My Review: Grant Swarbrooke - Kaleidoscope Bad Wisdom

 Alex Dematteis

Musicshockworld

Salford

21st April 2026

Album of the year 2026!

Grant Swarbrooke - Kaleidoscope Bad Wisdom

A hushed winter is the panacea for every illusion, a physical journey in search of a place free from disturbance, a sinking air that slowly wraps itself around weariness and languor. In music, this season is not fully understood; it is often dismissed, and certainly not much loved, as it is attributed with a negativity that is entirely unjustified and unfair. More hidden truths flow through those months than in the rest of the year; appearances lose their charm and the need for an inner space prevails, with the intention of dispensing with fleeting distractions; the need for truth is revealed.

And the magnifying glass becomes the sole tool for sorting out what must guide the soul towards what lies ahead.

In this artist’s long-awaited debut, everything is vitality, substance, reflection and hints, with the ever-present trail of a vigorous melancholy—a lethargy that is only apparent, for in reality Grant Swarbrooke channels his energy into drawing boundaries, encompassing sensations and moods, creating eddies and trails of thought that remain ever close to an essential and authentic minimalism.

Scents do not display themselves in the sky but beneath the snow, the blankets, the intuitions of a magic that the Bath-based artist conceives as a personal reserve, a bundle of secrets that find the wisdom of modesty, the absence of a megaphone, preferring creative processes like a scarf devoid of ego. These compositions are a narrative, not a reflection or a series of photographs, but a story that reveals only the shadow of a series of faces, the twilight of dreams, the warmth of contacts concealed by the blends of an acoustic spirit capable of drawing upon an electricity that requires no thousands of watts to create the impression that these musical notes are the vibrations of an earthquake at the centre of the ocean…

It was meant to be an EP, it became an album, but this is not the news or the reason for such immense joy: the reality lies in the immense quality of the balance, in the structure of the eleven tracks, in a continuous language that has its own peculiarities and its hiding places, tentacles and networks in constant display, a shyness that comforts and teaches. 

Grant has a room full of seeds and insights, yet never feels the need to bring their contents out into the open. This is where the magic of a mystery arises – one that cannot be unravelled, despite hundreds of listens. The sung words are travelling companions, never presumptuous, never in the spotlight, choosing instead to be accompanying sounds rather than forms of consciousness seeking a landing place.

And the winter mentioned earlier is symbolised by the incessant echo of urges that confront the open sky and that of the mind, in a relationship that is never conflictual: there is the tension born of solitude, of emptiness, of time passing and of relationships that leave scars and tattoos, of a propensity for slowness that here sublimates reflection, thus filling the barn of a person who displays fertility, virginity, and a strong inclination to warm fears and give them wine to drink in every fragment of their life…

An album of classical compositions only partially cloaked in a modernity that enhances an ancient fervour, a predisposition to be attentive to time, to evolution, to respect, viewing contemporary sound merely as a secondary consideration: the collection of compositions is a lengthy endeavour, a probing of ancient forms in which explosions and contemporary technicalities are banished to encourage a return to a way of listening that must be patient, for the aim here is not to please the listener, but rather to convey messages that are always encrypted, be they sounds or words. Good taste allows one to see the music rather than hear it: a story that becomes a short film, a bottle that, incredibly, fills with intoxicating nectar as the minutes pass, serving as the engine of perceptions that cling to curiosity to nourish it. Here, rock is encircled, confined, made visible for a few fleeting moments, preferring to reveal a folk root accompanied by long ambient passages, with the skill to conceal references, in order to induce a sense of bewilderment and wonder through a constant inclination towards that which can spark a sudden infatuation. 

He chooses the poetry of anticipation, of peering into the secrets of the stave, to bring to light the oblique nature of sonic petals that seek the ground of fragility in order to preserve purity and identity…

The instruments do not merely reveal their own characteristics and qualities but become rays of sunlight hidden beneath the moon’s, to equip versatility and the project of an expressive growth that takes into account dynamism and integration, to develop an untouchable perimeter: no amount of listening will harm them, you will never see too much of the light and this becomes an absolute truth, which magnetises every presumed power of listening. Although seemingly divided equally into two parts, the album instead possesses, in its exploratory continuity, the ability to immerse us in the uninhabited planet of profound attention. 

The tracks are approaches that use musical genres and sounds as a starting point rather than a definitive expression, as if they were the beginnings of songs yet to come. Precisely for this reason, they sound like a beehive slowed down and rendered almost silent, a honey that will mature in a future dimension, allowing for the boldness of a hint rather than a clamour. The artist chooses the shape of a funnel, of a fall with the brakes on, as if they were conceived in the twilght, protecting the direction of birth and the path taken. Songs written with ink and a nineteenth-century pen, on paper of a series of perfectly oiled and condensed moods.

His voice seeks neither words nor striking imagery: miracles need no pretence or excess; they are sufficient in themselves to be dedicated to uniqueness. He dispenses it drop by drop, like a blue oil that caresses sadness, a cough without a start, yet capable of being energetic, contemplative, reserved and rebellious, without technical artifice. He uses it as an instrument to be placed at the back of the orchestra, yet its crystalline nature soars, escaping all defences and illuminating the vast connecting spaces of a celestial vault that seeks it and obtains it… 

His accent, striking and resounding, combined with the choice of short yet never hurried words, conveys to us the trembling, the fear, the embarrassment, a role he perhaps would rather not have. His singing is a candle within a room designed for intimacy, and he follows this vision, becoming its faithful companion. There are constant shivers, lacerations, frights, and the unease of a beauty beyond description makes everything damn near perfect. And this is an echo even when it is direct, devoid of effects, capable of balanced redundancies, because it does not indulge in the indecency of a constant presence: when it reveals itself, it is an emotional solo with absolutely no restraints…

An album that captures the essence of nature, embraces it and conveys it through the song of the waves, the sonic fragments of sunlight, the slow drift of the mist, the rain’s need to fall, the contemplation of the sky, evoking a need for seclusion, for a sense of comfort that might gently counterbalance the transience of the human condition. This explains the sensation of immersion, of a mental warmth provided by the assured protection of that part which man has destroyed. Grant, on the other hand, entrusts himself to those secrets, those miracles, like a determined explorer, with songs that translate and fulfil his need to interact with what lies beyond the gaze. Compositions like nourishing systems, whose primary benefit is the respect for roles. And so we witness the maturing of events, using art as a gym full of equipment to train the mind, to make the body an antenna rather than a mouthpiece…

An intense style of writing, never to be confused with banality, with flashes of hope that approach the style of country music without fully embracing it, entrusting the folk—disguised as sparkling electronic sounds—with the task of providing continuous sonic interludes, an experimentation that yields tangible results, with samples and reverbs making the sound a source of reflection, which knows how to draw upon diverse cultures, both historically and geographically, to experience a frenzy in which chaos is a sublime, clean and orderly artifice, generating an oxymoron that captivates and bewilders. The fact that the tracks convey the profound certainty of a musician who does not have all the necessary means for technical depth at his disposal makes the whole thing incredible, accomplished, breathing life into the poverty of meaning and irrefutable validity, creating—with certain sonic uncertainties—the perfect stage on which to demonstrate that quality has nothing to do with the instruments at one’s disposal. The chant is a celebration of melody, its guiding light, and Grant uses it as a necessity, as a beacon in the night, just as the great Leonard Cohen did.

The English artist, however, prefers a creative process that feels like a constant farewell, a refusal to be bound by dogma or the sterile assertions of conventional clichés: his fertile imagination must continually shed light on just one facet of every possibility in order to find peace.

Blues and soul are pyramids without a side, deliberately kept buried beneath the sand of slow-motion, schizophrenic brushstrokes, to safeguard their existence, in a tribal dance that uses electronics to create a sense of modernity which masks what actually lies within the multiplicity of the known arts, in musical sounds that are not merely a backdrop here but a companion to be held by the arm. The artist offers no points of reference, seeks no broad consensus: he prefers to evoke without providing coordinates and, in doing so, arrives at a sonic concept that sidesteps misunderstandings. Malian deserts, canyons and winds are the catalysts for a fantasy that seeks to make them physical, tangible, with birds piloting this nomadism that Grant experiences first-hand, giving the fantasy the ink and the thrill of an extrasensory experience.

Here, grief becomes a source of strength; pleasures (like glasses of wine) become an uncharted digression, confirming what we had already sensed in his individual works: giving grey and black the chance to observe rainbows… 

Through his creations, Grant manages to develop the value of reduction of swelling, as a consolatory act, like a nurse of the soul ready to ease the boundaries of suffering, to dispense new dreams and positivity. Of course, to do so he does not act as a joker but rather as a careful social worker who makes discretion his primary task. In this way, we find ourselves nourished by his intention. His songs are not sung; they are absorbed like a salve to set off again full of energy. Everything is occult, like a legacy of the self that can create a future.

Kaleidoscope Bad Wisdom has had no incubation period: some older songs, others more recent, forming a mental archive that has processed them all into a mass of leaden droplets, smoothing the whole to give the condensed musical genres the role of a bed. An excellent example of Swarbrooke’s ability to blend acoustic instrumentation (generous and subtle) with a range of electronic visions and instrumentation, combining them with his lyrical gift, which turns the themes into a truly original pretext for connection. The result is a delicate web of ethereal kisses, of ever-thinning spaces, of a fantasy worthy of the Nouvelle Vague, of a dialectical commitment to making syllables into additional notes. The introspection leads to a valid agreement: to protect his creations in such a way as to generate a definitive falling in love. 

He seeks to capture the atmosphere, as if an angel, having employed a low-fi approach, were to swiftly abandon it – treating it as a mood rather than a linear narrative, something that exists but must be discovered… His skilful use of guitars, for example, shows that he has no need to make them the dominant instrument over the others. His playing requires no excessive artifice; the notes arrive like mountain echoes plunging into the sea. Reverb and delay are essences rather than mere effects, creating a hypnotic mantra, and his compositional style truly evokes a landscape painting, highlighting every single atom. The six-string guitar is the first piece on a medieval chessboard fused with classical music, safeguarding the need for modernity that is particularly evident in the rhythm and in the confirmation of the notes as tireless frames.

Grant captures the emotional tone of this era, in which everything is consigned to a cold archive and slips away: his tracks manage to reveal and hold onto it. He also seems to work very intuitively, driven by the purity of his expressive potential, wielding the powerful weapon of genre expansion, where everything is free to be flight, wound, enchantment and its opposite. An album that thrives on tension, which seeks to resolve nothing, yet is skilfully capable of questioning existence and steering it towards mental loops that are able to ponder what is to be done.

All that remains is to walk along the beach, gaze upon these notes like angels with hidden faces, and feed on this unique, unending beauty…

Song by Song

1 - Like a Comet

This nebulous paradise begins with a voice message I sent, the start of a friendship in which we share our daily lives and worries, and which helps us feel close to one another. The composer creates a miraculous tension, as if Hitchcock’s film The Birds were bearing witness to it all, with the guitar flirting with an ambient and proto-noise dimension. It captures the entirety of my thoughts, stripping everything bare to disperse it into a sky full of waiting raindrops…

2 - Kaleidoscope Bad Wisdom

The disillusionment left in the wake of a relationship forms the narrative core – powerful yet minimalist – upon which the artist weaves fragmented melodies, a continuous interplay of musical devices in which the guitar crafts a series of skilfully interwoven loops, with a sound that resonates with heartbreak, whilst his vocals are a pained smile, capable of revealing the pain and nurturing its value. In this nebula, the faces of a tense yet never explosive alternative rock emerge, as if an armistice had been born from a dream pop star…

3 - Liminal Fall

Here comes the sea, boats in the distance; everything seems flat and waiting, like the sly yet already dramatic introduction, only to realise that the song’s melodic progression is a slap in the face, a bruise that arrives without compromise.

The rhythm rises but timidly, until the drums shake things up, just like the vocals and the lyrics, to plunge us into yet another fall.

Indeed, the drums stop and a lament remains.

Martin Murphy’s bass guides the whole towards perfection.

And then off we go again, to hear a guitar bidding farewell to dream pop and chaos, perfectly balanced in sound and production, taking hold of the tears that become an endless circle…

It truly feels as though this track marks the baptism of an artistic era that holds its passport and can journey, freely, into the future…

4 - Beneath a Wave

This ode to solitude is woven through hints of windmills that carry the notes towards the void, with a building rhythm; the semi-acoustic guitar makes us shudder, whilst the electric guitar creates tension with its jangling, turning the whole thing into an unusual lullaby for the mind rather than the body. Small bursts of shoegaze peek through but are nerves seeking peace, with Martin Murphy (here on bass and drums) managing to bridge the gap between Grant’s intention to shut himself away and an evident need to communicate. Poignant…

5 - Cannonball

We find ourselves in the delicate world of explosive violence, perpetrated by a silent interlocutor who has no chance of dialogue with the protagonist, here a witness to palpable tension and the impossibility of dialogue. Close to Joseph Arthur’s majestic ability to be a wave gathering existential fragments, Grant employs multiple layers of sound in a radiant chant with numerous scenarios, a musical journey through different eras, to constantly breathe life into the rhythm and melody…

6 - Ancient Rain

The stillness of time is described in a few precise words: its weight, the anchor, the absence of change in the one element that matters most in our existence. Musically, the piece opens with an apparently acoustic section, one that most clearly reveals a continuous, reverent thread linking it to classical music, further underscored by a piano weaving ancient textures, supported by an effective semi-acoustic guitar and the electric sound that appears and disappears, conveying, within the brevity of the composition, the futility of our lives. As if it were an interlude, when in reality it is a well-aimed punch…

7 - Name on a Wall

True love is a constant presence, a source of support, and these lyrics demonstrate this clearly. A piano piece set against a swing immerses us in a dramatic yet sensual atmosphere, where tenderness and intensity are perfectly balanced, in a soundscape that begins with classical music before drifting into the familiar territory of Antony Hegarty (Anohni), where the voice can be hinted at and held suspended, distant, as in the first verse, where one struggles to make out the words, generating curiosity and a useful pain…

And it is the sea once again that embraces this semi-ballad, with the rustling and distant echo of birds. A dreamy track that has the power to move one to tears… 

8 - Circles

An acoustic ballad in which the marriage of Grant’s searing vocal notes, cloaked in bitterness, is explored by ascending, almost imperceptible sonic movements, with the guitar borrowing the sweetness of Vini Reilly and the tension of Tom McRae, at a crossroads where synthetic violins carry us into the same sky as the Bath-based artist, full of nervous rays. The finale presents a poignant arpeggio as a fitting definition of a moment that has become a timeless atom…

9 - Here I am

In one of the most enigmatic tracks, we delve deeper into the interplay between the instruments and the exploratory realms of simplicity, here taking the form of a fairy tale woven from notes capable of elevating the poetic quality of every fragment. Ultimately, it reveals itself to be a punk track, without distortion, insults or raw noise. What makes it so is the impossibility of embracing it, of keeping it company, because within its evident sweetness (born of the promise of closeness) lies the sensation of a challenge—slow, painful and therefore splendid… The electric and acoustic elements here sense each other’s presence; they do not truly come into contact but reveal their features, with restraint and elegance…

10 - Days Undone

Death and dreams, coexisting in a difficult and tense harmony, form the opening notes of a melody that lulls us and prepares us for the anticipation and unfolding of the album’s most dramatic track. An emotional, rhythmic crescendo, in which it is not the volume that prevails but the neo-romantic textures, with hints of classical music woven into a tapestry where sounds are instincts captured and refined into good taste, a miracle that makes the heart bleed…

11 - My Chlorine La

Closing this collection of magnificent artistic expressions is a recent song by Grant, with its hinted-at opening, surrounded by a semi-acoustic guitar accompanied by vocal echoes, in a hymn to youth that stuns and provokes reflection. They are timid rays, holding one’s breath in suspense, like a conclusion that makes us fertile, in its play aimed at freeing time from all tension…

Out on 1st May 2026