After years of hype surrounding the Nine Black Alps front man (thanks Gorman), this latest offering has given me the perfect chance to grapple with Sam Forrest. It’s a resounding victory for both him, and his advocates.
Strolling in with his earthy tones, Forrest is tearing apart the current singer-songwriter paradigm, from the inside out. The Edge of Nowhere is more contemplative than it is commercial, pulling through more of the real world with every passing beat.
It’s this openness that serves as the album’s best hook. Forrest comes to us with his soul exposed and wounds gaping, and this is something that no amount of rhyming couplets or pentameter could replace. The album isn’t about to satisfy the movers and the shakers but hell, I don’t think it’s trying to.
Instead, The Edge of Nowhere befuddles the senses. It’s the Sirens on the rock, with a murky lullaby to pull you in, only to release you at the album’s end. It gets into your head, then like a dog it marks its territory. Only, it’s not pop – so how could this happen?
How, indeed. You need only turn to Forrest’s modest website for the glamour of musicianship to be shattered. It’s not about the beat, the image, the rhymes – It’s about the bits in between. And Sam Forrest has these bits in abundance…