Tom Minor – London’s answer to a whiskey-soaked, existential panic attack set to music – just lobbed a four-track Molotov cocktail into the void. “The Manic Phase” is a snarling, soul-drenched odyssey through neon-lit back alleys and crumbling psyches. Produced by Teaboy Palmer (rightly crowned “the Phil Spector of Finchley Road, NW3”), this is chaos with a heartbeat: power-pop hooks mugged by garage-rock grit, soul howls echoing over glimmering percussion, and riffs thick enough to choke on. Minor – a North London alchemist of indie, punk, soul, and Syd Barrett-esque psych-pop – doesn’t merely write songs; he conducts drunken séances with Bowie’s ghost.
Forget balance. Embrace the beautiful mess: Palmer wraps Minor’s poetic venom in a digital-age “Wall of Sound” – layered, chaotic, skillfully deranged. Circus whimsy collides with gothic synth-pulses. It’s a work of controlled anarchy.
At the heart of this EP lies Steve—aka “Thievin’ Stephen”—a mythic South London party animal “with a subtle tendency to steal both drinks and hearts, often at the same time.” As Minor reveals: “It may not have been his real name, but he introduced himself to us as Steve… a sweet, tragically entertaining party semi-pro, and most probably bipolar (then again, aren’t we all to some degree?).” Steve is Soho incarnate. A folk hero spinning through mania and despair. This EP is his cracked coronation.
- “The Manic Phase”
The title track kicks open the door with theatrical prance. Shimmering percussion, tension-wire vocals, a guitar riff like a street brawl in E-major. Minor becomes Steve: tossing lethal metaphors – “moral compass meeting magnet,” “bipolar bear,” “recreational use of lithium and lukewarm water.” Grandiose. Emotive. Unapologetically raw. The perfect, frayed overture.
2. “Saturday Eats Its Young”
Featuring the tight backup of The Creatures Of Habit, this track is a bender’s anthem with teeth. Rhythmic guitar grooves and glimmering percussion drive punchy, sardonic lyrics skewering London’s weekend hedonism. Catchy as hell, but lurking beneath? A sobering truth: “these nights can swallow you whole.” A sing-along with scars. Pure, desperate velocity.
3. “Expanding Universe”
A left-field knockout. Call-and-response vocals (falsetto vs. baritone) bounce like a punk opera staged in a Camden dive. Theatrical, layered, cosmic satire targeting consumerist voids and modern disconnect. Imagine Bowie conducting The Clash inside a collapsing star. Bold. Ambitious. Weirdly danceable. Anarchy with a melody.
4. “Future Is an F Word”
The gothic comedown. Pulsing synths, biting wit, world-weary storytelling with tireless energy. Minor’s lyrical scalpel cuts deepest here. Sardonic, groove-heavy, drenched in the hazy aftermath of 20 minutes of glorious bedlam. The perfect, bruised landing.
Minor’s brilliance lies in balance. Side A (Manic Phase, Saturday…) is an “exhilarating parade”; Side B (Universe, Future…) plunges into “serious, intriguing realms.” His lyrics are literate street poetry – “raw, darkly charismatic” – mirroring Soho’s frayed glamour beat-for-beat. Shoutout to The Creatures Of Habit – their live-wire firmness, especially on Saturday Eats Its Young and Expanding Universe.
“The Manic Phase” (Out now via Overreaction Records) isn’t just Tom Minor’s triumph. It’s a love letter to every lost soul haunting the city’s low-lit corners. Chaotic yet calculated. Gritty yet soaring. 100% essential rock ‘n’ roll. Minor doesn’t just capture Soho’s wild heart; he plugs it into a Marshall stack and dares you to feel it. Play it loud. Then go steal a drink for Steve.
“Stevie dear, if you read this: we miss you, hope you’re all right, take care, wherever you are!”
— Tom Minor