As the singer in Steve Hackett’s live band for many years, Nad Sylvan has located the perfect midpoint between the vocal styles of Peter Gabriel and Phil Collins, while never forsaking his own soulful spin on those tones and timbres. He’s made a challenging gig seem easy.
Away from the Genesis Revisited repertoires, his solo work has only hinted at a distinct musical personality. His first few albums remained indebted to his muses, hugging the shore of Genesis. This was no bad thing.
The superb Courting The Widow and The Bride Said No offered magical visits to that mother lode, a kind of methadone for those who wish more mid-period Genesis albums existed. And his formative work with Unifaun, bordering on cosplay, was a knowingly reverential treat.
Here, however, he’s trying to cut the cord and float in his own space –Monumentata is Sylvan’s most personal, vulnerable set of songs. Previous personae, like the ‘Vampirate,’ have mainly been rested, and instead of grandiose fables he’s writing about his own life and feelings.
He sings in a slightly lower register than the one he familiarly deploys, and there’s a kick and snarl in early passages
The title track is a tribute to his father, who died last year aged 96, having in youth been a tennis star at the highest levels. That’s relevant because another song, Monte Carlo Priceless, spins off an imagined scene of Sylvan’s parents in glamorous locations in the 1950s, exploring darker, bittersweet fantasies from there.
The album seems determined to prove he can sound unlike Genesis. He plainly feels he’s done that enough. In the cage? He had to get in to get out. It’s still, generally, a progressive rock record, with Sylvan’s own keyboards and guitars augmented by such guitarists as Randy McStine and David Kollar, drummers including Marco Minnemann and Felix Lehrmann, and bass wizards Jonas Reingold, Nick Beggs and Tony Levin.
Yet it’s more direct. Secret Lover muscles in with a heavy metal riff and frantic shredding, while That’s Not Me is equally aggressive. He sings in a slightly lower register than the one he familiarly deploys, and there’s a kick and snarl to these early passages.
Later, the music relaxes and allows itself to breathe more. Flowerland and Make Somebody Proud exhibit elements of the melancholy moods Sylvan has often mastered, while Monumentata itself has a sweet piano-led candour redolent of Kate Bush’s Lionheart.
As this record takes a diversion from his customary playbook, he reveals a broader range of talent. How much his listeners appreciate this sharp turn will depend on whether they demand he stays in their comfort zone or encourage him to spread his creative wings.
Monumentata is on sale now via InsideOut.
