Album Review: First Man On Venus by Simon Gylden
Simon Gylden’s First Man On Venus is a curious gem that landed in 2007, blending rock, folk, world, and country influences into a pop-rock tapestry. Self-released under his own label with help from the National Masterpiece Library, this Danish project feels like an intimate labor of love—or perhaps obsession. Gylden wears almost every hat here: writer, composer, producer, engineer, mixer, masterer, instrumentalist, vocalist. You name it, he did it. The result? A DIY masterpiece that feels both sprawling and deeply personal.
The album kicks off strong with "She Laughed I Cried," a track that sticks to your ribs like good comfort food. It's raw yet polished enough to feel intentional—a balance not every artist can pull off. The lyrics are simple but evocative, capturing small moments that somehow feel monumental. There’s something about the way Gylden delivers the line “she laughed, I cried” that hits harder than expected. Maybe it’s the vulnerability in his voice or how the melody lingers just long enough to haunt you. Either way, this song grabs hold and doesn’t let go easily.
Another standout is "Nosebleed On The Catwalk," which brings a quirky energy that sets it apart from the rest of the record. With its punchy rhythm and tongue-in-cheek attitude, it’s hard not to picture some absurd fashion show gone wrong while listening. But beneath the surface-level humor lies a sharp commentary on superficiality and fleeting fame. Gylden has a knack for wrapping heavy themes in deceptively light packaging, and this track proves it.
What makes First Man On Venus so memorable isn’t just its eclectic mix of genres or Gylden’s multi-talented contributions—it’s the sense that he’s inviting us into his world without holding back. Sure, there are moments where things get messy (like the repeated track titles), but even those imperfections add charm. This isn’t music made for algorithms; it’s music made for humans who appreciate authenticity over perfection.
In the end, what struck me most wasn’t any one lyric or riff—it was realizing how rare it is to find an album so unapologetically itself. Listening to First Man On Venus feels like discovering someone’s secret diary, except instead of words, it’s filled with songs. And honestly? That’s kinda beautiful.
Oh, and if you ever meet Simon Gylden, ask him about olifaunts. Something tells me he’d have a story worth hearing.
