You Am I
Dilettantes

Everyone has a band or artist to whom they can attribute the soundtrack of their life so far. Mine is You Am I. I acknowledge this not as an arrogant critic aiming to write this piece about myself, but to make this a fair review. It is. Dilettantes really is this good. And for that, I’m glad – You Am I is the longest and most passionate love affair I’ve ever had.

As elaborate and detailed as its glorious Beardsley-inspired Nouveau cover art, Dilettantes is a move in a new direction for You Am I. There’s been a shift away from the traditional pop/rock song structure; these are songs for song’s sake, rather than just tunes accommodating a hook. There are no discernible ‘hits’; this is an album as a whole, and a triumphant one at that. It doesn’t sound like anything they’ve done previously, and yet it doesn’t sound as though it could have come from any other band.

If Convicts was the angry wake of that which was lost, Dilettantes is that clear-headed morning when you get up and get on with it. It’s got less to prove, but doesn’t prove any less, geddit? There’s the self-assured, rather glam strut (or is it swagger?) of songs such as ‘Wankers’, ‘The Big Wheel’ and ‘Frightfully Moderne’ sitting comfortably with the sheer beauty of the poignant ‘The Boy’s Angry at the Water’, ‘Jolly’s First Time Around the Sun’, the deeply moving ‘The Piano Up the Tree’ and the titular opening track, ‘Dilettantes’, in memory of the late (and great) Jackie Orszaczky.

‘Erasmus’ is the obvious pop single – handclaps and all – while the haunting resignation of ‘Beau Geste’ is proof of Rogers’ lyrical genius and literary stretch, and is this writer’s favourite track. I can’t (won’t) begin to explain it for fear that I won’t succeed; suffice to say, my long-suffering partner has been given no option but to constantly listen to it on repeat. Sorry, darling.

It’s a new era for You Am I. Quite frankly, Dilettantes probably won’t draw many new fans, but it shall enthrall old ones, like it has me. The best album I’ve heard all year.

Thanks, guys. Really.

by A.H. Cayley