P.J. O’Connor
Television’s Golden Age
Self-released
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[Read our interview with P.J. O’Connor here]

Singer-songwriter P.J. O'Connor's path through music has two strands. He's busked through Ireland, commanding and demanding the attention of strangers who didn't necessarily want to hear his work, let alone pay him for it. And he's worked as a session and touring musician, backing up others while trying to avoid attracting attention.

It's an ebb and flow seen in music, with norms shifting from low-key, natural performances (think roots music with its acoustic instrumentation) to theatrical spectacles (think KISS in their prime). Television's Golden Age, O'Connor's solo debut, doesn't bridge those two worlds so much as it shows that they're more related than many would like to admit.

To be clear, Television's Golden Age isn't pocked with the din of exploding flash pots. But O'Connor's make-up free voice has a David Byrne-like texture that while delightful, lacks the straightforwardness we're conditioned to expect from singer-songwriters. O'Connor, who had previous musical stops in the Bogmen and Radio 4, doesn't sound like he's sadly singing from his back porch or living room, so much as he sounds like he's regretfully singing from the future.

The sincerity comes through, as it did with Byrne, but O’Connor’s timbre gives the songs a different kind of orientation. This isn't the Americana of southern America but rather the Americana of Garden City, Long Island, O'Connor's birthplace.

The songs and performances are beautiful, melancholy melodies suddenly joyfully soaring, like a gust of wind catching a kite moments before it hits the ground. The title track skips with a strong acoustic strum that was surely perfected during O'Connor's street-playing days. But the drums and guitars inseparably swirl together. It's pure groove that allows O'Connor's voice to sweetly roll through the song. The performance is honest if not intimate, representative of O'Connor's musical wheelhouse.

There's also a thread of older-sounding songs that work well with O'Connor's modern voice. "Wolf Den" feels like ‘60s bubblegum pop, complete with hand claps. The song bops but the lyrics reveal a sad tale of a broken relationship: "Well if I knew all the hell that you'd put me through / I would have never messed around with a girl like you."

"Rogue Waves" is a country dirge, O'Connor's voice wrapped in a haze of effects, the intensity contemporary, but the presentation sounding like a vestige of the past.

"The Radiator's Wheezing" has a similarly old-fashioned sound, O'Connor's voice floating distantly through the track for the first 45 seconds or so, until suddenly snapping into focus, like a radio dial finally discovering a station. The three tracks frame O'Connor a bit more in traditional roots sounds and provide a captivating B story for the record.

Television's Golden Age's appeal is O'Connor's personal sound. There's a slight idiosyncrasy to the songs that keeps the album engaging. It's not roots and it's not rock, but it's also roots and rock. Just as "Radiator's Wheezing" begins slightly out of focus, O'Connor adorns his songs with a fun blurriness, like the sip of a drink separating giddy from blackout drunk. O'Connor's debut is fully formed and shows how music can be direct without being stark.

Notable Tracks: “The Radiator’s Wheezing” | “Rogue Waves” | “Television’s Golden Age” | “Wolf Den”

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