Beans On Toast – The Unforeseeable Future

There are two types of albums that have been released since the pandemic hit: those that embrace and chronicle life under such uncertain times, and those that look elsewhere as an escape from the craziness.  So when it comes to the annual album release by Braintree, Essex’s Beans On Toast, the socially conscious, folky acoustic project of Jay McAllister, which one was it?  Both, of course.  The prolific folk artist is known for his album-per-year output, and has marked the occasion with the release of the warm and fuzzy back to the past blast, Knee Deep In Nostalgia, and the pandemic exploration album, The Unforeseeable Future – the focus of this review.

While Knee Deep In Nostalgia was more of a concept album, The Unforeseeable Future is very much a gritty recollection of our present predicament strummed and observed through the blunt and honest lens of Beans On Toast.  This makes for a very direct and explicit first five or so tracks, recalling the early events and emotional rollercoaster of 2020 with painful detail.  “Strange Days” is pretty much a play-by-play description of panic buying, toilet paper hoarding, and the advent of social distancing and working remotely. “The hospitals are full now and there’s no end in sight; we’re all isolated, alone and in the distance,” sings McAllister as part of the seemingly never ending descriptors of overcrowded hospitals, vulnerable populations and essential service workers.  Under McAllister’s colloquial style and barebones strumming it’s a very depressing and relatable song that begs the question as to whether it’s almost too soon to get enjoyment out of a song that makes you relive a trauma that has yet to heal or be resolved.  Other bands that have chronicled the pandemic have done so with a sense of hope or humour (Real Sickies’ Quarantined comes to mind), but Beans On Toast is an unapologetic reflection of our shared experience over the past several months.

The difficult part of The Unforeseeable Future is just how broadly McAlister dives into 2020’s deep pit of despair.  Within the first five songs he tackles the “American civil war” in reference to the national George Floyd riots and Space X explosions in “What Colour You Are,” the loss of physical closeness and greetings in “Human Contact,” and the passing and cancellation of festivals and concerts in “Glastonbury Weekend.”  “Chessington World of Adventures” is particularly gloomy, summarizing the neglectful attitude of many governments that initially downplayed the virus and need for health precautions in favour of keeping the economy alive and well. These aren’t flashy songs and they don’t try to veil emotions or tragic realities.  Rather, Beans on Toast just presents weighty statement after weighty statement against a minimalist backdrop.  There is no reprieve from the emotional toll during the album’s first half.

With all the doom and gloom I found myself questioning why I was subjecting myself to what was clearly a mood dampener.  The good news is that McAllister hides a few doses of positivity during the back half.  “Save The Music” is cautiously optimistic, serving as an appreciative rallying cry for the personality rich local music venues that make up the local scene, and “Got Each Other” is a story of survival and companionship, killing time by building “a playground in the living room” with your child, eviction and approaching dark times hand in hand.  The upbeat ditty “Patience” is a valuable reminder that even with all of the tragedy, “what really makes the world go around is generosity,” encouraging resilience in listeners to not lose sight of what matters most. These songs afford hopeful messages, but they burn like embers in a fading fire, giving off little warmth compared with cruel winds dampening the flame.

At its core, The Unforeseeable Future is more of a historical document, capturing the explicit descriptions of lived societal upheaval and widespread despair.  Yet for all of its undeniable accuracy, the album is a difficult listen – like aggravating a wound that has not yet healed.  I’m sure The Unforeseeable Future will be seen as valuable in chronicling the pandemic’s emotional toll, but at the moment, given the choice between relief and reality, I’ll happily take Deep In Nostalgia over The Unforeseeable Future any day.  This isn’t to say that I’m one to bury my head in the sand, but rather a reflection of a basic human need that has become painfully obvious over the past year.  In a world where we’re all running on empty, I think it’s fair to want fuel over fire.