Hello, Parsons
Richard Parsons
Until The Sun Dies
(Not Likely Sober)
Confessional singer-songwriters have a bad rap, so much so at IE we generally regard submissions such as this for the scrap heap, left to die with everyone else who “taught” themselves guitar and put G-C-D chord patterns together.
Even worse for us is something from a year ago with no relevant info such as tour dates or a somewhat-significant reissue. Richard Parsons surely wasn’t playing the odds on sending us Until The Sun Dies. Sounding identical to Ryan Adams on “Holy Ghost” confirms as much.
Yet it’s hard to deny a relationship epitaph like “I’ve got scars you can’t see/You got what was left of me.” It makes filing Until among the also-rans feel disingenuous. “Three Short Years” and “So It Goes” tear at the insides with controlled self-embowelment like bad intentions and even worse surgical scissors. Parsons’ fractured delivery embodies heartbreak, earmarking lost Britons like Ed Harcourt with post lo-fi abandon and fraying edges purposefully and maliciously. It’d be a shame if he were never to be heard from again, but then that seems to work wonders for guys like Parsons’ reputations.
— Steve Forstneger
