A lot has been written about Ghostpoet's fourth album and its gloomy commentary on the socio-political malaise we find ourselves in. While it's been very well received on the whole, no-one seems to quite know how to assess his output - but surely that's the point: the world he consumes, digests and crystallizes for us isn't consistent, so why should his music be?
Nonetheless, the bluesy, languorous style of Woe Is Meee feels like a kindred spirit to fellow track Freakshow; offering a more personal take on the latter's broader observations.
Savannah Setten's accompanying promo taps into Ghostpoet's mood, and the intimate snapshot of one man's world stays with us long after the song has ended. The planes of his face - gaunt and haunted, a demi-monde Beckett - speak of the motel life and fifths of whisky for breakfast. The women for whose company he pays, fuel the chronic yearning in his breast... not for pleasure he can no longer experience, but for their bodies themselves; their femaleness; he covets their gender rather than their sex.
Ghostpoet makes a cameo appearance as the women's pimp outside the door. His stillness suggests there is no hurry for the man to be done with them. What is happening within the room is nothing new - there is nothing new under the sun, or moon, that he hasn't seen; and this adds a deep weight of sadness to the end scene. For as day breaks and the man, once more alone, tentatively gazes at his glittering reflection, we sense the vast indifference of the wider world to his conflicts - conflicts which carried so many more repercussions in his youth and which have smothered and shrunk him over the decades.