The only problem with Scott Matthews is he just never quite sounds like his own man. Every twist and turn of What the Night Delivers feels it has been trodden long before by the likes of Jeff Buckley, Rufus Wainwright and Elliot Smith.
There’s certainly worse company to keep, and the Wolverhampton singer-songwriter’s third release is a seductive cycle of dreamlike nocturnes, Matthews’ meandering melancholia and acoustic autobiography sonically balanced by eerie shades of double bass and French horn.
But like a great painter stuck in the slipstream of his elders, Matthews needs to cast aside the scrapbook of his influences, and find something new to say with his sublime, soaring voice.
For Press Associsation