Sillyboy's Ghost Relatives In A Small Place

Earlier this year, Claremont 56 served up something rather special: the
atmospheric, claustrophobic debut single from Greek band Sillyboy’s Ghost
Relatives, “In A Small Place”. A warm, drowsy and evocative commentary on
smalltown paranoia, the single showcased a band not afraid to embrace their
love of blue-eyed soul, soft rock, West Coast jazz-rock and hazy AOR.
These influences shine through on the band’s eponymous debut album, which
will be released worldwide (with the exception of Greece and Cyprus) by
Claremont 56 this September. It’s a slight diversion from an imprint renowned
for its sun-kissed Balearic grooves, pastoral soundscapes and dubbed-out
dancefloor moves, but one fully in keeping with the imprint’s love of warm,
beautiful and atmospheric music.
It’s certainly a confident debut from Sillyboy’s Ghost Relatives, an Athenian fourpiece
founded by titular hero Sillyboy (AKA experienced musician, producer and
vocalist Charalambos Kourtaras, who has previously released a string of solo
albums to wide acclaim in his home country). The band is modeled in his image,
with a warm and hazy sound marked out by bold, toasty basslines, effects-laden
guitars and a mixture of retro synths and thickset electric piano motifs.
Sillyboy naturally takes centre stage throughout, delivering his loved-up and
lovelorn lyrics like a latter-day Michael McDonald. His vocal performances, and
that of his similarly experienced colleagues, lend the album a dreamy, visceral
quality fully in-keeping with the languid richness of the music.
Highlights are plentiful throughout. Check, for example, the dewy-eyed, stringladen
bliss of opener “Secret”, the 1960s style dream pop cheeriness of “High
Life” and the drowsy, late night drift of “Daylight”, an impassioned plea for
reconciliation rich in close harmony backing vocals and soft focus saxophone
solos. Or, for that matter, the chunky blue-eyed soul grooves of “Muscle Cars”,
the slow and seductive “Favourite One”, the tropical wooziness of “Better Than
Words”, the vintage Steely Dan shuffle of “Learn To Forget” and the breezy
Americana of closing cut “Wasted”, which delivers a stunning conclusion to an
album of rare cohesion.