If Sean James Donnelly could cash-in all the many stars he's had on his reviews over the years, he would be probably be our wealthiest local musician. He's been a critical fave for most of his now seven-album career span, one which started out in experimental sampled electronica before declaring his songwriting hands on the likes of Southern Lights (2004), an album which began something of a dream run. One which by the sounds of Saint John Divine seems to have continued.
His previous one Electric Wasteland won him the Taite Prize, though its frosty electropop maybe didn't hit the same emotional spots he'd managed with the songcraft of his previous efforts.
Saint John Divine, though, is blessed with warmth, indelible melodies, and stories to tell from SJD's askew, dryly witty point of view.
Unlike its laptop-driven predecessor, it's an album of SJD and musicians (some better known than he) producing a set big on gentle guitars, orchestral adornments, sweet harmonies and nifty details.
The often rich arrangements - especially on ballads Unplugged and the closing Was I Always Here - sometimes reminding of the wide-screen fold gorgeousness of Beck's Morning Phase.
