Niall Horan is the easiest One Direction alum to like, primarily because he’s had the fewest expectations thrust upon him. He was never the face of the band, and hasn’t crafted his own mythology to live up to in the years since their 2016 split. He hasn’t, unlike Harry Styles, become the unexpected embodiment of SoCal bohemia. He’s not one for pouty evasion, like Zayn Malik, or elaborate cringe, like Liam Payne, or even haunted steeliness, like Louis Tomlinson.
Instead, Horan largely occupies a comfortable, if veering-into-anodyne middleground – and it fits him like an old shoe. Heartbreak Weather, Horan’s follow up to his 2017 solo debut Flicker, is largely drab by design – a mid-tempo tranquilliser of an album that only occasionally sparks to life. The majority of its producers are carried over from his debut, bringing with them the milquetoast balladry that has become Horan’s solo forte.
Perhaps this is because Horan is at ease in that world, singing about lost loves and relationships gone bad, an occasional fiddle serenading him… But then how to explain various tracks that aspire to head off to somewhere else entirely? It makes Heartbreak Weather a haphazard listen, as well as one that may point to something of an identity crisis.
“Nice to Meet Ya”, the album’s first single, felt like a statement of intent. Horan’s enjoyably lethargic vocal crackles with sly cockiness, over a foot-tapping clash of yelps, chants and Britpop psychedelia – but this sound isn’t replicated anywhere else on the record. It’s a marvellous entry point to an album that doesn’t exist.
There are a few tracks surrounding it that inspire vaguely similar pleasures. The jittery “New Angel”, co-written by Adele and Sia producer Greg Kurstin, combines sensual guitar licks and echoing keyboards to striking effect. “Arms of a Stranger”, an anthemic ode to lost love, is concert-ready and irresistibly shiny – albeit in a “Life Is a Rollercoaster”-era Ronan Keating sort of way.
The rest of the album struggles to define itself. Much like Flicker, it’s a record seemingly inspired by the MOR stylings of early-Noughties David Gray and underpinned by treacly lyrics. “It’s your world I want to live in, it’s your ocean I want to swim in,” Horan sings on “Cross Your Mind”, a loud bit of pop rock built for singalongs around a pub piano.
“San Francisco”, meanwhile, traffics in the wistful, geographically specific romantic nostalgia already cornered by Taylor Swift. The sparse “No Judgement” is an attempt to emulate the tropical-flavoured lo-fi pop of Justin Bieber’s Purpose. But they only serve to remind the listener that this is largely anonymous material – it could be written about anyone, and sung by whomever.
Horan is impossible to dislike, forever existing on the right side of cheesy, but the result is a record almost entirely stuck on safe mode. You can only hope its stronger moments hint at better things to come.
