The last time I saw you, you had “The Naked and The Dead”
Said it was the longest book that you ever, ever read
The last time I saw you that old look was in your eyes
You bit your fingernails and then you scratched around your thighs
Jokes for Angels unfurls like a secret diary from a raconteur too sharp to fall into cliché. Brian Michael Henry’s sardonic, urbane third album dances gleefully on the edge of sincerity and satire. Henry, a deft observer cloaked in smoke and irony, surveys a twilight New York, all neon-drenched Bowery sleaze and artful self-awareness. The record, steeped in noir humour and wry storytelling, slices elegantly through despair, leaving a grin rather than a grimace.
Family Style bursts out with jittery glee, Henry throwing vocal punches that land somewhere between a Bowie howl and Byrne twitch. The scenario of Leatherface’s dinner date morphs bizarrely, hilariously, terrifyingly into a song buzzing with frenetic guitar sparks courtesy of Colin Summers, whose angular riffs scorch and soothe.
A dark chuckle echoes through Magic Hands! with post-punk energy, all urgent rhythm and sly falsetto echoes. Henry’s deep voice struts across basslines, playfully subversive, presenting erotic escapades wrapped in dance-floor-ready beats. Magic Hands! lingers in the air like perfume on a stranger’s skin, a hushed and smoldering tribute to the masseur who knew the body’s language better than words ever could. The song broods, it beckons, it breathes in the quiet space between indulgence and need, tracing the blurred border where pleasure becomes reverence. Then the album dips into gloomier waters with Octavia. Summers’ fretwork cuts aggressively melodic arcs around Henry’s ghostly baritone, narrating Octavia Hatcher’s chilling fate. A pulse-quickening gothic waltz unfolds, evoking sheer panic and beauty simultaneously.
In Transformers, tragedy is distilled into dark-wave elegance. Summers unleashes a passionate guitar solo, illuminating Henry’s detached vocal delivery…a powerful tribute to a lost friend who succumbed to addiction. The album’s namesake track spins deliriously into chaos, eulogizing departed comedians with wild abandon, a magnetic whirl reminiscent of the Magnetic Fields at their whimsical, nihilistic best.
I Don’t Really Love You When You Cry serves candy-coated cynicism à la Morrissey, a jangly pop tune bright enough to veil its biting critique. Henry tosses aside his electronic playbook for a spotlight on his robust bass-baritone, serving up a love song that’s heavy on the irony and light on the sap: a tongue-in-cheek serenade. Channeling an anti-hero in love, Henry draws a line at tear-wiping, offering up laughs with a side of ‘tough love.’ It’s a peppy dive into ’60s pop.
Good Dad, a song about knowing your lover would absolutely prove to be a deadbeat father, ramps up the surf-rock theatrics; Henry’s baritone gliding atop Paul Hinkes’ frenetic riffs, sharp and irreverent. Valentine’s Day simmers gently with ambient club noise; Summers’ guitar lines and Jake Goodman’s mellow saxophone add layers of cool Lou Reed’s Coney Island Baby charm. Henry’s bad-boyfriend pleas feel sincerely insincere, leaving listeners simultaneously amused and skeptical. “The song is a “bad boyfriend’s” appeal to his lover to stay, despite evidence that he or she should not,” Henry says.
The mature, band-driven Now You’re On Your Own drifts effortlessly into country-rock territory, a collaborative gem reminiscent of Warren Zevon’s nuanced storytelling. Sam C. Jones and Michael Reilly’s warm rhythms lend authenticity, while Henry’s piano provides an unexpectedly radiant flourish. Closing track Waiting (Post-Punk Remix) revisits obsession through a thrilling new lens. Colin Summers drives the track forward with rhythmic propulsion and atmospheric guitar, offering a hopeful sheen to the protagonist’s desperate quest for attention. It’s a jubilant finale, darkly optimistic.
With Jokes for Angels, Brian Michael Henry delivers a delicious paradox: sharp observations wrapped around heartfelt truths, laughter resonating within the darkness. (Oscar Wilde who?) Henry conjures genuine art from city shadows…the kind of rare storyweaver that seasoned New Yorkers nostalgically yearn for; penning elegant numbers that prove there’s still a gritty realm below 14th Street.
Listen to Jokes For Angels below and order the album here.
As a special treat, Teeple and Henry are exclusively offering just five rare, signed 8×10 prints for the lucky few.
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