Antony Szmierek is on the precipice of something huge: having exploded over the last twelve months thanks to a fabulous pair of EPs (Poems To Dance To and Seasoning both from 2023), becoming a Six Music poster boy and garnering a reputation as a stellar live act, Szmierek is poised to take over the world.
Szmierek has this wonderful talent of finding profound beauty in the mundane and lavishing life’s inherent romance with a torrent of superlatives: all over a tight series of poppy hooks, flashes of garage and deep dancefloor beats. Imagine the good Doctor Johnny Cooper Clarke fronting the Mondays.
The title track opens proceedings: massive, New Order-style electronica is accompanied by Szmierek’s charming prose. He details people with yoga mats cutting about, those coming back from nights out and the feeling of becoming trapped at the aforementioned Service Station At The End of The Universe. It’s a short number, but it personifies everything there is to love about Szmierek’s work in a lovely three-minute package.
‘Rafters’, the lead single is next up. Again Szmierek does what he does best, capturing the romance in life that so many others brush past. This time, his poetic verse hones in on watching a square of confetti list lazily from the ceiling of a concert venue. The garage-style beat does a brilliant job of framing his observations, leaving short breaks or tiny breakdowns for him to insert a little adlib before jumping right back into the poetry. The observations on display in ‘Rafters’ are endemic to the Szmierek experience: the man’s notes app must be fit to burst.
‘Great Pyramid of Stockport’ follows suit, a massive moment for Szmierek and a cut of huge quality. He equivocates the empty office space (soon to be a curry house, apparently) into a uniquely Mancunian metaphor for love and loss. There is simply no one else doing it like this. ‘Big Light’ is more of the same – buying the wrong incense, leaving the extractor fan on in the bathroom, colloquial references to Didsbury and motorway bridges that are so distinctly Mancunion in their bones, but the flesh of the metaphor is universally relatable.
It’s a talent that is few and far between with artists, and so much of Service Station evokes the feeling of that first Arctic Monkeys record. Sonically, they are very different beasts, but the way Szmierek picks apart facets of Northern life and spins them out into broad, overarching likenesses to love and relationships is so utterly British in its charm.
‘Yoga Teacher’ is another sardonic dance cut, mocking the middle-class pastime with a knowing nod and a wink. Szmierek is great at putting his tongue in his cheek, but his wit elevates this record’s genuine and heartfelt moments to new heights. ‘Crumb’ is a prime example, and it’s the first instance of Szmierek showing off his singing voice on the record.
‘Hitchhikers Guide To The Fallacy’ is a proven fan favourite and sounds just as good on the long player as in its previous digital EP incarnation. It’s one of the most upbeat numbers on the thing, and it provides a brilliant, bouncy counterpart to the loved-up ‘Crumb’.
There is a brief interlude before the album takes a pivot: Szmierek cranks up the danceability of Service Station to 11 with ‘Take Me There’, the instrumental to which sounds like a prime 00’s club classic. ‘Restless Leg Syndrome’ is a highlight on a record of highlights, again Szmierek shows off both sides of his vocal skill- more real-world observations are delivered like a Manc Mike Skinner before Szmierek busts out his best AM-era Alex Turner croon. The whole thing coalesces wonderfully.
Service Station At The End Of The Universe is like a pint of Boddingtons on a summer afternoon: golden, refreshing, unequivocally Mancunion yet popular the country over. Sweet when it needs to be, bitter when necessary, bubbly and light, a proper pint. By ‘eck, it’s gorgeous.