Somewhere on the internet is a candid photo taken at 2i’s Coffee Bar in Soho, London; its black and white spillage zapping the psychedelic hues just a door handle away. Outside where the punk scene’s Mad Hatters with thinly pointed mohawks patrol their siren heartbeat streets. The high-strung backtrack to inside thoughts poetically vomited onto loose granite in cruddy spray paint. Such a cozily shut division, yet if a 17-year-old opened Photoshop to play with its lassoed scissors, then Niall Horan would end up like one of those abstract, scrapbook collages. Entirely unsymmetrical. Guitar strumming silhouette (in tune to his PFP since theyāre image sourcing just as a morally good graphic designer will) glued next to a checkered jacket styling on a John Mayer 1960s doppelganger. Then the subtle nod to a pierced loop calling to stygian eyeliner.
When asking Horan himself which one he seemingly belongs in, the Herald Sun has their genre radar straight, āI was going through a punk rock phase when I was 15; I like punk rock now, but I wouldnāt pick up my iPod and go straight to it.ā Thereās a dead-silencing, full stop; it must mean he was mentally cycling through an alphabetized playlist, āIād probably go to the āMac and Crosby Stills and Nash and Jackson Browne and Tom Petty.ā Yep! Within seconds, the refrigerator masterpiece is crumpled up in the trash for the exchange of Horanās entirely Irish self slotting in next to Vince Taylor in a collared, white sweater also strumming along only with a stylish quiff. Or perhaps with a face shrouded by one of those furry windshield microphones, thatās half grey, half black. Ultimately, it does not matter; whether it’s 2i’s Coffee Bar or the Marquee Club ⦠did you hear? This was where Christine McVieās first performance in Fleetwood Mac took place!
Horanās discography is so radio-tuned into Londonās infamous underground clubs that musicians who are chugging on Guinness beer during sad boy hours know about himāāHeās belting those notes out like itās no big deal, thatās wild!ā Jacob Restituto exclaims. Blake McLain tweets out, āMy guitarist Alec is now listening to @NiallOfficial .. Iāve done it. Iāve converted my band.āābut bizarrely, a lot of people question who the hell he is outside of One Direction. Better yet, probably six feet underground at this point; cause of death: bleach. Horan muses to KISS, āPeople still think Iām the fella with the blonde hair, and I havenāt had blonde hair in about five years, so youād be surprised.ā Like you canāt search him to see his tousled, brown hair comically flowing onto Anne-Marieās knitted dress?

Whatās more surprising, his solo artist debut or what some call just-a-man-and-his-guitar was supposed to initially start through an upload of āThis Townā onto SoundCloud. Interchangeable to a university student frantically waiting to send their assignment in through Turnitin when the desktop clock turned to exactly 11:59 p.m. Then came the three-seconds dramatic pounding on Billboard Magazineās Mainstream Top 40 chartsā door. The saucy laundromat rendezvous āSlow Handsā woke up its neighbors with its number one declaration. Soon becoming that track that had even Taylor Swift prancing alongside him during her Reputation Stadium Tourās Wembley Stadium show. āWe could do this, baby, all night,ā she croons to a crowd drenched in purple, taking over the second verse with the sort of prowess a Swiftie could expect from āDress.ā
However, the lightning strike of excitement, or honestly discomposure depending on how well you deal with forlorn storms, flustered with a sky caught between nearing daybreak on the cover for his second album penned Heartbreak Weather. āNice to meet yaaaaaa,ā he sings. Every prolonged stretched-out vowel is reminiscent of a laid-back Australian thinking someone can decipher what they mean when āYeah, nahā utters out of their casually shrugging shoulders coordinated to mouth. Finally, asking, āWhat’s your name?ā This would have been an interesting question to throw back to one of him. In three rectangle boxes for his āNice To Meet Yaā alternate video, he spends five seconds confidently shaking his butt, which is such a stark contrast to white-knuckle fisting his guitar during the Flicker era. Where exactly had he been during the studio sessions stretched between its closing out and this explosive frame of greyscale? So, too, with teasing, muted Instagram stories acting as the insider to his now third album.
Say, hypothetically leaving behind a cassette player with seven old personal favorites. Which tracks would explain his artistry? While we canāt collectively ask him ā need to state that itās not through a lack of conspiring a response through a sneaky, meme-able tweet quickly shooting to its rightful trending topic status. Rather, he literally wonāt soberly pass at least one slinky tune-up! Remember when Twitter user @horansalbum used their 280 characters to write, āNiall what song is underrated on Heartbreak Weather besides Put A Little Love On Me?ā And without even a direct, he rattled off the whole Heartbreak Weather album? All 14 individually that if they were items on a conveyor belt separated through a checkout divider, then youād certainly move to another register. So, asking him for seven would be a near headache-inducing, yet curled up smirking for fear of being caught laughing, task.Ā
Nevertheless, the first one up on the perfectly curated underdog list weāre now titling, ‘please donāt spam my DMs with a string of beetroot red, ā&$!#%ā mouth-tape wearing emojis for not listing your fave,’ can be found nudged just below track 11 on Flicker. Or it’s acting as the lo-fi background noise for the intrusion of spotting a girl in Pret a Manger. āThe coffee’s cold,ā he sings matter of factly on the gritty, guitar crescendo āMirrors.ā Eyes wavering from the menuās specials revealing itself over a squared metal table to notice the entering of our third character, a charming, politely donned waiter. āHe turned around and said, “I hope you know, you’re beautiful. Have you ever been told?” Whatās interesting about this number besides its strategic production, dispelling from the quiet reverence of allowing a peaceful, lullaby melody to set up the scene to elevating the chorus into a three-layered exchange, is its lyrics.
The metaphorical shift from āThe coffeeās coldā to āThe skies are blue;ā itās a complete difference in temperatures, going from a stormy London day to a sunny summer zen because sheās found her strike of confidence. A quality effortlessly fitted on Horan, probably hung up in his everyday staple wardrobe alongside a white teased-out vintage 1995 Harley Davidson t-shirt. Still, scrolling back up from the second verse is another standout line, āShe hides behind the face nobody knows.ā Yeah. Okay! There were mentions of him being undeniably understated; canāt rewrite that, but the difference between a girl whoās clearly going to recite the story of inspiring one of his songs for a lifetime and him is that there are likely times he wishes he could fade into the background through a mirage of stan accounts.
Heck, heās quite literally having a fight with the embodiment of patience; think the holographic orange clock from Loki that, while having a twinkle in its window-cut eyes, also holds an attitude creeping into your insomniac nights. Actually, for the most part, the early 2000s rock time warp āDear Patienceā is an endorphin release. You know, a friendly relationship with the sentiment, hearing guitar strings harshly solitary plucked before being led into the final chorus where thereās a panting coming from the drums coinciding with the rhythmic pattern of an erratic heartbeat. The repetition of āHeyā is sort of akin to pleading as if the feeling isnāt even showing him any attention, which adds up to him being without it. It follows through with a “Can you hear what I’m saying?ā Then to āI hope that I find you, my dearā in the bridge, showing heās treading up to it carefully with a stock of romantic pet names in fear itās going to run away from him. Of course, our Disney-styled happy ending is within the folky outro supplied through a couple of strings and fiddle when heās finally able to embrace it.

Is it much of a sunset veiled drive off in a blue-tinged 1965 Ford Mustang if those same strings coupled with the unexpecting, slight guitar follow him home? See, according to Google, whistling symbolizes contentment. So, while not being the typical, planned ending, maybe the whistling outro for slow-burn Heartbreak Weather closer, āStill,ā is what youād harmonize with closure. The kind he finds walking away from a dunzo relationship down a dark road, kicking pebbled rocks with the soles of his athleisure wear trainers, complaining, āI just don’t know why; stars won’t shine at night.ā The stars, in all of their destined prestige, hung up in the vast galaxy that a painter had to needle prick every little detail; sometimes even theyāre shooting, glorious when looked at, but it fades so quickly. He agrees, āWe should be shooting for them stars of gold.ā It suits the level of isolated poetry that the origins of this track are molded into 20 minutes spent alone as his team chowed down on some food in the kitchen. Telling Buzzfeed, āIt was the first time ⦠in a long time where everything that came to my head fitted into a melody.āĀ
One of those melody-jarred earworms is the howling, sexed-up āSmall Talk,ā he admitted to an overpopulated 41.3 million frenzied fans on Twitter. Seriously, pack all of them invisibly into Royal Albert Hall, and heās sure to sell out 23 shows with the remaining dispersed into a half-full 24th. Oh, wait. He already did that ā 125,000 tickets for a virtual concert! So there, with the brightly shone fleck of blue just behind him, he drawls out with the raspiness ticked all the way over to Sophia Bushās sultry tones, āShe’s been lookin’ at me all night.ā He tenses up. āI’m terrified; I know why, baby.ā Language decoders can easily cast their eyes onto the āsheā and ābabyā of those two sentences.
Yes, theyāre different people, but more than that, his significant other is laser-focused on his wandering eyes, and while thatās a fact he knows too, itās not enough. Singing, āOh, I see the moon in her eyes.ā Even in the pre-chorus, heās creating the context that folks have animal instincts sometimes, visually painting Londonās hunting ground, a tightly fitted space of lit-up bars, underneath the atmosphere of teaming pumping bass and laid-back kick. However, his conscience sneaks back in during the chorus, reassuring her. āTell me what you want because you know I want it too,ā he says, pent-up frustration anchoring into his tiresome bones from an argument thatās justifiably nibbling at the midnight hour.
The same triangular formation follows through the funky āNew Angel.ā In the courthouse hammer-ruling the winnable case of this track deserving more exposure, we have two witnesses. One is the music blog Idolator whoās leading statement is āFans who did take the ride, however, were blessed with slinky, ā80s-inspired pop gems like āNew Angel.ā Itās not too late,ā when having it as a listing on their article named ā20 Songs That Should Have Been Singlesā. The other is us. We must have passed out from the motley light show syncing with the musicās beats as it was last seen on a wanted poster after missing from Royal Albert Hallās setlist. Whatās interesting is that it also sneakily fits into him admitting heās somewhat at fault; over the jazz-spotting white noise, he confesses, āA touch of someone else to save me from myself.ā If that isnāt a red flag, then what is?
Mhm, unreleased tracks? Forget the sorcery of a downplayed official song; it’s when playing friends with the perfectionist backspace that we who could barely muster up a promotional jingle become the revivalists. Clumsy hits are seen as bangers. Bridges are definitely heading to Architectural Digest. And, well, Horan, the ushering ins of āHello, Conorā works as the perfect spoken-word mid-pause. First heard during a live stream dated March 17, 2020, the bitter cocktail garnished with the nuances of Bond āChampagne Loversā shows off his lyricism in brilliant imagery. āRolling the dice just to feel the thunder,ā he bites out. Turbulent, unpredictable; the pile-up of stale words attached to the element that has now bled into wondering if anything good will come out of them staying together. Perhaps a definite not; their love tryst now found āDeep in the heart of a downward spiral.ā

Finally, if our unspoken aim is to catch the attention of the locals, then weāll let the orchestral rendition of āSo Longā speak for itself. His 11 years in the music industry shifted down into 3 minutes and 24 seconds; though, arguably, his RTĆ Radio Studio 1 performance was in 2019. There is a jumbled takeover of harps, electric guitar, and horns, only some of the instruments treading to treat its climax; then, of course, his perfectly pitched voice. āYou know I kept a place for you in my mind, and I know you did the same ’cause you’re just that kind,ā he serenades; so, maybe there isnāt someone in that room. Everyone around him seemingly appears twice his age.
However, it conjures up a sense that his life is a giant tale, and heās pressed a bookmark to one girl, one chapter tangled in the simple theme known as fate. Later on, he shyly states, āNow we got nothing to prove.ā His way of saying theyāve found it. All of the desaturated, muddy sentiments washed away to something that can blossom. Overall though, itās generally about having feelings for someone that while going through peaks, you always ultimately find them as your wish-fulfillment. So, youāre stuck wondering why did it have to happen at this precise moment? In this divine timing?
Niall Horanās forthcoming album is currently sitting pretty alongside other no-daters.