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John Peel’s oft-repeated line about how the Fall’s music was “always different, always the same” could also be said about the output of English singer-songwriter Scott Lavene, although with just four albums under his belt, he’s got a long way to go before catching up to the Fall’s apparently infinite back catalog. And much like the late Mark E. Smith’s, Lavene’s music is so infused with his own idiosyncratic personality and lyrical preoccupations (custard, double denim, drinking, stealing roses from his racist neighbor’s garden) that no one would ever mistake one of his songs for anyone else’s. With his latest album, Disneyland in Dagenham, Lavene’s tunes are, in fact, largely the same as heard on his previous two long players (2019’s Broke and 2021’s Milk City Sweethearts) which is not, I hasten to add, an indication of actual sameness, but more an indication of consistently high quality and great songwriting. That he delivers exactly what his audience expects from a Scott Lavene album–always different, always the same and always really fucking good.

According to TIDAL, I’ve listened to Disneyland in Dagenham 186 times in the past month. I’ve already listened to it from start to finish twice today and it’s not even 9 am here. I think it’s safe for the reader to assume that I really love this album. It’s world-class. All killer, no filler.  An instant classic. Every song is a 10 out of 10. I like every single song on it so much that it almost seems like a greatest hits album to my ears after only four weeks. I could say the same about his other albums, too. Another observation about Lavene’s music–this occurred to me while revisiting his previous albums–is how well they are sequenced and how satisfying they are as start-to-finish listens. That and his arrangements are really sophisticated. Yes indeed, Disneyland in Dagenham is exactly what I expected from a Scott Lavene album and after a three-year wait, I was not the slightest bit disappointed. I mean, who listens to the same album 186 times in one month?

Scott Lavene has been compared a lot to Ian Dury–I’ve done it myself–and that is a valid juxtaposition for quite a few reasons. First off, who’d mistake one of Ian Dury’s songs for anyone else’s? The same could be said of Lavene’s music. They both embrace narrative songwriting, wry portrayals of dodgy characters they’ve met along the way, wild nights out, working-class Britain, self-reflection, humor, Billericay, and wordplay, each capable of finding profound insights in life’s most mundane details. Additionally, the two men share a similar… let’s call it a “life force” that emanates from the grooves of their records. Were Ian Dury still alive, I suspect he’d see the commonality between their work himself.

Allow me to clarify further: Being compared to someone like Ian Dury as a songwriter would indicate an ineffably unique approach, would it not? It’s not that I think Lavene is all that influenced by Ian Dury. There might be some influence, sure, but if I can express this properly the thing that they probably have most in common as songwriters is that they are both, and cannot pretend to be otherwise, genuinely who they are. The music itself doesn’t sound even remotely the same, it’s the approach, and the strength of the personality. You don’t hear that much true originality or individuality anymore and when you do it’s striking. It stands out. Just as Mark E. Smith could only sound like Mark E. Smith, and Ian Dury sound like Ian Dury, Scott Lavene can only sound like Scott Lavene. 

Disneyland in Dagenham kicks off with “Paper Roses,” a wistful ballad of doomed love, a duet of sorts with The Hold Steady’s Craig Finn lending his distinctive gravelly voice as a cynical bookie who won’t accept a bet on the relationship lasting. “Custard” is about family life, walking the dog, and, you guessed it, custard. “Debbie,” one of the album’s singles, portrays the titular subject, a mad inventor on a mission for Zeus, surrounded by her machinery and lots and lots and lots of fuses. (“Take the bread out of that, it’s not a toaster” goes the whispered chorus.)

“Horse and I” sounds like it started as a short story–I was reminded of both Bob Dylan’s Tarantula “novel” (which I HIGHLY recommend) as well as Steve Martin’s Cruel Shoes–and tells the tale of Lavene and an equestrian pal busking across France performing Talking Heads and Cure covers. It’s a masterpiece in under four minutes. I fucking love this one. The album’s title track is a bittersweet and delicate paean to life outside of London, then we get to “Sadly I’m Not Steve McQueen” a bouncy New Wave raver of a song namechecking the macho Hollywood legend and imagining that he’d be the sad one not to be Scott Lavene if he only knew what he was missing out on. It’s fantastic and is followed by another banger, “Julie Johnson” a song I usually play twice in a row, if not ten times in a row every time I listen to Disneyland in Dagenham (which, I will remind you has been quite often in recent weeks.) “Little Bird” is a sweet ballad about two lovers being viewed by a feathered friend. It could be a tear-jerker in a Broadway or West End musical. “Rats” finds Lavene asking if he “can just be America’s sweetheart” and the amusing “Keeping it Local” ably caps a very satisfying song cycle.

Let me conclude by inviting you to listen to Disneyland in Dagenham below and reminding you that once you’ve finished, you’ll want to check out the rest of Scott Lavene’s catalog. If you’ve never heard his wonderful music before, I envy you, because you’re in for a fantastic treat.

“Disneyland in Dagenham”

“Debbie”

“Sadly, I’m Not Steve McQueen”

Julie Johnson