King Charles - Out Of My Mind
This is likely to be the most unsurprising statement you’ll ever read but…sex sells.
It’s the truest adage of commercialism, and also the oldest. And brace yourselves ladies and gentlemen, because King Charles – who used to harness a sound lazily pigeon-holed as ‘folky psychedelia’ – is feeling sexy. Or he’s feeling skint. On Out Of My Mind it’s hard to tell which.
His last album, Gamble For A Rose of 2016, added some guitar-shaped muscle to the whimsy of his debut, but didn’t really take it up to the next level. So, as sure as eggs is eggs, a volte-face has been performed and we now have a much poppier record. It’s easy for a reviewer to be dismissive when this happens (because it’s very likely to have been a conscious decision), but we must remember that, like all of us, musicians have bills to pay.
And it’s fine for what it is. There are some gems contained within; ‘Deeper Love’ is cut from the same cloth as Prince, attitude-pop held together by a throbbing bassline, liberally dashed with finger clicks and gospel choir. ‘Feel These Heavy Times’ floats with summery abandon, a jaunty sea shanty with infectious positivity while the slinky, laconic funk of ‘Freak’ soulfully shimmers from the speakers.
But it’s the preoccupation of matters carnal which drag the album down, and sadly that’s broadly the concept: the title-track feels pensive with bluesy guitars that add to the drama, but are let down by Charles Costa’s voice, breathing into the ear, ‘I want to feel your lightning strike’. ‘She’s A Freak’ goes one step further (‘you’ll be coming all night’) while the bouncing beat and chiming keys of ‘Drive All Night can’t hide his avarice.
Worst of all is ‘Money Is God’, which has to be ironic if King Charles has any sense. Like the worst of arrogant 2000s R&B records it opens with a cod-air hostess spoken introduction before breathy female vocals hide the lack of real structure. If it is a parody of all those misogynistic offerings (and let’s give it the benefit of the doubt), then it’s unerringly close to the real thing.
On the occasions when he eases away from matters coitus, the luxurious production serves the songs well. ‘Melancholy Julia’ recalls his roots, aping Mumford & Sons in its earnestness and throwing in some Johnny Buckland guitar licks, although it doesn’t burst into life despite continually threatening to do so. Meanwhile, ‘Watchman’ stands out from the rest of the album, all poodle rock guitars and melodrama once again channeling Prince but on his more mainstream offerings.
Out Of My Mind has several things working in its favour: as noted, the production is first class, and vocally King Charles pushes himself bravely where his contemporaries wouldn’t dare to tread. Musically, there’s huge amounts of variation and expertise on show, and recounts of his emotional, physical and mental recovery from a skiing accident in 2010. At points it just feels a bit too tacky.