Barry Adamson - Know Where To Run (LP) - Silver Vinyl

Barry Adamson has spent a lifetime turning late night streets into song. From his days on bass in Magazine to the early Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds years, he carved out a language that sits between film score and soul revue, neon and cigarette smoke. In February 2016 he returned with Know Where To Run, his ninth studio album on his own Central Control International label, and it finds him sharpening that noir toolkit into proper songs you can hum on the tram ride home.

The record arrived alongside a body of photography Adamson shot across American cities, and you can hear that lens in the music. Scenes flick past. Guitars twang with a dusty, spaghetti western curl, organs glow like a theatre bulb that refuses to die, bass lines prowl rather than strut. He still writes, sings and produces with the confidence of a one man house band, but this time the grooves feel leaner, more road tested. It is less a mood board than a set of vignettes, the kind of tunes that would suit a bar with a red curtain and a bartender who knows your name.

What’s striking is how direct he sounds. His classic Moss Side Story built worlds through instrumentals, while later records like Oedipus Schmoedipus folded in pop hooks. Know Where To Run sits in the middle. The choruses don’t beg for attention, they arrive with a sly grin. His baritone still has that courtroom charm, equal parts croon and snarl, and he writes with the theatre of a film composer who also loves a good backbeat. A track will start with brushed drums and simmering Wurlitzer, then suddenly a horn section barges in and the scene tilts. He has always been good at those cuts.

Because Adamson has worked in film, including a contribution to David Lynch’s Lost Highway soundtrack, he understands tension. He sets up a motif, lets it breathe, then flips it with a small arrangement choice, a percussion rattle or a guitar sting that makes the room feel tighter. Even when he leans into blues or rockabilly shapes, there is a sly modern edge, a bit of studio trickery that keeps it from turning into retro cosplay. The production is warm and roomy, you can hear air around the kit, and the vocals sit close enough to feel conspiratorial.

If you’re the kind who trawls a Melbourne record store on Saturday arvos, this is a record that stops you at the listening post. It works loud, but it also rewards the 11 pm volume that won’t wake the neighbours. Fans who came in through his Bad Seeds connection will recognise the grain of darkness, though there’s more light here than his reputation suggests. Little flashes of humour keep peeking out. He enjoys character work, sketching oddballs and loners with a wink, not a lecture.

There was solid admiration from the critical end when this came out, with reviewers noting the way he pushed his songwriting forward without dropping the cinematic thread that put him on the map. Live, the material sat easily next to earlier favourites, which says a lot about its staying power. You can hear how carefully these songs are built, but nothing feels overworked. He leaves just enough space between the notes to let your own movie play.

On vinyl, the album really blooms. The low end is supple, the keyboards feel tactile, and the guitars sparkle with that valve bite that digital often sands off. If you’re hunting Barry Adamson vinyl, this one is a gem, and Know Where To Run vinyl turns up fairly often if you keep an eye on the racks. For anyone looking to buy Barry Adamson records online, it sits neatly alongside Moss Side Story and The King of Nothing Hill as a late period highlight. Collectors who want a focused entry point into Barry Adamson albums on vinyl could do a lot worse than start here, then work backward.

I’ve spun it in the shop and watched a couple of heads pop up from the crates, the universal sign that a record has done its job. That is the sweet spot with Adamson, the way he smuggles narrative into groove. He still paints in shadows, yet he gives you enough melody to hum while you walk home under the streetlights. For anyone building out a shelf of noir tinged soul and soundtrack funk in the world of vinyl records Australia, this is essential kit, a keeper that makes the room feel like a scene.