Muristek
(Columbia)The Budapest and Shotgun singer teeters between hook-laden and cheesy on his third album – though the best tracks reveal there’s more to Ezra than mere jollity
At the start of this year, George Ezra gave an interview to the Observer. It was filled with talk of “drawing a line in the sand”, the possibility of giving up touring and his willingness to put limitations on his success. He was resolute that he didn’t want to break the US – it “would kill me” – and staunch in his belief that a vastly successful pop career was incompatible with parenthood.
This was not, perhaps, the kind of talk one might expect from Ezra. His two multi-platinum albums to date have been thanks to his relentless positivity. Almost uniquely among the ranks of male singer-songwriters with voices a furniture salesman would describe as “artfully distressed”, Ezra’s hits dealt not in angst, but carefree cheeriness. Whether the lyrics specifically mentioned the sun, bikinis or the yellow and green of sand framed by palm trees, singles such as Paradise and Shotgun always carried a distinct whiff of SPF 50 and the sun lounger selfie.
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