Paul John – Startin’ in the Middle (Album Review)

Paul John has a new ten-track album, Startin’ in the Middle. The album, rich with acoustic guitar, opens with its title track – a song introduced by a male voice saying, ‘Not recorded’.

Paul John’s vocals shift between a deep, edgy softness and a soaring, feminine quality. These higher reaches feel intentionally strained, shedding their depth to achieve a delicate, ethereal peak.

The lyrics are sparse, leaving the vast majority of the track to be defined by the guitar. Reviewing this track brought Tracy Chapman to mind, specifically her song ‘For You’, which – much like ‘Startin’ in the Middle’ – is built entirely on the intimacy of vocals and guitar alone.

At times, Paul John’s vocals seem to grate against the guitar, creating a deliberately rugged, jagged texture. However, when the lyrics are viewed alongside this friction, it becomes clear that this is a protest song – predominantly cynical and nostalgic, yet flecked with moments of hope.

Our lyrical persona here is ‘Middle aged at best’. They can’t listen to their CDs, for example. They’re bored, having been siphoned ‘through their system’, but as noted above, they still have hope. Yet, despite this weariness, a sense of hope persists. Feeling 25 at heart, they speak of ‘startin’ in the middle’ – a phrase that serves as a powerful, hopeful anthem for reinvention.

Bolstered by strings and percussion, ‘Tiny Spiky Sphere’ carries a noticeable surge of energy in both the vocals and the instrumentation. Within this track, it feels as though Paul John is more focused on pure vocal expression than on delivering a political rant against society.

His voice maintains its natural depth while occasionally soaring into a feminine register.

The track reaches its conclusion more abruptly than the opener.

In a sense, this serves as another protest song, though the antagonist here is a tiny spiky sphere characterized as ‘a ball of fear’.

Identifying this spiky sphere brings COVID-19 to mind, especially as the lyrical persona directs choice words toward it, calling it a shit who set kids black.

If we view this persona as autobiographical, it suggests that the pandemic was what prevented Paul John from being able to ‘strum these chords’. This realization lends the song a layer of poignant self-awareness.

‘Liver Girl’ is composed of lively guitar strings and thickish but soft drumming. Here the vocals and instrumentation merge nicely to form a sweet-sounding song – one of the best on the album. 

Lyrically, we encounter three distinct figures: the song’s subject, the ‘Liver Girl’; an unnamed man referenced only as ‘He’; and the lyrical persona.

As the girl drinks them under the table, the lyrical persona remains lost in reminiscence.

The imagery is deeply figurative, with the persona expressing a desire to ‘fly with her’ despite the acknowledgement that she is ‘nobody’s bird’.

While Paul John leaves the narrative somewhat abstract rather than fully developed, the romantic undertones are undeniable.

This is evidenced by the persona’s internal struggle as they wonder, ‘How will I, hide my love away?’

With metallic strings taking the lead, ‘Yesterday’s Socks’ functions primarily as a guitar-driven track, despite the occasional bursts of energetic drumming. In the moments where the drums drop out, the song tends to fall flat. Vocally, Paul John adopts a more forceful delivery at various points throughout the performance.

On a lyrical level, the persona expresses frustration with unnamed figures who have ‘Put me in this high rise’. This specific imagery suggests a character living under the control or influence of others. Thematically, the song shares a clear lineage with the opening track.

Despite the fact that all they have are ‘yesterday’s socks’, the mood does not feel entirely bleak to me. The lyrical persona mentions plans to go see a band and speaks of meeting up with four of their mates, injecting a sense of social connection into the narrative.

In ‘Childhood’, the arrangement is built around acoustic guitar and drumming, the lyrics fulfilling the song’s titular promise to reflect on earlier years. Paul John begins his vocal delivery with a steady hand, though he periodically rises into a soar. This soaring quality, which leans toward the high side, draws a sharp contrast against the soft and beautiful instrumentation.

Lyrically, the persona acknowledges that their ‘Mom and dad gave their very best’. We catch a glimpse of the persona’s parents through things they never had, for example.

While looking back at their youth, the lyrical persona questions why they were so eager for more at the time. Today, however, they have reached the realization that they really had it all.

Starting on a minimalist note, ‘My Dead Cousin’ alternates between a sparse opening and sudden bursts of volume. The structure feels like two songs in one. Paul John’s singing is more reflective and understated when he begins over low guitar strings and ambient sound; however, the mood turns rowdy as heavy-ish drumming and a variety of piercing strings kick in.

Lyrically, the song is at its most somber during the minimal passages. There is a palpable sense of emotion as he reminisces about his dead cousin.

‘Earthbase’ continues the album’s trend of tracks centered on vocals and guitar. Paul John’s delivery takes on a more whimsical tone here, though his vocals still reach those familiar soaring heights at certain intervals.

The interplay between the voice and the guitar isn’t quite as impressive as it was on ‘Liver Girl’, yet it remains a decent effort. However, the track feels somewhat saddled by the frequent and abrupt changes in vocalization.

Lyrically, the song leans into cynicism; the persona opens the track by declaring their worship of space technology. While the song appears to address the grand promises of migrating to the stars, it eventually shifts toward the failure of those dreams – discussing an exit from the space race with their ‘sols [sic] on the ground’.

I’ve noted that several tracks on this album function as protest songs; that’s because when I scanned the tracklist, I spotted this specific title, ‘Protest Songs’, which is now the subject of our analysis.

Vocally, Paul John begins in what one might call a protest mood – a delivery characterized more by speechlike cadence than by pure singing.

My critique, or perhaps simply an observation, is that the song attempts to do quite a lot both vocally and instrumentally. While the vocalization shifts in delivery (at times stretching into shouting), the guitar remains the constant anchor, even as drumming eventually enters the mix.

Lyrically, the song feels like an assessment of the music industry paired with the persona’s own musical self-analysis. In short, this is a dual review of the industry at large and the persona’s personal output.

We remain unsure of the addressee’s identity, but we know they have a ‘new cryptic lyric’ and have ‘made a viral gimmick’. While this could be read as disparagement, the persona also offers a moment of humility, admitting the addressee is ‘musically better than me’.

One particularly harsh line states: ‘You’re singing about nothing’. Moreover, the track poses a central question: ‘Where are your protest songs?’

To put it simply, this is a protest song about protest songs – or perhaps the lack thereof. Whatever the case, the track succeeds in being a ‘nuisance’, if being a nuisance is a metric for a successful protest song. My reading of the lyrics suggests that the music industry is far from a rosy place.

You also have to credit Paul John, perhaps grudgingly, for delivering a song where the persona explicitly claims a certain musician sings about nothing.

Here at Music Review World, we don’t have the luxury of stating that musicians sing about nothing. Regardless, the song indirectly touches on the broader subject of free speech. It is perhaps fair to label Paul John a protest singer; even when his tracks aren’t strictly protest songs, his personas are consistently found complaining about one thing or another.

With these lyrics in mind, the occasionally rowdy nature of the singing and instrumentation becomes much easier to excuse.

Easy vocals, guitar, and steady, thick drumming define the majority of the sound in ‘Before’. It is this sense of easiness – particularly within the drum work – that makes the song so attractive.

Lyrically, the track reflects on missed opportunities and the things ‘We were gonna do’. In this narrative, the lyrical persona speaks to an addressee referred to simply as ‘my bride’.

It is a somber piece, leaving the listener with the feeling that something is drawing to a close, with the pair unable to fulfil their shared wishes. Yet, one cannot help but notice the cynicism in the line, ‘Before we’re puppets on strings’.

‘Mr Anamorphic’ returns to the arrangement of acoustic guitar and vocals. The delivery carries no heaviness; Paul John is in a clearly melodic mood here, supported by a female backing singer. It is a cheesy track, featuring a lengthy passage consisting solely of ‘la la la la…’

The lyrical persona introduces a figure named ‘Mr Anamorphic’, a man who ‘Sees ciphers in the sidewalk’ within the setting of a shopping area. However, this character also detects ‘Rude codes in Oxford classics’. While the persona initially expresses a desire to see these things, the song takes a strange turn when they declare, ‘Just call me Mr Anamorphic’.

SCORE/Excellent: This is an excellent album, defined by a broad emotional and conceptual reach, even if certain tracks lean into vagueness. It showcases significant vocal versatility – despite my occasional critiques of the delivery – and maintains a steady consistency in both instrumentation and vocal performance, though the arrangements do become somewhat predictable as the record progresses.

[We rank singles, EPs, and albums on a scale of Poor, Mediocre, Good, Excellent, and Outstanding]

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