Luke Morley – “Walking On Water”
Reviewed by Allister Spence • 5 August 2025
Luke Morley has never been shy about steering his own ship, but *Walking on Water* feels like the voyage he’s been itching to take ever since Thunder pressed pause. With only Sam Tanner adding his velvet touch on keys and Rhys Morgan keeping time behind the kit, Morley handles the rest, carving out an album that breathes, sweats, and occasionally bleeds. It’s delicate when it needs to be, downright granite-jawed when it doesn’t. Every chord, every lyric, pulses with lived-in authenticity, a craftsman telling stories the only way he knows how: full-bodied and from the heart.
“Natural High” offers that feeling of stepping into someone’s arms after a rough day. It’s all warmth and quiet power; each guitar note ringing with the weight of past lives, bruises and victories etched into every bend. Morley’s vocals; not flashy, not smooth, but profoundly human; wrap the track in comfort. He doesn’t just sing love; he sounds like he’s survived it.
Then comes the title track, swaggering into view with a Southern blues strut and a riff that tips the hat to Creedence Clearwater Revival. It’s playful and sharp, imagining Morley as a self-anointed rock god only to gleefully knock that statue to the ground. The whole thing is tongue-in-cheek, much like “Killed by Cobain” from his previous solo effort, but with even catchier hooks and a chorus that sticks to your ribs like pub jukebox gold.
At the heart of the album lies “Breathe,” a ballad soaked in renewal. It’s not about forgetting; it’s about shedding the dead skin of what held you back. The vocal cracks right where it needs to, like someone trying not to cry but failing, beautifully. Morley has a knack for ballads, and here he leans into vulnerability, letting his voice falter in ways that deepen the ache.
“Don’t You Cry Now” and “Forever and Again” drip blues, late-night meditations shaded with soul. These aren’t songs that scream; they whisper, probe the tender parts, and break you slowly with empathy. They sound like conversations you only have after midnight with someone who’s seen the same pain and still poured you another drink.
Then, just as you've nestled into melancholy, “Snakeskin Parachute” and “Bullets” crash the party. Loud, glam-soaked, and utterly unrepentant, they yank you out of introspection like your best mates forcing a pint into your hand when you'd rather be binging reruns in bed. The riffs are huge, the choruses bigger, and the energy reminds you that sometimes music’s job is just to make your blood move.
“Gun to Your Head” follows with a sharper edge; a compact rocker that cuts quick and clean. The solo is a highlight, flashy in all the right places but raw enough to sting.
Morley isn’t just riff-happy, though; he’s a storyteller, and nowhere is that clearer than on “Texas” and “Always a Saturday Night.” These songs feel cinematic, where the dust from the ride settles over pedal steel and faded denim. There’s a Springsteen meets Spielberg flavour, epic, widescreen, endless highways, yearning for barrooms and backroads, but always shot through with Morley’s distinctly British grit.
“In Your Light” closes the record like a final breath before sleep. Sparse and folk-tinged, it doesn’t demand attention; it earns it quietly, letting space do the emotional lifting as Morley whispers his way out.
There are so many facets to *Walking on Water*, it’s no wonder it gleams like a diamond. Morley tosses rock, blues, soul, country, and Americana into the melting pot and lets the stew simmer until it tastes distinctly his. The themes are broad; confidence and despair, loneliness and triumph; but never generic. The album explores how we feel, how we cope, and what makes us claw our way through the mess. One track might lift you up, the next will break your heart, but every moment is earned.
Ultimately, Morley remains the nucleus around which these songs orbit. He’s been there, done that, and still sings like music can lift us out of whatever hole we’re stuck in. If you need a shortcut to what *Walking on Water* feels like, imagine Springsteen from the heart of London, Dire Straits with a Rottweiler’s bite, or Free after a long night of introspection; but the truth is, it sounds like Luke Morley. Straight-talking, soul-bearing, and absolutely worth your time.
This isn’t a good album; this is a great album.