Album by Robyn Hitchcock

Robyn Hitchcock’s Eye is strange.

But that’s part of its charm.

Sometimes the songs are folk. Sometimes there’s British pop in there. Sometimes there’s old-fashioned rock ’n’ roll. All of it filtered through guitar and piano.

Hitchcock can sing beautifully, then suddenly shift into a staccato delivery, stretch a word in an unexpected way, or phrase something so strangely that it almost seems like the melody is fighting with the lyrics. But there’s always a melody. There’s always an interesting guitar part or vocal phrase that gives me something to grab onto.

And the lyrics work the same way. Hitchcock doesn’t always give you a story to follow. He plays with imagery, flips things around and puts familiar objects in strange places. A song can be about something recognizable, but the way he describes it makes you look at it differently.

Sometimes it’s funny. Sometimes it’s beautiful. Sometimes it’s disorienting. But it always feels deliberate.

There’s also something vulnerable about the way Eye sounds. It often feels like Hitchcock made this album entirely by himself, layering guitars, piano, vocals and percussion until he had the sound he wanted. There’s a rawness to it, like there isn’t much separating Hitchcock from the songs.

That makes even the stranger moments feel personal.

“Cynthia Mask” immediately pulls me into that intimacy. Acoustic guitar, piano and layers of Hitchcock’s voice fill out the song, especially in the chorus. The whole thing feels like he’s building the song himself, piece by piece. I couldn’t tell you exactly what the song is about, if it is political or using politics as a metaphor, but there is a sense of presenting yourself as something you’re not.

The piano changes everything in “Clicquot.” What starts as a simple acoustic song suddenly turns into something almost like a spoken-word or vaudevillian performance. The lyrics are full of images and ideas that don’t necessarily connect in an obvious way, but the song keeps moving through them.

That constant shifting gives Eye a feeling of discovery. Hitchcock can completely change the way a song is being performed without losing the feeling that it’s still coming from the same person.

With its acoustic guitar and vocal delivery, “Queen Elvis” moves into almost Dylan territory. There are ideas about identity and becoming someone else, but the meaning stays slippery.

The melody doesn’t.

That’s becoming a pattern here: Hitchcock can make the words feel like images from a dream while giving me something musically solid to hold onto.

A choppy guitar riff gives “Flesh Cartoons” its momentum. The short bursts of strumming keep repeating while Hitchcock’s voice moves around them, almost becoming another instrument. There are all these interesting phrases, but no obvious narrative connecting them. Maybe that’s the point. Either way, it’s one of the catchier songs on the album.

For a few minutes, Hitchcock doesn’t need his voice at all. “Chinese Water Python” is an instrumental that sounds like it could have been played centuries ago, with something very English and almost Tudor-like about the guitar. It’s also a chance to hear just how good Hitchcock is on the instrument. Without lyrics competing for my attention, the guitar becomes the entire focus.

John Lennon immediately comes to mind during “Executioner.” The way Hitchcock phrases the vocal, especially in that higher register. The music is sparse and moody. The guitar keeps strumming underneath while the piano comes in sounding almost like a storm. The lyrics come across like they’re looking at the end of perhaps several different relationships.

There’s a much softer feeling to “Linctus House.” The guitar moves between gentle playing and more deliberate strumming, while Hitchcock layers his vocals until it sometimes sounds like several singers are in the room with him. He moves between almost spoken-word passages, conversational singing and these really beautiful melodic lines. His voice is doing a lot of the work here, and the guitar playing is gorgeous.

The song looks back at a relationship that has fallen apart, remembering the closeness that used to be there and the distance that has replaced it.

If Hitchcock wanted to include a straightforward pop song on Eye, “Beautiful Girl” sounds like he accomplished that. There’s an almost English folk quality to the guitar, but it feels much more contemporary. The multitracked vocals make it sound like a whole group is singing, even though Hitchcock is doing it himself. And the hook is fantastic. It’s one of those melodies that just gets stuck in your head.

“Clean Steve” shifts the focus back to the piano. It reminded me of “Slow Down,” with that early rock ’n’ roll energy underneath the strange character sketch. Then “Raining Twilight Coast” slows everything back down. It’s a gentle ballad and another showcase for Hitchcock’s guitar playing, and this one made me think of early Van Morrison. There’s a sweetness to the music, but underneath it is a feeling of hurt and disillusionment.

The vocal performance on “Agony of Pleasure” is almost deliberately awkward. Hitchcock bends the words around the melody in ways that make the song feel uncomfortable, even though it’s built around acoustic guitar. The lyrics seem to be playing with sex, fertility and physical pleasure, but Hitchcock turns all of that into this bizarre collection of bees, flowers, food and body parts.

The guitar and voice on “Glass Hotel” are gorgeous. Hitchcock stretches the words out over these beautiful guitar figures, almost making the vocal and guitar feel like they’re moving together. There’s a great moment where the guitar doubles up, hitting the same moment and giving the song this little exclamation point. I also love the way he sings between the verses, where it doesn’t quite feel like a traditional chorus so much as another little section of the song. Lyrically, this one feels like watching someone you loved move on while you’re still stuck.

“Satellite” might be the biggest rocker on the album, even though it still sounds like one guy making everything himself. The guitar is louder and more aggressive, and Hitchcock uses it almost like a drum, hammering away underneath the song. The whole thing sounds much bigger than the instrumentation would suggest.

He’s also having fun with the language, throwing around satellites and all kinds of strange ideas before turning the idea of orbiting into something much more physical and obsessive. It’s clearly about attraction, but Hitchcock makes it feel much stranger than a straightforward love song.

The album closes with “Aquarium,” and everything slows down again. I hear more electric guitar here, but it’s played gently, with a few different guitar parts moving through the song like waves. Hitchcock once again flips imagery around on you. Everything seems to be in the wrong place, and that fits the feeling of the song: missing someone while realizing that maybe you never really understood who they were in the first place.

It’s a beautiful, slightly eerie way to end the album.

I think the lack of clarity is part of what makes Eye work. Hitchcock could have made these songs cleaner and more conventional. Instead, he leaves the edges exposed. The strange vocal choices, the layered instruments and the sudden changes in tone all become part of the experience.

And in doing that, he shows off just how much he can do with very little.

I came into this expecting something closer to the catchy, quirky British pop I associate with bands like XTC. Instead, Eye is a much more intimate and raw album, but that vulnerability doesn’t make it small. Hitchcock takes guitar, piano, his voice and whatever else he can find and turns them into folk songs, rock songs, pop songs, dream sequences and little pieces of psychedelia.

It feels like a songwriter letting the walls down and leaving the strange parts in.

Verdict: Good

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