From the birthplace of both John Martyn and Jamie Woon, New Malden's Luke Sital-Singh seems to be part of an unlikely tradition of singer songwriters from this unassuming corner of South West London. But it was a combination of Brighton and Damian Rice that largely determined Sital-Singh's path to becoming a singer songwriter.

Forsaking university, he instead enrolled at BIMM Brighton, and hooked up with Julian Deane, who continues to be his manager. Whether or not he now regrets not pursuing the study of English, I don’t know. But certainly things looked very promising for him when he released his debut album The Fire Inside on Parlophone, a work that showcased his melody-rich songs, that veered from the intimate to the epic, underpinned by his big and soulful voice, not unlike Paul Young. Certainly, as indicated by the title, there was an air of optimism throughout, although tempered by what’s-it-all-about musings.

But things didn’t quite pan out the way he had hoped. The album did moderately well but not enough to keep his deal with Parlophone. Now he is Bristol-based and Time Is A Riddle is being released independently, it was recorded in Donegal with producer Tommy McLaughlin (Villagers). It’s definitely a more downbeat affair, melancholy to the fore but containing vast riches within the relatively simple set-up that was ‘live’ for the most part. This rawness is complimented by questioning lyrics, which are more instinctive and less crafted than The Fire Inside.

Recently, and in conjunction with the album via accompanying videos and film-making of craftspeople, Sital-Singh has signed up to the ‘slow movement’, a loose term that practices antidotes to cheap and shoddily made ‘work’ and ‘fast living’. It covers everything from journalism (yes, there is a magazine dedicated to this called, wait for it… Slow Gratification!) to cooking. This is all relative with Time Is A Riddle. Not so much via the music (recorded relatively quickly and with the minimum of production fuss) or indeed the way he wrote lyrics (which came out more spontaneously than before) but via the content, which is questioning, full of the shades of grey that help to both illuminate and cloud life. Such as on lead track ’Still’, a typically emotive song, which has an undying slow groove, with Sital-Singh giving it his all as usual: “I’m still hoping it’s ever coming / Just tell me something, can I start running / Yeah, I broke through walls to get back up to yours / Now I’m unglued, nothing left undone.” While on the relatively upbeat psyche-pop vibes of ‘Oh My God’, Sital-Singh sinks even deeper into a questioning funk, to the point of self-irritation: “Why is it so hard to say I honestly don’t know the way.”

Elsewhere, he displays his effortless ability to pen more mainstream material, such as the melancholic euphoria of ‘Until The Night Is Done’, which contains some of his best lines, and neatly encapsulates where his his semi-confused head seems to be at the moment. “I’ve been walking half asleep, I feel safer when I’m dreaming / The bigger half of me wants to burn the world away”. The beautiful and heartfelt ‘Killing Me’ – a tribute to his grandmother – is one of Sital-Singh’s most overtly personal offerings to date.

Musically, there’s a lot to get your tech into beyond the foundation stones of piano or acoustic guitar. For instance, on ’Cynic’, he delves gently into the world of drone-folk, but with a typically gorgeous vocal melody that simply adds even more drama to the piece, again full of deep questioning and a little pessimism before some kind of light shines through, via crashing chords, and the image of holding hands: “I am a cynic, but I’m changing… my stony heart is melting, because of you my love”. Conversely, the relatively sun-speckled ‘Innocence’ is languid yet driven, featuring some hustling bar room piano back in the mix. And there’s studio bleed aplenty – organ and distorted guitar – muscling it’s way on the old school Crazy Horse vibes of ‘Rough Diamond Falls’.

The title track is perhaps the defining song here with big piano chords, a spacious sound and a kind of wistful ‘woah-woah’ interspersed throughout. Which speaks of Singh’s circular and confusing aspects of pondering regrets, thinking of the future, and where one goes from here.

Like the aforementioned slow movement, Time Is A Riddle is a veritable slow-burner of a record, one that rewards repeat listenings, and which should be digested without distraction to get the best out of it. So, do yourself a favour. Put it on, take a pew, and let Sital-Singh’s questioning yet lively musicality take it’s medicinal effects.
Jeff Hemmings

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