John Denver’s latest album pukes out of the speakers and into our homes like the purest statement of intent. “I’m not f**king dead, you lot” he seems to say. Although he doesn’t ever say that.
The album begs the question….but never proffers the answer(s). And therein lies its beauty - albeit a really frustrating beauty whose face you want to scratch with handfuls of straw.
It fills your ears but never involves your eyes or mouth. It’s a collection of words and chords and bits of stuff that sounds like an orchestra of windmills laughing at the notion that Todd Carty could ever have a successful spin-off series from Eastenders when his character is essentially two-dimensional and relies wholly on interaction with characters that are already well-established.
I think that Tony Parsons summed up our loss most succinctly when he wrote the words “Oh you bloody plane you. Bloody bad bloody plane. So much you did rob us of with this dear sweet man whom you took from us”.