Capitol
Soft Rock, 2017

Well, it had to happen eventually. One Direction, the boy band equivalent of a hormonal tornado, couldn’t stay together forever. You can only lock five twenty-something lads in a pop-prison of synchronized dance moves, hair gel, and overzealous Twitter fans for so long before someone snaps and declares themselves the prettiest. And when that moment came, the lads scattered like glitter at a pride parade.

Harry Styles, naturally, went full peacock rockstar, swaggering about like he’d just inherited Mick Jagger’s wardrobe and some of his STDs. Zayn Malik… well, to be honest, he ghosted us all and is presumably now living in a moody flat somewhere, vaping over sad beats. Liam Payne attempted a career pivot so tragically awkward it made him come off like that uncle you avoid at weddings.

Then there’s Niall Horan — the human equivalent of a comforting mug of tea. Instead of chasing bad tattoos or celebrity feuds, he quietly picks up a guitar and brings us Flicker, a debut album so mellow it should come with a prescription warning: Do not operate heavy machinery while listening.

If you’ve ever wondered what it would sound like if Ed Sheeran was raised in Mullingar instead of Suffolk, well, this is your moment. Flicker is essentially the sound of Niall Horan pouring his gentle, heartfelt little soul out while a sleepy acoustic guitar gently weeps in the background.

To his credit, Mr Horan actually sounds like he’s into these songs. You get the sense he’s not just fulfilling a record contract while fantasizing about Guinness and a nap, which is more than I can say for most ex-boy band solo efforts (looking at you, Nick Carter).

And sure, some of it works. Slow Hands is the undeniable MVP of the album, a surprisingly saucy, small-town Casanova bop where Mr Horan delivers the line “like sweat dripping down that dirty laundry” with such low-key sexy confidence you’ll need to fan yourself with the liner notes. It’s the one track that suggests that he might actually have a flask of whiskey and a saucy grin under that boy-next-door exterior.

This Town is another decent effort, an introspective breakup ballad where Mr Horan momentarily morphs into Ed Sheeran’s Irish stunt double. It’s sweet, wistful, and perfect for anyone who enjoys crying into a pint at 2 AM while scrolling through their ex’s wedding photos on Instagram.

But the rest? It’s… fine. Pleasant. Nice. The kind of music that plays softly in a dentist’s office to keep the patients calm while awaiting a root canal. There’s passion here, sure, but most of it is whispering, and after a few tracks, it all sort of blurs into a middle of the road beige fog.

It feels cruel to say this album is basically a collection of Ed Sheeran B-sides rejected for being a bit too sleepy, because Mr Horan genuinely sounds earnest and like he believes in this material. But when all’s said and done, Flicker isn’t so much a spark as it is a dim, flickering candle in the corner of a quaint Irish pub.

Well, except Slow Hands. That song slaps.