Falling Down a Mountain

It would be fair to say that Stuart Staples is one of the most unfirly anonymous singer-songwriters around. While not wishing to dwell too much on pointless comparisons, one wonders had he originated from somewhere more glamorous than the suburbs of Nottingham if his name would be uttered amidst the same breathing spaces as such esteemed troubadours as Nick Cave, Will Oldham or Bryan Ferry. As it happens, his vocal styling and deftly monosyllabic approach to storytelling means he's levered bits of all three into a devilishly unique concoction, and through his Tindersticks outlet - now a staggering 18 years young - has created a record that certainly rivals, if not betters any of its three predecessors from the past decade.

To be honest, I’ve never really gotten over Tindersticks’ eponymous second album (sometimes called Tindersticks II). It’s flawless. I come back to it every winter, as if there’s something about this uniquely British melancholia—the sweeping string arrangements, Stuart Staples’s haunting baritone (enough to make Nick Cave sound positively pubescent), lyrics of regret and longing—that simply fits with desolate, snowy landscapes.