructive. Although he derived storytelling inspiration from a variety of influences, from Dylan to Beck to Springsteen, he let his intuition lead him. So, even though the songs reveal a gamut of styles and producers and flaunt an array of instruments and sounds, there’s a natural stream of consciousness guiding their sequencing that makes it all feel fluid, cohesive and immediate.
And although vivid and accessible, The Hour of Bewilderbeast also charms with myriad murky dreamlike surprises—random samples, unexpected twangs, surreal interludes. At times, it’s reminiscent of the fuzzed-out lo-fi sounds the 90s à la Sebadoh, Pavement or even Bedhead, but all these special flourishes make it seem more unrestrained and playful. I’ve probably listened to this album 100 times and still pick up delightful little oddities in the background.
In keeping with its free, unadulterated spirit, The Hour of Bewilderbeast pays fitting attention to nature. The elements and pastoral images abound, conjuring reflections we can all easily relate to. “The Shining” may restore us in its stellar glow, but just a couple songs later, we slip into an aquatic triptych that triggers ripples of doubt and loneliness. In “Camping Next to Water,” the simplicity of the sentiment, “But there's no use in feeling / All the things I'm feeling / There's no one here to feel with me,” stings with universal truth. The first time I heard it, I thought of my ex, whom my heart was, against all better judgment (and perhaps, then, an only partially constructed cage), still stubbornly drawn to. But now, years later, after sheltering in place for months, the words confer a different absence (a topic best left alone in the interest of closure).
Despite its melancholic moments, the eclectic compilation features many breezy tunes primed for college radio success. Singles like “Another Pearl” and “Once Around the Block” are fine examples and would play well in most indie-rock sets. But, it would be remiss to not touch on the album’s less-vocal compositions. A favorite of mine is the eponymous “Bewilderbeast,” a standout instrumental that builds with lilting energy.
During The Hour of Bewilderbeast #TimsTwitterListeningParty earlier this month, Gough commented, “I liked the idea that the title track was an instrumental, that the music meant more than the words perhaps.” I guess if there’s one thing the made-up bewilderbeast teaches us, it’s to trust ourselves. Hiding in the self-defeating uncertainty are our instincts—and, if this record is any indication, they’re usually spot-on.
Clinging to that reminder, I’ll continue to gather the light where I see it (“The stars above shine on me / I beckon them to fall on me / I'll catch and save them in a jar”) and hopefully find a way out of this trap.
LISTEN: