Eugene McGuinness – The Early Learnings of Eugene McGuiness

“Weird bubbly noises float in and out whilst McGuiness tests the bounds of his sanity by singing his stream of consciousness lines. Sometimes they are fey beyond belief, but you just can’t help thinking that he’s staring madly and uncomprehendingly at a poster of Ronnie Corbett as he does so.”

“Weird bubbly noises float in and out whilst McGuiness tests the bounds of his sanity by singing his stream of consciousness lines. Sometimes they are fey beyond belief, but you just can’t help thinking that he’s staring madly and uncomprehendingly at a poster of Ronnie Corbett as he does so.”


Eugene McGuinness – The Early Learnings of Eugene McGuiness


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Now this is something else. It’s the real deal people. The Early Learnings of Eugene McGuiness is a release that is in equal parts off its head, pop heaven and worrying. Right from the opener High Score (an Irish Syd Barrett number if ever I heard one) the record is one long psychedelic gas. Weird bubbly noises float in and out whilst McGuiness tests the bounds of his sanity by singing his stream of consciousness lines. Sometimes they are fey beyond belief, but you just can’t help thinking that he’s staring madly and uncomprehendingly at a poster of Ronnie Corbett as he does so. And for this assumption on my part, I forgive him. And is it just me, but does Mr McGuiness’s music sound astonishingly like the Incredible String Band’s at times? Must be me… I did like the silly ending too. Very post-modern.


 


The lad has charm and wit in bucket-loads on recorded sound at least, for a just listen to Monsters Under My Bed or Vampire Casino. I’m not going to sit here quoting his lyrics as I see enough of the inkies have done it already, and by now all hipsters will be taking their stance. Suffice to say I find it a true tonic listening to The Early Learnings… even the surprisingly maudlin numbers. I actually hope he’s not great live, in that this is the sort of stuff that should remain in bedroom day-dreams or in studios and not be given expression on a stage. Your hopes would be so high it’d only disappoint. And imagine all the chin-stroking bastards at his gigs, ergh.


 


Words: Richard Foster