Sarah McQuaid - The Plum Tree And The Rose (Waterbug)
Wooden Horse - What Comes Around (Own Label)
Suzy Bogguss - American Folk Songbook (Loyal Duchess)
Bonnie Raitt - Slipstream (Redwing)
The Barker Band - Dig Me A Hole (Own Label)
State of the Union - State of the Union (Reveal)
John Doe & The Sadies - Country Club (Yep Roc)
Counting Crows - Underwater Sunshine (Or What We Did On Our Summer Vacation) (Cooking Vinyl)
Dave Alvin - Blue Boulevard/Museum Of Heart (Retroworld)
Kan - Sleeper (Kan)
Nick Burbridge & Tim Cotterell - Gathered (Burbridge Arts)
The Imagined Village - Bending The Dark (ECC Records)
Kate Campbell - 1000 Pound Machine (Large River Music)
Waz E James - Noisy Truck (Gravel Road)
The Dunwells - Blind Sighted Faith (Playing In Traffic)
The Toy Hearts - Whiskey (Woodville)
Kit - Echoes of the Past (Kit Music)
The Wishbones - Forever Bound (Own Label)
I See Hawks In L.A. - New Kind of Lonely (Western Scene)
Punch Brothers - Who's Feeling Young Now? (Nonesuch)
Chris Thile & Michael Daves - Sleep With One Eye Open (Nonesuch)
Jeffrey Foucault - Cold Satellite (Continental Song City)
Seth Lakeman - Tales From The Barrel House (Honour Oak)
Rich Hopkins & Luminarios - Buried Treasures (Blue Rose)
Buddy Miller - Your Love And Other Lies/Poison Love (Retroworld)
Ellen & The Escapades - All The Crooked Scenes (Branch Out)
Pig Earth - 14' x 12' (Own Label)
The Cactus Blossoms - The Cactus Blossoms (Own Label)
Marvin Etzioni - Marvin Country! (Nine Mile)
Various Artists - John Barleycorn Reborn: Rebirth (Cold Spring)
Grace Notes - 20 (Fellside)
Malcolm Bushby - Islands (Shearwater)
Roger Davies - Songs In Plain English (Roger Davies Music)
Richie Havens - My Own Way (Wienerworld/Douglas Records)
Kate Macleod & Kat Eggleston - Lost And Found (Waterbug)
Nick Rooke - Trouble Adjustin' (Own Label)
John Doyle - Shadow And Light (Compass)
Loudon Wainwright III - Older Than My Old Man Now (Proper)
Jim Reynolds - If Only (PI)
Damon Albarn - Dr Dee (Parlophone)
Cathy Jordan - All The Way Home (Blix Street)
Martyn Bennett - AYE (Long Tale)
Cloudstreet - The Land Of Bright Gold (Cloudstreet CDST07)
The Chieftains - Voice Of Ages (Hear Music/Decca)
Various Artists - Big River, Big Songs: The Tyne (DVD) (Mawson & Wareham)
Gerry Cooper - Follow The River (Limbo Label)
Breabach - Bann (Bann Records)
Geordie McIntyre & Alison McMorland - Where Ravens Reel (Rowan Records)
Alasdair Fraser & Natalie Haas - Highlander's Farewell (Culburnie)
Pieta Brown - Mercury (Red House)
Steve Turner - Rim Of The Wheel (Tradition Bearers)
Russ Chandler - Last Night In Babylon (UnLabelled)
Girlyman - Supernova (Own Label)
American Aquarium - Dances For The Lonely (Freeworld)
Stacey Earle & Mark Stuart - Dedication (Gearle Records)
Justin Townes Earle - Nothing's Gonna Change The Way You Feel About Me Now (Bloodshot)
Kevin Gordon - Gloryland (Crow)
Tom Kell - This Desert City (17 ° Recording)
Bruce Springsteen - Wrecking Ball (Columbia)
The Civil Wars - Barton Hollow (Columbia)
Various Artists - The Mountain Music Project (Mountain Music Project)
Chris Isaak - Beyond The Sun (Rhino)
Greg Brown - Freak Flag (Yep Roc)
The Albion Band - The Vice Of The People (Powered Flight Music)
Tim O'Brien - Chicken And Egg (Howdy Skies)
Carolina Chocolate Drops - Leaving Eden (Nonesuch)
Nanci Griffith - Intersection (Proper)
Anaïs Mitchell - Young man In America (Wilderland Records)
Jay Farrar/Will Johnson/Anders Parker/Yim Yames - New Multitudes (Rounder)
Sons Of The Never Wrong & Friends - Church Of The Never Wrong (Waterbug)
Mae & The Midnight Fairground - Black Horses (Own Label)
David Gibb & Elly Lucas - Old Chairs To Mend (Hairpin)
I See Hawks In L.A. - New Kind of Lonely (Western Scene)
Punch Brothers - Who's Feeling Young Now? (Nonesuch)
Chris Thile & Michael Daves - Sleep With One Eye Open (Nonesuch)
Jeffrey Foucault - Cold Satellite (Continental Song City)
Seth Lakeman - Tales From The Barrel House (Honour Oak)
Cowboy Junkies - The Wilderness: The Nomad Series Volume 4 (Proper)
Amanda Shires - Carrying Lightening (Own Label)
Gina Forsyth - Promised Land (Waterbug)
Cosy Sheridan - The Horse King (Waterbug)
Stephen David Austin - A Bakersfield Dozen (Own Label)
The James Low Western Front - Whiskey Farmer (Union Made)
Nick Rooke - Trouble Adjustin' (Own Label)
Jones - Ghost Of Song (MeMe)
Louise Jordan - Tempvs (Azania)
Ben Calvert & The Swifts - Festive Road (Bohemian Jukebox)
Polly Paulusma - Leaves From The Family Tree (Wild Sound)
Early Winters -Early Winters (OwnLabel)
Kyle Carey - Monongah (Own Label)
Dan Raza - Dan Raza (Auralee)
Blueflint - Maudy Tree (Johnny Rock Records)
Louise Killeen - Brilliant Tease (Goodwood Music)
Various - 1961 British Hit Parade Part 1/Part 2 (Fantastic Voyage)
Sarah's name is becoming increasingly well known in the UK through persistent touring and higher-profile exposure of late, but she remains something of a best-kept secret. More's the pity, for hers is a consummate talent – she's an exceptionally fine singer and a highly competent guitarist and writes thoughtful and attractive songs, while having great taste in selectively covering other folks' material alongside her proven feel for traditional song.
And yet, between 1997 and 2008, Sarah released only two solo CDs (both recorded in Ireland, where she was living at the time); together reflecting her musical background, these complemented each other well, for the first focused on Irish traditional music and the second celebrated old-time Appalachian folk. These were followed in 2009 by a mesmerising joint album with fellow Penzance resident Zoë (Crow Coyote Buffalo).
Sarah's long-awaited followup, The Plum Tree And The Rose, is satisfyingly listenable and, despite being stylistically more diverse, displays a keen consistency of vision and expression. The 13-track menu includes no fewer than nine of Sarah's own compositions, which themselves display influences from folk to jazz and old-fashioned popular song. Best of these are the trio of songs which are connected by metaphysical concerns: the themes of spiritual questioning and the relationship between soul and place. Standout among them is the powerful, emotionally and poetically resonant title song (whose melody seems incidentally to reference The Snows They Melt The Soonest), whereas the monumental In Derby Cathedral fairly drips genius loci (and forms an apt companion to Hardwick's Lofty Towers, Sarah's recounting of the story of Bess of Hardwick who happens to be buried there).
Kenilworth, which imagines a courtly ode sung to Queen Elizabeth I, provides a musical time-tunnel leading to a pair of tracks later on the disc which share a loosely Elizabethan timeline: John Dowland's plangent song of sexual frustration Can She Excuse My Wrongs? and a catchy little Thomas Ravenscroft round (New Oysters New).
The disc's remaining two covers are very much contrasted: a 13th century Occitan alba (dawn song) receives an enterprising and appropriately sparse shruti box and tiple backdrop, whereas on John Martyn's classic Solid Air Sarah's limpid vocal cascades duet fetchingly with Bill Blackmore's trumpet. Three of Sarah's songs were co-written with Gerry O'Beirne, whose sympathetic and even-handed production perfectly suits Sarah's special brand of artistic eloquence and accomplishment; The Sun Goes On Rising, a restless, anxiously shuffling socio-political commentary on the global economic downturn, is probably the finest of these jointly-penned items, but So Much Rain (a rumination on lost love and the changing of the seasons) runs it close.
A kind of elegantly minimalist understatement is a characteristic of Sarah's music, evidenced as much by her subtle, well nigh impeccable guitar playing as by the musical content of the closing track, In Gratitude We Sing, a delightful round for six voices (a mere trifle in terms of playing-time, but very appealing indeed) which features the voice of Sarah's friend Niamh Parsons. But the whole album is a sublimely well-crafted calling-card for Sarah's unobtrusive artistry.
David Kidman May 2012
Once the name of a 70s acoustic folk pop quintet featuring Susan Traynor (later better known as Noosha Fox of Fox) who released two well received albums before breaking up, it now belongs to this Worcester duo comprising baritone voiced singer Jamie Knight who plays acoustic guitar and stomp box while Ben Church provides dazzling Weissenborn slide, banjo and 12 string.
They’ve been doing the rounds for a while but are only just beginning to build a profile. Deservedly so too in the light of this self-released debut and its cocktail of Deep South country blues and Appalachian folk and bluegrass that sounds more like it comes from Worcester, Massachusetts.
Listening to their version of the trad CC Rider, you can picture them sitting on some cabin porch in the woods, a jug of moonshine on the table by the old carved chair. Fluidly played and sung with a relaxed throaty warmth, the music slips down a lot more smoothly than hooch, but thankfully avoids the sort of polish that’s sterilized too many similar acts.
Their choice of covers says much about them, delivering Ryan Adams’ California with a resigned dusty weariness that calls to mind the finest of Mickey Newbury, bringing a deeper resonance to Old Crow Medicine Show’s We’re All In This Together, and taking Vince Gill’s All Prayed Up at a less breakneck pace with more blues gospel than bluegrass,substituting harmonica for fiddle. The only one that falls slightly short is A Simple Twist Of Fate where , Knight vocal seems to be straining too hard to avoid the Dylan inflections.
The rest of the album is all self-penned, and it says much that their numbers don’t suffer by comparison, opening with the bluesy J.J Cale shuffle of Hell Ain’t Going Home, Church’s bottleneck work unfussy but exemplary. A banjo picking Freight Train Blues chugs along the tracks with a full head of steam as do the mouth harp chuffing blues boogies Yonder Calling and the shared vocals Be Lonely With Me, while Waiting On You’s fingerpicking plantation gospel jive showcases the duo’s harmonies.
But it’s on their two more reflective songs they shine brightest, We’ll Move On where Knight suggests a dustbowl Raul Malo and, with its vocal harmonies and the deep grained emotions of the lyrics and delivery, arguably the album’s standout, Rainclouds.
Currently playing around the West Midlands and the shires, it can only be a matter of time before they’re enthralling packed out clubs in Austin or Nashville.
Mike Davies April 2012
Although she’s carved a successful career out of singing mainstream country, there’s always been a seam of the traditional running through Boggus’ work. It’s exposed in full here with an album that finds her tackling 17 classics from the American folk tradition, unplugging the electrics for a simple acoustic approach with instrumentation that includes cello, mandolin, accordion, jews harp, hammered dulcimer and banjo with Gretchen Peters and Matraca Berg helping on background vocals.
Produced by Bogguss it still sounds like a polite and well crafted studio product rather than conjuring images of front porches and dusty hillsides, but there’s no doubting the sentiments and passions behind it and her voice is open and honest. As you might imagine, there’s been no messing around with the songs, each given a respectful treatment that stays true to those versions remembered and passed down from old school days and family gatherings.
Her choices span the various American folk genres, embracing bluegrass, cowboy songs, blues, skiffle and old time swing, ranging from the murder ballad Banks Of The Ohio. yodelling cowboy lament Git Along Little Doggies and banjo staple Ol’ Dan Tucker to the worksong spiritual Swing Low Sweet Chariot and kiddies song Froggy Went A-Courtin’, a song that dates back (in print at least) to 1611 Scotland and runs to a staggering 171 verses, though mercifully she restricts herself to seven.
Most have travelled far beyond American shores and the album includes such well known evergreens as Shady Grove, Shenadoah, Red River Valley, Wayfaring Stranger, Careless Love (a lazily relaxed bluesy treatment), Wildwood Flower, Rock Island Line and Stephen Foster’s enduring Beautiful Dreamer.
However, some will be less familiar. Dating from the American Revolution, Johnny Has Gone For A Soldier will be less well known than Siuil A Ruin, the old Irish tune on which it’s based and popularised by, among others, Clannad, Mary Black and Altan. Likewise, lullaby All The Pretty Little Horses, Erie Canal (an actions song often heard in American fifth grade classrooms) and Gold Rush tune Sweet Betsy From Pike may be new to those not up on their American folk history.
Fortunately, Bogguss has written a hardback companion book of the same title to accompany the release containing brief historical notes to the songs’ backgrounds. She’s no Harry Smith (he compiled Folkways’ seminal Anthology of American Folk Music and wrote the synopses) and doesn’t delve too deeply in the songs’ provenances and variations, but she does turn up some interesting facts and dates, noting, for example, the different possible derivations of Red River Valley and the lyrical transformations of Wildwood Flower. And, if you happen to have a guitar to hand, there’s sheet music and lyrics for all the songs too to help keep the tradition alive.
Mike Davies May 2012
63 this year, Raitt was one of the stalwarts of 70s American music, her music rooted in the blues but embracing folk, country and rock, as well as being a mean slide guitar player. However, early expectations and critical acclaim never translated into commercial sales and it would not be until 1990 and recovery from substance abuse, that she finally found success when Nick Of Time topped the US charts after winning three Grammys and if the follow-up, Luck of the Draw, stalled at # 2, it sold truckloads more and equalled its predecessors Grammy total.
However, although 1994’s Longing In Their Hearts also topped the charts, sales began to slacken off with the three subsequent albums selling progressively less. This is her first release in seven years, the first on her own label, produced by herself save for four numbers on which Joe Henry was at the controls.
As with her best work, the music falls into two camps, the sort of swaggery, hot and sweaty blues that saw her likened to Howlin’ Wolf and, though still streaked with the blues, the more AOR folk pop balladry that earned her the affections of Jackson Browne and Linda Ronstadt audiences.
I’ve always preferred her in the latter mood, and co-written by Henry and Loudon Wainwright III, You Can’t Fail Me Now is up there with her best, though the late night regret stained Not Cause I Wanted To Be, Paul Brady’s Marriage Made In Hollywood, Henry penned God Only Knows where she’s accompanied by just Patrick Warren’s keyboards, and Dylan’s reflective Standing In The Doorway are all quality tracks.
If you’re more turned on when she boogies, then the funky chops of Randall Bramblett’s opening track Used To Rule The World (a lyric that talks to the current economic climate despite being written four years back) will have the blood dancing in your veins, a mood echoed by the organ churning rock n rolling Split Decision, and guitarist George Marinelli’s Southern barroom rocker Down To You (the only track to which Raitt herself contributes, co-writing lyrics with Bramblett), a number you could hear Rod Stewart doing back in the days.
Slower, moodier blues licks can be found on Al Anderson and Bonnie Bramlett’s throaty bottleneck showcase groove Ain’t Gonna Let You Go and a six minute lazy lope through Dylan’s Million Miles with Greg Leisz and Bill Frisell adding their guitars to the drinking session. Odd one out is a cover of Gerry Rafferty’s Right Down The Line to which she gives a chugging reggae arrangement that could even give her some action on the American singles charts.
Mike Davies April 2012
Almost as if overcompensating for the previous album's terrible heavy metal looking cover, this time the album sleeve and inner photos have them firmly displaying their roots image wearing flat caps, dungarees, braces, and gabardines, photographed with spades, watering cans and tending an allotment. Mind you, those are legs hanging over the wheelbarrow and a pair of feet you see sticking out of the soil, so maybe someone's having a bit of a laugh.
They kick off in bluesy form with Black Cat, Nella Johnson singing unaccompanied before guitar, drums and banjo kick in for a rootsy bluegrass stomp. Although the voices of Barker brothers Sam and Jake can be heard on Trouble and Love Letters, as with the last album it's Johnson's that dominates, in soulful sultry mood with Hold On, conjuring thoughts of Bobbie Gentry rather than Joplin, burning a country gospel flame with Chapel where Dave Fretton's key scorch the pews, and drawling bluesily through the dark clouds of El Diablo.
They're also getting increasingly heavy these days, incorporating considerable hard rock influences into the bluegrass and folk based sound. Yes, the title track kicks up a sprightly pair of fiddle and banjo heels as its bustles along on an almost mazurka jog, but its closer to Charlie Daniels than it is Alison Krauss.
Likewise, six minute closer The Bullet where the boys take lead over a throbbing bass line and urgent riffs leading to a squealing guitar notes and pounding drums finale. That they have a track titled Song For Dio, a swampy, bluesy tune with muscular banjo and heavy metal guitar breaks about the late Ronnie James, says much, though just to confuse pigeonholing, Let It Go turns up a reggae lurch behind Johnson's Fever-ish prowl.
Thanks to Johnson, they're almost unrecognisable now from the band that made Lonesome Waltz and The Night Ain't Over. As such they may well have lost some early fans along the way, but if they keep moving in the current direction they'll be gathering considerably more..
Mike Davies April 2012
Two years ago, American blues guitarist Brook Williams stepped in at short notice to play Boo Hewardine's Ely Christmas concert when bad weather meant the advertised special guests couldn't make it. It was to spark a creative chemistry that now finds expression in this special relationship album, recorded in just a day and a half in the track order they appear on the album, featuring just the two of them and their guitars, the songs self penned - individually or in collaboration - with one cover and one trad tune. Written and sung by Williams, the chug rhythm of Darkness sets the ball rolling with its dusty Americana and slide guitar before Hewardine picks up the baton, taking lead with Brooks for 23 Skidoo, a wry look at life with a 30s hula hula melody. They retain a retro feel for two co-penned numbers, the eponymous instrumental where their guitars gel perfectly and the lazy rippling Paper, Scissors And Stone, a song you could imagine either Harry Belafonte or Leon Redbone singing.
An unlikely but delightful bluesily acoustic take on Pet Shop Boys number Rent, breathily delivered by Hewardine, gives way to Williams slapping guitar for the trad Peg And Awl while Hewardine provides the melody line.
Again harking back to the hula lounge sounds of the 20s and 30s, Williams' dusty tones crooning romantic lullaby Distant Memory is the third of the joint compositions, the album rounded out with his ragtime blues Union Jack, Hewardine's Cicadas (a relaxed number surely meant to be listened to while lying in a hammock with an iced mojito), and a shared vocal gospel folk strumming Sweet Honey In The Rock written by Boo and John McCusker with Williams having the last Three Little Words with a gentle, drift away honeyed caress.
As you'll know, the State of the Union is the annual address by the President to the US Congress reporting on the state of the nation. Well, America may be in a mess, but I'm glad to report that this musical alliance is in splendidly healthy shape.
Mike Davies April 2012
Born over the course of a drunken night in Toronto, the musical pairing of the former X frontman and the alt country roots rockers came to fruition on this collection of country covers, harking back to his days with The Knitters and filtering 60s Nashville through Bakersfield honky tonks.
There's a good balance of evergreens and lesser known numbers, though Waylon Jennings fans might argue against opener Stop The World And Let Me Off being included among the latter. However, it's fair to say that Tammy Wynette hit 'Til I Get It Right, Merle Haggard's Are the Good Times Really Over? (one of two tracks to feature Kathleen Edwards), Bill Anderson's cheating wife murder ballad The Cold Hard Facts Of Life (a hit for Porter Wagoner) or even Roger Miller's Husbands and Wives won't be as familiar outside the hardcore country audience as A Fool Such As I, I Still Miss Someone (taken at a faster chug than the Cash original), Help Me Make It Through The Night, a lively Take These Chains From My Heart (though it'll be the slower soulful Ray Charles version most know), or Detroit City.
The versions hew pretty much to the originals, although Willie Nelson's Night Life gets an awkward blues and surf guitar treatment, but remain distinctive in their own right thanks to the band's immaculate playing and Doe's gruff, wearied voice.
It's not entirely all country classic covers, the Sadies contribute three of their own, two short but feisty fiddle blazing instrumentals, The Sudbury Nickel and Pink Mountain Rag, and pedal steel keening ballad Before I Wake while, again featuring Edwards, It Just Dawned On Me is actually a (new?) number by Doe and ex-wife Exene Cervenka. None of them would earn membership to the same Club as the other songs, but neither do they diminish the enjoyment of an unessential but highly playable album..
Mike Davies April 2012
It's been four years since Adam Duritz and the boys released an album of new material, In 2009, the year after the ambitious Saturday Nights and Sunday Mornings, they split from Geffen, their label of 18 years, and last year released a concert recording of debut album August And Everything After via Eagle Rock. Now, signed to Collective Sounds in America and Cooking Vinyl for the UK, they return with.....an album of cover versions.
But stifle the frustrations for a moment because it's actually really rather good, although for band devotees many of the choices will be familiar from live shows, B sides and bonus tracks, albeit those that have previously surfaced are here in newly recorded versions.
Duritz is in fine dusty drawling voice and even if they must have played some of these numbers dozens of times, the band sounds fresh and purposeful. It's also good news that, unless you're a totally avid fan or a dedicated music collector, the bulk of the material isn't going to spark memories of the original versions. Certainly not the yearning alt country rock Jumping Jesus which dates back to Duritz's pre Crows days with Bay Area underachievers Sordid Humor. Likewise, how many out there have heard of Long Beach indie folk rock outfit Romany Rye, let alone their Untitled (Love Song) which provides the soulful Southern country opening (and longest) track or Like Teenage Gravity by Oregon's Kasey Anderson while the nervy Hospital with its prominent strummed acoustic guitar is a bit of a cheat, being a cover of a demo from an as yet unreleased album by friend of the band Coby Brown.
But if you're starting to feel a little adrift, then the jangling 12 string tones of Teenage Fanclub's Start Again will bring a warm smile of recognition. It's just one of several tracks that underscore the influence of British folk rock and acoustic on the band's own music, the others lining up as a Fairport's Meet On The Ledge which starts out sparse and gradually builds to a rowdy chorus swell that points up the song's inherent gospel streak, a chiming version of Travis' Coming Around with Duritz making a decent stab at Fran Healy's falsetto, and a suitably good time, bluesy reading of Ooh La La off The Faces album of the same name.
Inevitably though, it's native sons who dominate the material. Charlie Gillingham and Dan Vickrey used to be in Tender Mercies who, despite not actually recording an album until they got back together last year after two decades, contribute two of the album's best and most soulful Americana numbers, Mercy and Four White Stallions.
Veteran country act Pure Prairie League turn up with mandolin and accordion good timing Amie (an old Crows B side) while rising folk rock outfit Dawes are celebrated with the excellent slow swaying lament All My Failures, although the track itself stems from a Daytrotter session by their singer Taylor Goldsmith.
The remaining tracks come from three of the band's biggest inspirations. They've done Dylan's You Ain't Goin' Nowhere before, but judging by the loose rolling treatment here, still clearly get a buzz from it while Gram Parsons is inevitably represented by a joyful romp though long standing live favourite Return of the Grievous Angel. Perhaps The Ballad of El Goodo isn't the most obvious pick from the Big Star catalogue, but, a heartfelt melancholic reading, it winds things up in style.
Definitely a solid addition to their discography and an album that'll sound great cruising down the highway with the windows down, but I now the holiday's over it really is time they knuckled down and made an album of their own original material. .
Mike Davies April 2012
The reissue division of Floating World, Retroworld is currently embarked on a series of mind price Americana double albums, recent artists having included Tom Russell and The Blasters. The latter, of course, were fronted by Dave Alvin alongside brother Phil. Dave quit the band in '86, briefly joining X before pursuing a solo career. Following the commercial failure of his debut album, Romeo's Escape (known as Every Night About This Time in the UK), he was dropped by Columbia and, released '91, Blue Boulevard marked his first for Hightone. Today regarded as a seminal album in the history of California roots music, it featured Lee Allen, David Hidalgo and Dwight Yoakam, the latter having earlier scored a hit with Alvin's Long White Cadillac. With tracks that include Blue Boulevard, the swampy Brand New Heart and a cover of Tom Russell's Haley's Comet, it re-established Alvin as a significant force on the scene and was followed two years later by Museum Of Heart, this time featuring John Doe, Syd Straw and Katy Moffatt.
Kicking off with the rocking title track with its horns, boogie woogie piano and Tex Mex flavour, it was less bluesy than its predecessor, stand out numbers including Don't Talk About Her, the rock n rolling Burning In Water, Drowning In Flames, Stranger In Town and Tom Russell co-write Between The Cracks.
These days, he slips between the early roots rock material and a more acoustic approach, but his standard's never faltered and this reissue's a perfect opportunity for new fans to discover his early work at a knock down price..Mike Davies April 2012
Literally, Kan means yellow seed; according to the Mayan calendar 2010 was the year for new beginnings and planting that seed. So I guess in that context you could call Kan, the band whose seed was planted in that year, a supergroup, if for no other reason than that all four of its members are exceptional instrumentalists of oft-proven status who share a deep mutual admiration for each other's talents. Aidan O'Rourke is the established fiddle player with avant-folk trio Lau, while flute and whistle maestro Brian Finnegan's pedigree stretches right back to his founding of that important and influential combo Flook. Completing the lineup are ultra-inventive young guitar wizard Ian Stephenson and highly intuitive percussionist Jim Goodwin, both of whom have been involved in countless formal collaborations and sessions with top-flight musicians from across the spectrum of folk, jazz and fusion musics.
With this their debut album, the band has declared an intention to create "a homogeneous quartet of lead instruments", a dictum emerging both from the nature of the individual members' past collaborations and from the way they present themselves on stage, performing in an arc with no lead musician in the spotlight.
The word homogeneous is here used in the sense of equal-handedness and uniformity, I hasten to add, and should not be taken to mean bland in any way. There's a splendid consistency of approach within the elements of the sound-picture, allied to an enviable fluidity born of (and informed and then honed by) years of contributing to sessions both informal and formal and in all manner of musical contexts. Even so, notwithstanding the predictably stupendous instrumental virtuosity of the players, Kan's music doesn't ever shout at you or thrust that aspect in your face, rather it's quite chillout in nature and demeanour; that doesn't mean it's not exciting, however, in its own intricate way.
The drum adventures and percussion parts are every bit as important to the overall picture as the lead melodies played on fiddle, whistle or flute, while the guitar work, though relatively undemonstrative at times, is so worth digging out of the mix (it doesn't take centre stage terribly much) for its subtle brilliance. Opening cut One Two Three is a very relaxed, organic exploration that (at any rate to my mind) meanders a touch inconsequentially and is a trifle deceptive compared with the more interesting tracks that follow. Mangatakk, for instance, raises the emotional temperature by ingeniously fusing together African rhythms and a Breton dance with a fiddle reel: stimulating, satisfying and bearing repeated plays, there's lots going on here. Similarly with the spirited jig that forms the springboard for Marcos, the lively intertwining of flute and fiddle parts giving way to a truly invigorating workout, after which the slower pace of Eva is just on the right side of edgy in its rhythmic impetus to keep our senses alert and prevent us from luxuriating overmuch in the resonant texturings that include a piano part for added embellishment. Percussively perky jig-inflected grooves usher in Rangoon, which in turn gives way to a frenetic pounding grinder of a reel.
For the majority of the penultimate track, Ian's composition Modul1 provides an interlude of respite with sinuous eastern promise, and the disc concludes with Coriolis, whereby a beautifully leisurely opening gives way to a tumbling final jig, the whole caboodle then being brought to an abrupt halt in mid-stream during a solo passage. A bit too abrupt, maybe - but I suppose it does have the effect of making you want to return to the beginning of the album - perhaps that's a deliberate structural gambit, part of an intentionally cyclic musical arc wherein the play of the disc mirrors the players on stage.
David Kidman April 2012
The latest musical project from singer, songwriter, poet and playwright Nick Burbridge (long-time Levellers collaborator and driving force behind McDermott's Two Hours) is a determinedly unplugged set of self-penned songs that invokes an entirely contemporary world-view while remaining cleverly rooted in the traditional Celtic idiom. To assist in realising his dark yet compassionate vision of our society Nick has enlisted the multi-instrumentalist skills of alt-folk specialist Tim Cotterell, whose subtly quirky style of clothing surefootedly suits Nick's memorably artful and puckish wordsmithery.
The various characters portrayed within opening vignette Last Train Home are "gathered" through a torrent of articulate poetry whose Dylanesque thrust knowingly complements its attendant sweeping melody, according a powerful sense of alienation (Robb Johnson filtered through T.S. Eliot, perhaps) that is curiously intimate and yet leaves us with no illusions. Here, as throughout the 12-song collection, Nick's grainy, weathered voice possesses a compulsive and companionable Irishness (a veritable Burbridge trademark which also permeated last year's exceptional volume of poetry The Unicycle Set); this can, in the twinkling of an eye, switch between tenderly lyrical and rough-hewn, almost belligerent. Suitably contorted melodies reflect Nick's intelligent (and unflinchingly honest) expression of the bitter truths of life and its issues; and yet the overall impression is of a fluent, relaxed artistic personality with a consummate gift for the sympathetic presentation of the imperfections of humanity.
Although in his response to the world's foibles Nick's personal brand of poetic justice can seem provocative, even confrontational, it invariably also embodies a built-in empathy with the human condition, which is typically characterised by linguistic richness and expressive warmth. For the jagged edginess of the vocal lines - and the lyrics themselves - is offset by sensitive instrumentation which can impart a significantly elegant (and surprisingly fulsome) beauty to the proceedings. This device is particularly effective in plaintively conveying the painful depiction of one's feared twilight years Aren't You Going To Say Goodbye, John?, the almost mystical nature-portrait The Years, and the mournful, ethereal yet earthy keening of the potently elegiac Sorrow No More. Nick's whimsical and at times decidedly enigmatic look-at-life quite often recalls vintage Dr Strangely Strange, while an abundantly playful jiggery weaves itself in and out of pieces like Sister Mercy, The Monkey and especially The Road Less Travelled, whose genial philosophy calls to mind the lilting whimsy of Colum Sands.
This magnificent, insightful collection, arguably Nick's finest to date, immediately captures the listener's ear and mind with musical and lyrical invention that barely lets up before its final cadences are abruptly snatched away from the airwaves.
David Kidman April 2012
"Bending The Dark" (quoth the band's own press statement, which accompanies the skimpy cardboard-sleeve promo disc) "is an album about group survival". It's a tribute to the troupe's persistence in the face of adversity, and its pulling-through to a hope-filled result: by bending the dark into light, in other words. (But ironically, this convenient and apt metaphor turns out to be more of a hindsight than a deliberate parallel, for the word "dark" is itself merely the result of a typo, a misreading of the word "da", the sixth note in the Indian scale, in the notes for the CD's title track.)
And adversity aplenty there has been in the gestation of this latest album, despite best intentions and all the impetus generated by the Empire And Love tour. Not only was there a significant degree of family illness (not least Norma Waterson's ill-health), but also a key absence from the band of one of its major forces (Chris Wood, who'd decided to take a sabbatical). Studio sessions were only finally completed early this year.
So, perhaps inevitably, the resulting record is a touch inconsistent, and leaves a taste of being slightly unfinished, of a vision not quite fully realised. Having said that, some of the disc's many layers take a while to make their mark on subsequent playthroughs. The Imagined Village concept has always been a bit like that in terms of listener response, and a challenge is only par for the course after all. The collective's second CD, Empire And Love, had arguably taken the fusion of English traditional music (largely represented by material from the Martin Carthy songbook) with other global musics (especially those from the Indian sub-continent) as far as it might reasonably be taken. But in its most inspiring passages, Bending The Dark does indeed stretch the envelope further, although - like many such ventures - it also contains a small share of comparatively less interesting moments. However, the disc's standout, and centrepiece, is the title track, an epic twelve-and-a-half-minute instrumental that I guess might be considered the IV's equivalent of Interstellar Overdrive albeit perhaps more episodic.
Built largely around musical paraphrases of The Cuckoo's Nest, and melding English and eastern in the heat of the sun, it journeys strangely but entirely logically across the sands from tea-dance to morris in ambient wordless vocalising counterpoint, pausing for a while to reflect on the beauty of the landscape and the journey into and out of space, and then with renewed energy pitching onwards and ahead into an exciting drum-battle that evokes both Sandy Nelson and Gene Krupa and culminates in a triumphant and expansive dance to a cinematic theme. Bravely pulling together all the elements of the Imagined Village, this track seems the ultimate showcase for Simon Emmerson's central concept, at least for now.
Elsewhere, the presences of Jackie Oates and Eliza Carthy are strongest in evidence, both at their very best here and sounding fully at home with the spirit of IV. Admittedly, at times the disc feels as much like a series of contributions to one of the Lush records as it does an Imagined Village record, and there's not the sense of iconoclastic, so what?, devil-may-care defiance that defined the earlier IV releases. But Bending The Dark does have its own particular character, and for the most part a unity of vision that keeps it hanging together. There's a convincing medley of The Captain's Apprentice (captivatingly sung by Jackie) and New York Trader (Eliza), and on Fisherman Eliza contributes a telling lyric commentary (Simon Richmond providing the music). Nest might have turned out a distinct curio, featuring as it does vocals from Jackie and Eliza as well as Martin C, but its power reveals itself gradually and subtly over time.
The "bending the dark" theme recurs on the positive lyric of Wintersinging, a musically intriguing piece based around a 5/4 Cornish Kabm Pemp dance that provides its central fiddle motif. The light-rushing rhythms continue on through Sick Old Man, Eliza's allegorical contemporary rewrite of Raggle Tagge Gypsies, but somehow the drum-and-bass-styled setting seems out of place and almost too casually applied. Eliza's arrangement of the traditional Washing Song, while beautifully rendered in its pared-down yet gently luscious setting, seems rather to have been tacked on at the end of the disc and thus fails to do itself full justice. The remaining tracks are both instrumentals, and although they espouse the expected IV characteristics and make most of the right noises and gestures (as it were), they don't seem quite to get going much past an air of mildly aimless experimentation; as interludes between the main features, though, they're just fine, with some compelling individual sections, notably in The Guvna (with its eerie spacey kind of vibe that at one point recalls the old Specials hit Ghost Town).
As for the final verdict, well I sense that time will tell as subsequent plays reveal more and more of the fine detail and excellent musicianship.
www.eccrecords.co.uk/theimaginedvillage
David Kidman April 2012
Althugh she’s never enjoyed the same sort of success, since releasing her debut album back in 1994, Campbell has been held in the same high critical esteem as such kindred folk/Americana names as Emmylou Harris, Gretchen Peters and Nanci Griffith.
This is her 14th album and again comes steeped in her Southern roots, though this time she’s behind the piano rather than her usual guitar, a musical transition cemented in the album’s title and opening number, a song that, co-penned with producer Will Kimbrough, details the technical process of making music on the instrument, and, sounding appropriately hymnal (with a brief sample of Ode To Joy) marvels at the mystery of spinning beauty from such mechanical means. Indeed, she’s so taken with the magic, she plays out the album with an instrumental reprise.
Raised a Mississippi preacher’s daughter in the civil rights unrest of the 60s, both have been constant influences on her writing, and no less so here, Bearing echoes of Tumbleweed Connection era Elton John, Montgomery To Mobile opens at a late night Greyhound station and imagines a bus journey taken by Civil Rights campaigner Rosa Parkes and Alabama Governor, George Wallace, she offering him the window seat so they can "see if the view has changed’. The same era also yields (I Want Jesus To) Walk With Me, a spirited reading of the traditional gospel number adopted by the Civil Rights movement.
Faith takes centre stage on the I Will Be Your Rest, a soulful ballad that calls to mind early 70s Bonnie Raitt and Karla Bonoff, while the more specific God Bless You Arthur Blessitt, again co-written with Kimbrough, pays tribute to the Mississippi travelling Christian preacher who carried a cross through ever nation of the world.
The peace of God also informs Alabama Department Of Corrections Meditation Blues which, musically what it says on the lid with a chain gang rhythm, is sung in the persona of a lifer finding freedom and peace after accepting Jesus. You don’t have to share Campbell’s beliefs to appreciate the passionate delivery, supported by Emmylou Harris on harmonies and Kimbrough on resonator guitar.
There’s another familiar name providing input into the album, legendary Muscle Shoals organist and songwriter Spooner Oldham who not only contributes Wurlitzer but also has a song named for and dedicated to him (though he doesn’t play on it), Spoonerville, a soulful number that sneaks in references to his work with The Boxtops (he wrote Cry Like A Baby) and Neil Young.
The album’s rounded off with The Occasional Wailer, a highly disposable instrumental featuring Kimbrough on bouzouki, and, with Oldham on Rhodes, Red Clay After Rain, a migrant worker’s wistful yearning for the crimson stain dying the river and the ‘cotton, camelias and curtains of cane’ of their Birmingham home, and arguably the best track here.
It’s not going to expand her audience a great deal, but for those who’ve followed her career over the past 18 years it’s another testament to their very good taste.
Mike Davies May 2012
A former member of the Flying Burrito Brothers and a session man who’s worked with Kristofferson, Linda Ronstadt, Rick Nelson and Dolly Parton and, were it not for a last minute change of mind by James Burton, would have been Presley’s guitarist, John Beland doesn’t need to fly half way round the world so he can pay the rent.
So, for him to fly to Australia to produce an album by an artist pretty much unknown outside of his home country, suggests there was something special enticing him. Listening to James, you hear what prompted Beland to catch a flight, not least a dusty, husky quality to his voice that calls to mind Mark Knopfler and a songwriting ability that, while not consistent, frequently touches on classic.
The moody, drawled title track with its twangy, resonating guitar is a good example of both while Car Wreck (which bustles along in a manner reminiscent of Sultans Of Swing), the TexMex tinted Angels and Alcohol and Pills, which cites Hank, Elvis, Janis, Gram and Jimi as victims of fame and glory, all reveal a strong Dylan influence.
Ruby, a song inspired by the forced adoptions of Aboriginal children, shows him at his most inspired but even when the lyrics fall short, as on the urgent Shiloh (Baghdad) with its clumsy line ‘sent to war by a cruel head of state he doesn’t know what his heart should hate’, the playing makes the tracks worth hearing, Beland delivering some blistering guitar work on Hell For Leather and the swampy strut River Boat Queen.
Quite what it would have sounded like without his involvement is open to discussion, but, despite the embarrassing spelling errors that litter the lyrics (Jimmy Hendrix for a start!), what’s on offer as a finished collaboration is well worth investigating.
Mike Davies May 2012
They may come from Leeds but this quartet, featuring Dunwell brothers Joseph and David alongside Dave Hanson and cousins Rob Clayton and Jonny Lamb, sound as if they’ve been playing American bars since they were out of nappies with their guitar ringing meld of Celtic and Americana folk rock.
I Could Be A King kicks things off with acoustic guitar before drums, banjo and plangent electric chords join in to take it soaring on the brothers harmonies, giving way to the title track with its Who sounding intro, U2 guitar blazes, steady rhythm and vaulting anthemic melody.
Hand That Feeds, the skirl of Follow The Road and Oh Lord, a six minute end of relationship blues with a lengthy classic rock guitar solo, show their retro English roots (I’d bet there’s some early Spencer Davis in their joint collections) and In The Moment has surely been studying Clapton’s guitar work.
But it’s their inclinations to the other side of the Atlantic that produce the stronger moments. Only Me, which has Lamb take lead vocals against a simple repeated guitar phrase and sparse piano notes while the others join in with chorus harmonies, is a tender ballad of the CS&N persuasion, Elizabeth is quintessential American country rock and Borrow Me is the sort of barroom soul blues to have steelworkers weeping into their beers.
Perfect Timing is a bit of a filler and Goodnight My City never quite reaches the stadium anthemics to which it aspires, but for the most the Dunwells dun good.
Mike Davies April 2012
The fourth album by the Birmingham father and daughter trio further marks their expansion from bluegrass into gypsy jazz, western swing and old time country, the opening self-penned Bring On The Swing! seeing Hannah and Sophia Johnson giving Imelda May and the Puppini Sisters a run for their money.
Recorded in their hometown studio but edited and mixed in Nashville (where Eamon McLoughlin also added his fiddle parts), it’s their finest, smoothest accomplishment yet, building on the crossover potential of the last album’s Femme Fatale and The Captain download singles with the band’s fiddle backed, brushed drums and steel Louisiana Hayride era title track sounding as though it would be right at home on an Emmylou Harris album.
It’s a heady half and half of originals and covers, though only those in the know would be able to tell them apart. The latter turn up a sprightly version of I Hear You Talkin’, not the Faron Young number but smoky voiced 40s/50s Texas songwriter Cindy Walker (who also penned Dream Baby, You Don’t Know Me and Distant Drums) alongside a sashaying swing around Bob Wills nugget Ridin’ On Down and a frisky romp through Moon Mullican’s Lonesome Hearted Blues with some fine picking from Stewart Johnson and Hannah mixing spice in with the sweet.
On top of which comes a cool but hot itchy foot treatment of Ronnie Tillman’s rockabilly Big Fool with John Potter on double bass and consummate loose limbed drumming by Dean Berseford, and, switching liquors, Harry Burke’s Me And My Gin which, while perhaps not as 100% proof as the wailing blues Bessie Smith original, is still a potent tonic with some fine barrelhouse piano courtesy Danny McCormack.
The remaining cover is of relatively newer vintage, being a faithful version of Thunderstorms and Neon Signs, the title track of Wayne Hancock’s 1995 debut, although Hannah sounds a little less like a yodelly Hank Williams than he does.
Of the other four band numbers, Mary Jane‘s cat house blues has Hannah getting slinky, purring and flashing claws, a hot club rolling Stutter Blues rides the rails of scraping fiddle and a nimble Stewart solo, Pass The Jack’s the album’s only real nod to the bluegrass that first set their wheels rolling and, with a catchy melody hook and tasty twangy guitar from Sophia, the soft chugging Another Right Note takes them into the sort of effortless country pop Allison Krauss forgot how to do some years ago.
Over the past six years, they’ve been bolstering their musicianship, songwriting and reputation to the point where, if they continue making music like this, fully warrant becoming the first British inductees to the Country Music Hall of Fame.
Mike Davies April 2012
For her third album, Coventry singer-songwriter Amanda Hopkins sticks to the winning formula of her last with Paul Sampson once again on production duties as well as playing guitar, keyboards and, I’d assume though no one’s credited, drums. Likewise, the music remains an acoustic mix of ringing uptempo folk rock and softer, more reflective numbers.
Hazel O’Connor remains the most obvious comparison, strikingly so on the tumbling chorus of the twangy Clarify which manages to combine country, folk and psychpop colours to catchy effect, even if it needed a slighter stronger ending. But, as before, the material and the performance very much mark her out as an individual presence which the album displays a definite increased confidence.
She’s certainly strengthened a knack for writing singalong chorus hooks, ably demonstrated on the fiery acoustic strum of Seventeen, one of several numbers that address identity and alienation, on the impassioned refrain of the moodily dramatic Aardvark, the rousing title track’s ‘this is the beginning of the end of all I’ve known’, and the ’let your defences’ down plea of the keyboard driven Stone heart.
If there’s a criticism, it’s that too many of numbers share similar melodies and rhythms while the line about love being "as good as fresh picked apples from the tree" shows she’s still prone to a wince inducing lyric now and again.
Featuring some particularly fine acoustic guitar work, Running Under Bridges was written a couple of years back for The Reform Club’s Canalbert video, an experiment examining the relationship between vision and sound filmed as part of the Art of Teaching Project.
It may not exactly be Hollywood calling, but it is a sign that she’s starting to appear on people’s radar. On the driving opening track, the Lost In The Crowd, she uses the old ‘if a tree falls in a forest’ philosophical conundrum as an image of going unnoticed. "Nobody notices me when I’m not there, no one remembers when I’ve gone". Not for much longer, I suspect.
Mike Davies April 2012
I’d not come across the trio before but listening to their sophomore album, while there may be a rock element to the music, the banjo picking bluegrass and hillbilly elements to numbers like the six minute Cann Wood Home or the dusty swayalong Books would seem to firmly place them in Appalachian territory.
But no, Sam Burdekin, Phil Howell and Alex Tilley actually hail from the New Forest, its folklore and landscapes feeding into their music as much as a patent affection for Americana. And while they may draw upon old influences, their approach is firmly contemporary, their musical canvas often painted in big music colours that conjure comparisons to Arcade Fire, Counting Crows, The Gaslight Anthem and Kings Of Leon.
Stony Ground opens the album with a simple repeated guitar note and traditional sounding wordless harmonies before other instruments kick in, Burderkin’s gravelly voice takes forceful command the rhythm picks up a chugging pace. It’s an impressive opening statement that the other nine tracks more than reinforce, whether on These Crows with its military beat drums snaps and fiddle and banjo breakout finale, the scuffed shuffling Red Lines or the clanky folk blues and tribal stomp mood of The Good Intent.
Having tracked down their Life If Mime debut I’d certainly recommend seeking it out, but the follow up is a definitely more focused, more muscular offering with stronger, more persuasive songs and hooks that get into the brain. And besides, how can you resist a scouring, revivalist gospel inflected confessional that sports such a great title as Me, Myself and Rye!
Mike Davies April 2012
Hopkins has played a part in any number of desert rock/alt country projects, but, in varying line up formats, the Luminarios have been always been at the centre of his musical world. This, his 14th release, is classic stuff, Hopkins sounding as though the batteries have been on recharge but still staying true to the core of his influences, Petty, Young and The Byrds.
The latter two are most definitely present for the seven minute Friend Of The Shooter, a slow burn narrative where Hopkins’ spoken delivery recalls McGuinn on Chestnut Mare while the wailing guitars nod to Cortez The Killer.
Vintage 60s guitar psychedelia rears its head on the heroin themed opening Dark Side Of The Spoon, Betcha Gotcha Now! is all jangling Byrdsian Rickenbacker, and Outa My Head and the organ driven Strutter both cranked up, swaggery rockers.
There’s a couple of surprises. Three of the numbers are instrumentals, Good Morning drenched in atmospheric guitar feedback and revisited for an even more intense Napalm Morning, with Sweet Dreams, Lisa (written for partner Lisa Novak), an ethereal cosmic synth noodle. Then there’s Alyein Perez, another meaty, noisy electric guitar rocker with a punchy chorus, about a Mexican mother leaving her country to seek work that’s sung in Spanish by Tucson's Salvador Duran.
A fine addition to the catalogue, the album also comes with a bonus disc, A Long Walk Home, a collection of music, insect noises and talk recorded between 2003-2011 in Paraguay with Hopkins going from house to house in a small farming community. It features an acoustic guitar version of Sweet Dreams, Lisa and near 16 minute Good Morning and 15 minute psychedelic guitar freak out Calle San Francisco.
Mike Davies April 2012
Another of the label’s two disc reissues, originally released in 1995 and 1997, these were Miller’s first solo outings, a reminder that as well as being a renowned studio and live sideman for Emmylou Harris, Steve Earl and, most recently, Plant and Krauss, he has a substantial back catalogue of his own.
Recorded in his living room, the debut album featured contributions from wife Judy alongside Harris. Lucinda Williams and Jim Lauderdale, and included such self-penned numbers as the twangy You Wrecked Up My Heart, a rocky Listen To The Wind and the aching semi-spoken Through The Eyes Of A Broken Heart, although it’s probably best remembered for his version of Tom T Hall’s That’s How I Got To Memphis.
The follow up, again featuring Harris and with the rest of her band providing backing, offered another dose of blues and soul tinted country, including a slow burning cover of 60s hit That’s How Strong My Love Is, originally recorded by O. V. Wright but probably best known via Otis Redding or the Stones, and, joined by Steve Earle, Doug Sahm’s skittering Cajun coloured title track.
Of his own material, while nothing’s particularly endured as a fondly remembered favourite, the trad country flavours of Lonesome For You and 100 Million Little Bombs, a track about US made land mines co-penned with Linda, make looking back well worth the journey.
Mike Davies April 2012
Fronted by the husky warble of dusty voiced Ellen Smith (who sounds a little like a West Yorkshire Amy McDonald) and made up of fellow students from Leeds College of Music, the alt folk quintet released debut single Without You back in 2009 but only really started to get attention after playing 2010’s Glastonbury Festival and the subsequent release of the Of All The Times EP featuring the bittersweet strummed acoustic Coming Back Home, Preying On Your Mind’s busker folk-pop, reflective world weary ballad This Ace I’ve Burned, and the warmly soulful slow sway Yours To Keep.
All four numbers now turn up on the quartet’s country tinged debut album. However, before anyone cries foul, these are re-recorded versions with slightly different arrangements and extra instrumentation, notably the background presence of soulful organ on This Ace. The album also features a brisker tempo version of the train rhythm harmonica chugging folkabilly inclined debut Without You and a grander scale to its dreamy B side Run where Smith sounds uncannily like Dolores O’Riordan, as well as more recent singles, the swayalong Kirsty MacColl hints of When The Tide Creeps In and the album’s spaghetti westernish filmic title track.
The remaining four numbers - the spare early hours I’ll Keep You Warm with its cooing harmonies, slow soulful piano ballad Can’t Make It So (which could have done without the studio chatter intro), the rippling summery laziness of Stone Bird with its simple acoustic guitar, muted percussion and lonesome harmonica, and the album’s five minute shape shifting jazz-folk (shades of Pentangle?) closer Cast - are all previously unreleased, offering existing fans new as well as familiar pleasures while further enticing those yet to discover the band’s charms. More Mumford and Noah than Marling and, at the end of the day, featuring more pop and Americana notes than folk, but however you approach them, all rather wonderful.
Mike Davies April 2012
Lining up as guitarist Neil Keveren and pianist/melodeon player Emma Steele on lead vocals, Craig Stratton on violin, mandolin and banjo, Mat Heighway on double bass and Dave Rowlands behind the drum kit, the name comes from the John Berger novel about his time living a breadline existence in a small peasant village with peasants in the French Alps, the album title from the dimensions of the lounge in which it was recorded, the music a meld of folk and country.
Their mini album debut opens with a skittering All Smoke And Mirrors, a dose of Celtic folk pop with a jig going on the background. It was penned in France but the images it conjures is very much of dancing on an English village green. Another love song, the shuffling , fiddle backed Paint The Town Red has a similar musical mood while Here With You sees Steele taking over vocals, accompanied by pedal steel for a simple swayer before the tempo shifting autobiographical Everything's everyday joys of domestic bliss and making music together.
By contrast, again sung by Keveren, Lately's a broken relationship number but while pleasant enough it never really lodges much of an impression. Fortunately, they end on a high note with the six minute Cherry Blossom, its intro gradually introducing a repeated percussive pattern, Celtic melody line and fiddle before Keveren literally takes you back to the village green as, tambourine shaking in the background, he unfolds a lyric about a marriage (which may explain why the tune reminds me of Mairi's Wedding) and a new beginning.
They need to stretch their musical boundaries a bit more so that the songs don't sound quite so similar and next time round Steele should take lead on more than one number, but, ideal for festivals and sunny afternoons, this is a worthy first step.
Mike Davies April 2012
On the back sleeve it says, 'brothers Jack Torrey and Page Burkum sing songs of love, and of love gone wrong. Of life and death, and the great beyond.' Which seems a pretty good snapshot of what you'll find on their eponymous debut album.
But that's just part of it. A couple of mid 20s lads from Minneapolis, they manage to sound like they hail from the late 40s or early 50s, their authentic honk tonk country earning them comparisons to both Hank Williams and, with their harmonies, the Everlys and Louvins. Even the cover looks authentically vintage.
Joined by veterans Mike Russell on fiddle (who does a scorching solo on Stoplight Kisses) and Randy Broughton on guitar with young Liz Draper on double bass, they recorded the entire album in a single day, pulling together eight self-penned (two by Page, six from Jack) and two covers, the trad Lost John Dean and Doc Watson's Blue Railroad Train.
It says much that these are far from the strongest numbers here. Opener A Sad Say To BeYou will prompt thoughts of Williams but it actually reminds me more of the finest of George Jones' heartache classics, albeit served here with a wry twist. It's my personal favourite, but I have to say it's a close call between that, the fiddle waltzing Adios Maria, a pedal steel keening Traveler's Paradise with its hint of cowboy blues, and Song Of The Bird, a classic styled country tale of a guy feeling horrified when he realises the beauty of the bird he's killed.
It won't do a lot for those who like their Americana contemporary, but anyone with the vaguest affection for old time Appalachian hillbilly will embrace this as one of the best revivals since the late lamented Wagoneers.
Mike Davies April 2012
Although he's never had the same sort of solo success since the band split, it's sometimes forgotten that Etzioni was equal partner with Maria McKee in Lone Justice. Of course, not having released an album in almost twenty years, it's perhaps not surprising that he's slipped out of many folk's memories.
However, he's making up for lost time with this double collection of self-penned or collaborative material set firmly in Americana territory. Like the songwriting, the recordings too are split between duets and the solo spotlight, though it's noticeable that it's the first of the two discs that feature the biggest names.
Fittingly, it opens with a reunion between Etzioni and McKee, the rather wonderful You Possess Me (which also features Buddy Miller, Gurf Morlix and Greg Leisz among the musicians), a country ballad firmly in the spirit of Gram Parsons that the remainder of the album has a hard job equalling.
Certainly the rowdy rockabilly of The Grapes Of Wrath with guest John Doe sharing vocals doesn't come close and seems likely to prompt an instant skip to the wearied gospel You Are The Light where, to simple acoustic guitar backing, he's joined by The Dixie Hummingbirds. However, the track that provides the collection's second stand out pairs him with Lucinda Williams for the rough cut heartache of Lay It On The Table.
Etzioni's own three solo contributions are a mixed bag. A Man Without A Country is unmistakably shaped after Johnny Cash at his starkest though Etzioni lacks that same dark depth while (Morlix providing harmonies) Son Of A Carpenter is in more of a John Prine style and Bob Dylan Is Dead, which largely consists of a couple of phrases repeated like playground chants, seems in dubious taste.
There's three further duets on the disc: Living Like A Hobo is another dose of rock n roll with Miller putting down the guitar and stepping up to the microphone while Don Heffington plays a meaty jew's harp, a pointless throwaway Ain't No Work In Mississippi with Steve Earle that sounds like they were just fooling around in the studio, and, featuring wheezing accordion and sax, the lurching folk-country It Don't Cost Much both co-written and sung by Richard Thompson.
Discounting a brief spoken sample of Gram Parsons on the forgettably wistful Gram Revisited, the second disc is a far less stellar if slightly more experimental affair. Mick Barakan, otherwise known as Shane Fontayne from Springsteen's non E Street period band, provides chorus harmonies and guitar on the spoken Where's Your Analog Spirit?, Chicago guitarist Trevor Menear does his thing on the slow bluesy Trouble Holding Back, and California soul singer Chris Pierce supplies harmonica solo but is vocally wasted on the late night mood of Hold Fast Your Dreams.
Best of the bunch is an alternate, 'proper' version of Ain't No Work In Mississippi, Etzioni handing things over to The Holy Brothers, Buddy and Johnny B, for a plaintive acoustic dust bowl lament. Oddest of the lot is the two part What Is Patsy Cline Doing These Days?, a frankly incoherent mess that features actress Grey DeLisle as the voice of Cline.
DeLisle also plays autoharp on the weary Hard To Build A Home, a piano backed slow waltz with spoken verses a la Jim Reeves or Presley and easily the best of the four stripped back solo Etzioni tracks here.
At two discs, it's rather self-indulgent and I can't imagine anyone actually ever playing it end to end without skipping tracks, but for the numbers that truly stand out it's certainly worth a listen.
Mike Davies April 2012
In the beginning (well, something over four years ago) there was a luxurious double-CD compilation entitled John Barleycorn Reborn, which gathered together a whole assemblage of performers who inhabit the branch of folk music that trades under the name of dark-folk or weirdlore, a kind of hybrid of 60s/70s psych-folk and what might be termed current dark British nu-folk. I can understand you being none the wiser after reading that, but trust me, the music spawned by this unholy alliance can be as immensely captivating as it can be similarly inscrutable, impenetrable, even frustrating – but also invariably challenging, even in its moments of greatest simplicity.
So much material was amassed from willing contributors to the original John Barleycorn Reborn set that a further two CDs’ worth of material was made available (specially to purchasers of that set) by means of a coded download from the internet. This highly prized collectible digital artefact, however, was acknowledged to be lacking in consistency (in terms of download quality), and so the wise decision was taken by Cold Spring to remaster all 33 tracks and release them in physical CD format – hence Rebirth, the two-disc package under review here.
Like the original set, and indeed its Volume 2 followup issue (Dark Britannica II: We Bring You A King With A Head Of Gold, released at the end of 2010), Rebirth proves a curate’s egg, as you’d expect of any compilation, but equally, its most inspired moments are cherishable by any of the standards of this (and any other folk-related) genre, and despite its occasional longueurs it certainly doesn’t come across as a collection of mere leftovers. Some of the artists who graced Volume 1 recur on this Volume 3: The Owl Service, Charlotte Greig & Johan Asherton, The Story, Venereum Arvum (that’s Rapunzel & Sedayne by whatever other name), The Straw Bear Band.
All of these turn in some memorable music, Venereum Arvum’s singular and supremely unnerving new take on Child Ballad102 (that’s Robin Hood to you!) and The Story’s All Hallows Eve being particularly intriguing, while Sedayne’s itchy, fluttery Corvus Monedula sure lives up to its name. Sheffield-based bard-musician Paul Newman makes an impressive and inventive series-debut with the pagan spirituality of Lavondyss, and fans of the guitar are well catered for on the contrasted tracks by James Reid, Twelve Thousand Days and JefvTaon. But my own favourite sequence on the entire set has to be where the limpid vocalising of sadly-now-defunct duo Yealand Redmayne is followed by the delicate, cautiously mesmerising version of Bold Fisherman from Charlotte & Johan, and preceded by David A. Jaycock’s glistening sample from the “strange and entrancing” side of dark folk. The tracks by novemthree (aka Pythagumus Marshall) and The Big Eyes Family Players also share a suitably stately aura, while The Anvil spin their earlier-minted John Barleycorn coin onto its darker flipside, and the cumbersomely-named Xenis Emputae Travelling Band provide a deliberate-sequel to their volume 1 contribution which, though decidedly experimental in nature, manages not to overstay its welcome. Orchis provide a brooding electronic take on The Silkie, a masterly slice of esoteric-folk, while Mary Jane appear again with a further track culled from their fabulous Eve album, a chilling near-acappella take on When I Was In My Prime.
The time-honoured acappella mode is well served elsewhere on the set too by contributions from Mac Henderson (Jack In The Green) and female duo Magpiety (Rolling Of The Stones), whose Anne Marie Summers also crops up on Far Black Furlong’s atmospheric tone-poem The East Room, then on two of the set’s early-musicke-style offerings, those by The Wendigo and Misericordia; Daughters Of Elvin and member-of-all-three Steve Tyler also provide some infectious medieval-inflected danserye. Even the set’s moments of what might be termed “dubious excess” can be heard to have their redeeming moments, and Clive Powell’s Ca’ The Horse Me Marra is pretty compelling once it finally gets going, although to be fair I suspect that even the most musically tolerant may lose patience just a touch during the meandering extended improvisations of the tracks by Cunnan and Sundog on the second disc. But Rebirth is so very attractively presented, and conforms perfectly to the house-style and presentation of volumes 1 and 2 in the series; like them, it’s a superbly well-filled compilation that has so much to commend it: you just need to be prepared to open your ears to the occasional challenge. Here’s to the upcoming Volume 4.
David Kidman May 2012
My very favourite all-female trio Grace Notes is currently celebrating 20 years of singing together, with their fifth release, which is probably best termed a retrospective-plus. Maggie Boyle, Lynda Hardcastle and Helen Hockenhull, though so different in vocal character, prove so very complementary too, and a particular strength lies in their knowing each other’s voices so well that they can judge exactly how and where each can best interact (or be left to carry a solo line) in order to carry a song’s message. At the same time they share, complement, and can entirely trust, each other’s impeccable taste in songs. Grace Notes’ special brand of harmony heaven invariably delivers a fabulous acappella sound, which is sometimes selectively embellished with keyboard, flute, mandolin, recorder or bodhrán.
As with Grace Notes’ immaculately planned live sets, the disc’s 20 selections transport us naturally from thoughtfully-arranged traditional fare (Cockleshells, Reynardine, Rue, Two Sisters) through to carefully chosen examples of quality modern and contemporary songwriting. Exceptional instances of the latter which can legitimately claim to have found wider audiences through Grace Notes’ sensitive and genuinely understanding performances include John Drury’s Finistére and Linda Kelly’s Northern Tide, while the ladies also deliver peerless takes on Peter Bellamy’s Black And Bitter Night and Jimmy Mulhern’s Magdalene Laundry, and Steve Tilston’s sublimely moving homage to Bellamy, Down Falls The Day, is an essential candidate for any Grace Notes collection.
Twelve of this disc’s 20 tracks are culled from the trio’s four previous records, while the rousing John Ball was recorded live this year at Keighley’s famous Bacca Pipes folk club (the club’s regulars furnishing the robust chorus). The remaining seven tracks, all brand new recordings, are fine instances of the trio’s knack for unearthing songwriting excellence. Here we encounter Graeme Miles’ heart-stoppingly beautiful (if unduly prosaically titled) Exercise 77, Richard Shindell’s incomparable Wisteria, a steel-themed medley of creations by Ray Hearne and Julie Matthews, two canny songs from Grace Notes’ Women’s Work presentation, and – most potent of all – Steve Ashley’s chillingly prescient There Will be Pain.
OK, it would’ve been nice to’ve included Don’t Come The Cowboy With Me Sonny Jim, which (at one of Bacca Pipes’ famed “concept nights”) had formed the trio’s debut public outing – if only to demonstrate the team’s irrepressible sense of fun in performing. And even with 20 magnificent tracks, fans may still regret the omission of key back-catalogue triumphs like Lies, Red Wine & Promises and The Oak & The Laurel.
But the fact that Grace Notes can realise so wide a range of material with such flair and passion is testament to their intense musicality, and this finely balanced 20 still provides both the distilled essence of Grace Notes and a brilliant primer for the non-converted, while also satisfying their fans with the generous helping of fresh recordings (they’re good for another 20, right?). Sheer magic.
www.skinnymalinksmusic.co.uk/artists/gracenotes.html
David Kidman May 2012
Though born in Tasmania, fiddler Malcolm is of strong Scottish heritage, and has already accrued a healthy CV since moving to Newcastle in 2006 at age 16, gaining membership of Folkestra and working and studying with many illustrious artists, finally gaining semi-finalist status in 2010’s BBC Young Folk Awards.
Malcolm currently performs with Darcy DaSilva and Norman Stewart, but Islands, his debut solo album, although fairly glistening with exquisite guest contributions from other brilliant musicians (including Dave Wood, Seth Tinsley, Iain MacDonald, Dan Walsh, and Malcolm’s parents John and Caroline, themselves a respected duo act in their own right), is nothing if not a consummate and natural showcase for Malcolm’s own considerably mature musicianship.
His (already widely respected) virtuosity extends way beyond flawless technique and deep into those expressive realms normally untouched by mere note-spinners. His playing of the disc’s slower tunes and airs demonstrates a responsiveness to melodic line that’s the stuff of dreams indeed – it matters not whether the tunes are Scottish (Donald Riddell’s Falls Of Lora or the beautiful Gaelic song air Mo Run Geal Og) or Irish origin (The Young Black Cow) or even culled from Norwegian tradition (the glorious hymn tune Jeg Ser Deg Sote Lam). And there’s not a hint of the routine about Malcolm’s brisk yet fully controlled playing on the quicker pace of the various jig-sets and march-and-reel combinations – he brings an infectious, vivacious twinkle to his bow-strokes on the marches in particular – and although he gives his accompanists (notably father John) a run for their money, these musicians prove equal to the task and seem to relish keeping up with Malcolm’s fiery momentum!
Typical high points are the breakneck Waves Of Rush set (named after the seemingly unstoppable Aidan O’Rourke tune) and the stunning B-minor Jig Set. And the closing combination of the aforementioned Young Black Cow air with Chris Stout’s well-known hornpipe Hamnataing works a powerful magic that forces one’s hand onto the repeat button immediately its cadences die away. But in all instances the modicum of instrumental accompaniment is impeccably judged so as genially and reasonably support Malcolm’s mercurial lead while never becoming obtrusive. This CD may be viewed as a straightforward and unpretentious instrumental showcase, but it’s undoubtedly also one of the finest of its kind, and, blessed with a top-quality professional recording, affords us the opportunity to experience Malcolm’s talent at a stage where, at only 23, he already seems right at the top of his game yet seems destined for even greater things.
David Kidman May 2012
Huddersfield’s finest (without a doubt) contemporary songsmith Roger ushers in the summer with a brand new album, doing exactly what he does best on ten of his acutely observed original songs that have already been captivating audiences at his gigs over the past year or so. Whatever your taste in folk, it’s impossible not to love Roger’s direct, uncomplicated, classic “songs in plain English”, delivered entertainingly yet with just his simple, unfussy guitar and harmonica for accompaniment. Therein lies Roger’s special, individual and unmistakable voice, his entirely unassuming and natural craft, his totally unpretentious styling that says so much with so little evident effort and yet with buckets of utterly genuine affection. Roger’s affinity with local people and places is legendary, and there’s no finer exponent of regional pride than Roger.
Like his earlier collections, there’s songs here that resolutely namecheck locations in his stamping-ground as Roger chronicles the histories that bring the locations alive – songs like The Ghost Of Lily Fogg (a noted local “lady of the night”) and Percy Shaw (inventor of the roadway cat’s-eye) clearly have their roots and stylistic inflections deep in traditional folksong, and in time may well come to be mistaken for such. At the same time, though, Roger’s wider world-view and honest expression of universal truths is coming more into its own on this latest album. The very simplest and tenderest of expressions of love (Here For You) proves very touching (it seems to share the magical aura of the romantic side of Dylan at its best – and I mean that as a real compliment!). Also, one could say that Roger shares with his near-namesake Ray (and without a hint of plagiarism) the unerring ability to turn a nostalgia trip (Time Goes By) or a conventional romantic scenario (Stephanie, Christmas On King Street) into something really special. Even Roger’s update-cum-paraphrase of the traditional All For Me Grog (Here’s To The Grog) has the ring of authenticity as the product of a born songmaker.
Apparently, Roger recorded around 18 songs toward the album, but only chose to put ten on it (“all killer, no filler”, he says – but I’ll bet his rejects are still miles better than most of the rest that do make it onto lesser writers’ CDs, if you get my drift). For with typical integrity, Roger states that “each song is there for a reason and tells its own true story”. For Roger’s a modest, quiet genius, and a thoroughly nice guy. So go support him whenever you can, for while “there’s always a song in it somewhere” this kind of excellence in songwriting will I’m sure always be in demand.
David Kidman May 2012
Not a new album, but a re-release, on CD for the first time, of 14 tracks originally recorded in early 1967 (prior to the Mixed Bag album in other words). Produced by jazz producer Alan Douglas, they consisted of just Richie, his ultra-expressive voice and his urgent, busy-strummed open-tuned acoustic guitar in hot pursuit of the meaning behind an astute selection of the folk, blues and soul-gospel classics of the day (including several first made famous by Dylan and Ray Charles).
However, these tracks were not issued on LP at the time, as it was felt that solo acoustic sets were being increasingly regarded as passé. It was not until Richie’s Woodstock triumph around two years later that Douglas took the decision to release these tracks (spread over two albums: The Richie Havens Record and Electric Havens), and then not until after he had overdubbed sympathetic additional instrumentation (organ, harmonica, rhythm section and occasional jew’s harp or flute) onto all but three of the cuts.
These unadulterated numbers (Norah’s Dove, Daddy Roll ’Em and a cover of Fred Neil’s The Bag I’m In) are inevitably the highlight of the sessions, with the counterpoint between Richie’s powerful, intense vocal style and frantic percussive guitar displayed in all its glory; but for the most part even the “enhanced” tracks don’t swamp Richie’s character, nor do they sound dated – which is an achievement in itself. Richie’s poignantly soulful and highly personal treatments of source material of the calibre of Babe I’m Leaving, Chain Gang (not the Sam Cooke one, but a worksong), Dylan’s Boots & (sic) Spanish Leather and 900 Miles From Home show him to be an accomplished master of timelessly emotional delivery, even at that early stage of his career.
The remastering sounds really good too, so this is a release to be recommended pretty much unreservedly – the attractive digipack lacks only the composition credits, while its otherwise comprehensively detailed liner note is a touch vague about the specifics of the discographical history and timeline of the recordings.
David Kidman May 2012
This refreshingly unpretentious down-home album brings together for a comfortable sitting-room session two fine songwriters, based in the US, who are long steeped in the music and traditions of America and the British Isles. Here, much as in their live shows, they perform an appealing, well-balanced menu mixing original and traditional songs with a few tunes.
In this case, Kate and Kat supply three original songs apiece, with the remainder of the material traditional in origin aside from a representative piece from fellow Waterbug artist (and label mastermind) Andrew Calhoun (The Living And The Breathing Wind, which turns out to be a set highlight) sitting well alongside a sparkling treatment of Robert Burns’ Rattlin’ Rovin’ Robin, an empathic rendition of Jean Ritchie’s None But One, and the wild-card entry, Abba’s friendship-song Chiquitita.
Out of this diversity of repertoire, perhaps needless to say, it’s the ladies’ self-penned songs that will make the greatest impact on the listener encountering their work for the first time; indeed, Kate’s memorable opus Lark In The Morning has been recorded by many other artists since its appearance on her debut record of 1995, and here receives a wonderful, richly harmonised, almost McGarrigle-esque treatment from Kate and Kat in consort. The third of her songs in this sequence, the gorgeous Carter-Family-influenced My Forsaken Love, is another excellent example of her craft. Kat’s contributions are no less worthy; both Rain and Africa were occasioned by her father’s dustbowl recollections, whereas Sanctuary, while equally inspirational, is a simple song of friendship.
That theme (and feeling) of friendship, in fact, pervades the whole recording: here’s two kindred spirits in tune with each other and in ideal harmony, truly at home with each other’s musicianship and entirely affectionate in their virtuosity. The togetherness and pure enjoyment of performing together is also apparent on the instrumental selections, where Kat’s gentle guitar expertise proves a telling foil for Kate’s idiomatic violin playing (and incidentally, they make a good fist of Andy Cutting’s History Man along the way). This is one of those most treasurable records that so effortlessly proves the adage of less being more – in this case, much more.
David Kidman May 2012
Hailing from Barnsley, Rooke apparently got turned on to folk music at a church hall ceilidh (mom being the church organist), prompting him to borrow a banjo mandolin and learn polkas, hornpipes and assorted bluegrasss tunes. Along came his teenage years and folk got put aside in favour of 60s power trios before the Riverdance craze reawakened his interest in traditional music, juggling university years with gigs by his band The Lynch Mob playing anything from O’Neills bars to weddings.
When the O’Neills name went into mothballs so did the band, Rooke turning to a solo career and releasing a couple of EPs while taking up a day job teaching guitar to schools in East Riding.
Which brings us to this, his debut album, one which reflects the paths he’s trod along the way. You won’t hear many Cream or Hendrix influences, but you will find plenty of solid acoustic guitar fingerpicking (notably on Graceland) and strums coloured with perky fiddle breaks (courtesy of Paul Blackburn) that hark to Irish, Yorkshire and American roots music.
Although there’s trad and bluegrass colours in the fiddle, banjo, tin whistle and mandolin elements of the tunes (where an early love of The Chieftains and Jack Tottle come into play), Rooke’s music is very much of the contemporary troubadour persuasion, balancing his uptempo numbers more wistful balladry.
He has an attractive, slightly dusty vocal, one that, like many of his songs, sounds immediately familiar even if you’re hearing for the first time and numbers like Surely I’ve Atoned For My Sins, Scarborough Road, the touching Elizabeth and Settle Down Sleepy’s jaunty lullaby song for his young son show him a songsmith of some note with a keen eye for a striking image.
Several of the songs have a melancholic bent, but he can be playful too, Oh My Lord (from whence the title comes) managing to reference songs by Otis Redding, Chuck Berry, Neil Diamond, and Dylan while Roller Disco conjures up 1985 and listening to Dexys Midnight Runners.
With its melody line and soaring chorus, opening number Big Sky (which segues into fiddle reel Betty Murphy’s) is probably the most immediate and radio friendly track, but while it may be the one that gets your attention, nothing that follows will lose it either.
Mike Davies March 2012
John, founder member of Irish-American supergroup Solas and latterly also member of Joan Baez's backing band, has been increasingly renowned for his singing and songwriting since the release of his first solo album Wayward Son all of six years ago, and its successor, Shadow And Light, builds on that prowess with a further collection that manages both to expand his musical envelope and to consolidate his expertise.
Of course, the disc also contains plenty of John's scintillating guitar playing, which after all was how most of us will have first encountered his skills; the disc's two instrumental selections are predictably breathtaking, especially the storming Swedishish and the equally deliberately virtuoso Tribute To Donal Ward/The Curraghman set which forms a by turns wistful and nifty – but always admirably delicate – finger-picking homage to John's late and much-lamented uncle. But John's signature natural and undemonstrative playing (of bouzouki, mandolin and mandola as well as sundry guitars) is a salient feature of the disc, underpinning his traditionally-inflected songs in the most apt manner imaginable.
Whether contributing just a driven and well-pointed solo accompaniment to a song (The Arabic, a family ode concerning his grandfather's rescue from a German submarine attack, and Wheel Of Fortune, a first-person narrative set in the time of the gold rush) or pulling back the shades of his own playing to let other musicians shine (as on Liberty's Sweet Shore, Clear The Way and the country-flavoured Bitter Brew). John's songwriting talent seems to know virtually no bounds, as it expands to encompass affectionate love songs (Little Sparrow, penned for his daughter), a beguiling retelling of the Selkie legend inspired by a curious dream, the rousing American Civil War-set disc opener Clear The Way and the biting, Great War-inspired Farewell To All That – all of which prove John as a master of the songwriting idiom.
The one traditional song on the album, Bound For Botany Bay, fits in this illustrious company like a glove – even so, John has adapted the time-honoured Whitby Lad variant into an intrinsically Irish version partly of his own devising. As if all that expertise were not enough reason to buy this CD, assisting John with the songs' instrumental backdrops we find a hand-picked team of exceptional musicians including Tim O'Brien, Alison Brown, Stuart Duncan, Dirk Powell, Todd Phillips, John Williams, while others of equivalent calibre turn in the occasional cameo (including Michael McGoldrick on both uillean pipes and flute during the second of the instrumental tracks). The icing on the cake is John's own careful yet vibrant production. An exceedingly masterly disc.
David Kidman May 2012
The most autobiographical of titles adorns Loudon’s latest offering, referring of course to the fact that he’s outlived his “old man”, LW Jr (Life magazine columnist and senior editor), who died in 1988 at age 64. But the whole album is a thread that references the generations of Loudon’s family – five in all – in songs that are by turns tongue-in-cheek and poignant, often both within the course of a single song.
It’s an album shot through with wistfulness and affection, though tempered with necessary practicality, as Loudon reflects on the stage he’s reached in his life and the “death and decay” that inevitably accompanies it. For starters, LW sets himself the ambitious challenge of telling the story of his whole swinging life in a 3½-minute song, the lead track The Here And The Now, after which it’s definitely an album of contrasts, swinging between the moods just as life does, from the surprisingly serious In C (which sports some luscious cello playing from Erik Friedlander) to the hilarious true-life account of My Meds (couched in a spruce comedy-ragtime setting), which contains the priceless line “I’m not quite high on life – just slightly dead, know what I mean?”, and for the recording of which, we learn, Loudon’s hero Tom Lehrer graciously declined to join him (although he said he liked the song!).
Elsewhere, we find a gleeful duet with father-figure Ramblin’ Jack Elliott (Double Lifetime), and veteran country-blueser Chris Smither adds his own special brand of world-weariness to Somebody Else. Also, to help Loudon out and take a share of the vocal duties, he calls upon assorted members of his extended family (Rufus, Martha, Lucy, Lexie Kelly, Suzzy) and a number of his personal heroes. One particularly powerful number (The Days That We Die) brings together three generations of Wainwright males, and the sanguine All In A Family is an effective duet with Lucy, while perhaps the most touching section of the disc comes when a beautiful, limpid violin piece (Interlude, composed and performed with Rob Moose, who’d worked with Loudon on the High Wide And Handsome project) serves as a prelude for the affectingly simple (Carteresque?) Over The Hill, a song (the only song) that LW wrote with the late Kate McGarrigle back in 1975 and here is movingly sung by Loudon with Martha W and Chaim Tannenbaum providing harmonies.
The disc signs off in double-edged mode, with a sweet instrumental backing counterpointing the slightly ominous rumination of Something’s Out To Get Me. The occasionally interspersed recitations (which could have made things sound maudlin) work in context, and by and large the whole disc proves a plausible sequence, although one moment which I’m not likely to wish to reprise is Loudon’s distinctly overblown duet with Dame Edna Everage (I Remember Sex).
David Kidman May 2012
Guitarist and singer Jim is renowned amongst cognoscenti for being a very fine musician, which explains why he’s been in demand for the past twenty or so years for sessions and touring. He’s worked with many of our most respected acoustic music icons, from Phil Beer, Steve Tilston, Mike Silver, Wizz Jones, Chris Newman and Isaac Guillory to Maggie Boyle and the late George Melly.
But in spite of his intense versatility, he’s never seemed to receive the approbation or wider “namecheck” status of those folks. This is even more unfathomable when you get to know his songwriting, which, though equally versatile stylistically, always manages to be accessibly intimate, his wry yet deeply felt observations on life and love almost always leaving the listener with a feeling of hope. In the latter respect he’s clearly learnt much from his own admitted idols, in my opinion particularly Ralph McTell and John Martyn; I also sense the influence of Gerry Rafferty in there somewhere. Whatever Jim’s inspirations, though, his songwriting is classily wrought and his humanity never in question, although it can take a while – and some close listening – for the special qualities of Jim’s art to reveal themselves. His talent can at times seem altogether too subtly deployed – but then again, why should he need to shout? He will always have something to say, but he’s not a protest singer; even so, he’s been through the mill countless times, and his sanguinity and optimism have enabled him to survive.
On If Only, which I think is Jim’s sixth proper solo record (there’ve also been two as part of the trio Smile with Stuart Gordon and Dave Griffiths), the relaxed well-craftedness of his songwriting is brought into focus anew. Its tender, loving vibe is attributable to Jim’s latest creative resurgence, itself largely down to a joyful and inspirational rekindling of a friendship with violinist Gina Griffin, whose magical, uplifting playing graces a majority of the album’s tracks. When she’s duetting with Jim’s guitar, closely mirroring the flowing melodies, it’s impossible for any sensitive listener to fail to respond to the heartfelt empathy of the playing, on the instrumentals Sorry and On The Way Home in particular (the latter employing a mildly extended structure and breezy interludes).
Jim gets plenty of opportunity to display his facility to move between accepted styles, from songs of wistful pleading (Keep Your Distance) and gentle regret (Elfreda) to the laconic bluesy ragtime of Perhaps, Yes, No, Well, Maybe (this number harking back to his fun days with Pigsty Hill), via flights of fancy that (like life itself) turn from slightly silly to deeply pensive within the space of a couple of verses (the title track). The tender reassurance of Whatever You Want has something of the air of John Martyn’s May You Never, while the lovely melody of Stay Out Of My Dreams almost belies its lyric’s melancholy message. Jim’s deft, lovingly crafted acoustic guitar accompaniments are miracles of understatement, but sure make their impact, while he also reaps the benefit not only of Gina’s musicianship but that of three other guests on a small handful of tracks: Kit Morgan (electric or Spanish guitar), Sally Barnett (cello) and Matt Taylor (bass or tuba).
Yes, by around fourth or fifth playthrough this CD really gets under the skin, and it’s hard to resist hitting he replay button after almost any of its 11 tracks. Jim’s achievement here is considerable, and it would be a shame if the fruits of his labours were to fall at the first hurdle when listeners don’t – or won’t – make the time to give his music more than a cursory skim or glance, a fate which by its often unassuming character it is rather in danger of suffering. I might say “if only…”
David Kidman May 2012
Yes, this is the very same Damon Albarn of Britpop fame, whose latest musical venture is an Afro-pastoral folk opera on the subject of a 16th century mathematician and polymath. Obscure or wot?… well, to be fair, no less obscure (I guess) than some of the prog-folk outpourings of the early 70s, and certainly no less eclectic in musical terms. In theory, listeners have broader minds these days, with folk music paralleling exposure to world and classical musics on Radio 3 as a matter of course (effectively what’s been going on in my own listening habits for the past 40-odd years). So it won’t be regarded as hors-de-concours to review it.
And it turns out a significantly liberating experience for both the performer and his audience. Even if its opening track (The Golden Dawn) tries one’s patience just a bit with a surfeit of dawn-chorus birdsong and rich, portentous organ chords, the rest of the work (which plays continuously) contains some magical and quite riveting musical moments and sequences. The cast-list assembled by Damon for this extravaganza includes six vocal soloists including a counter-tenor and operatic bass, a16-piece choir (Palace Voices) and the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra, with a small complement of individual musicians playing guitar, viol, theorbo, kora (Madou Diabate), drums, and various wind instruments including whistles.
This panoply and diversity is reflected in the twisting, turning, episodic yet connected nature of the musical argument, which veers unpredictably yet in the end weirdly logically, around all kinds of musical and philosophical byways in its journey through the life of Queen Elizabeth I’s intriguing alchemist-cum-advisor. Individual tracks (I’d call them arias or interludes) may take on the character of dark-folk song (Apple Carts), mystical prayer (O Spirit Animators), Wagnerian portraiture (A Man Of England), Elizabethan polyphony (Tree Of Life and Coronation), plainchant (A Prayer); Edward Kelley delivers what sounds like a courtly song eerily transplanted into our time (rather like Britten’s church parables in effect), and is followed by Preparation, a primitive percussion groove which melds Third Ear Band with hypnotic but minimalist tribal drumming, and 9 Point Star, whose whispered invocation features a rare (for this work) appearance of electric guitar.
The Marvellous Dream has something of the aura of out-of-time indie, cautiously bringing what might be a Joy Division riff with handclaps to the party, whereas Temptation Comes In The Afternoon has something of the madcap effrontery of early Peter Maxwell Davies and Watching The Fire That Waltzed Away embodies a cyclic Nymanesque riff and florid vocal gestures. Cathedrals brings a point of stillness to its plaintive, troubadour-ISB-style musical landscape. The Moon Exalted is possibly the most hybrid of all Damon’s adventures, turning from spare modal lament to lusher balladry and rippling Malian-inflected art-song in the space of five minutes.
Taken on its own terms, Dr. Dee proves an enigmatic, and yes ambitious, but ultimately likeable and curiously satisfying work; Atom Heart Mother or Anthems In Eden it ain’t – but it has elements of the bravery of premise and execution of both of those Harvest masterworks. And it contains some compelling imagery in pieces like The Dancing King and The Marvellous Dream. The whole work ends where it began, in a welter of birdsong: universal peace of a kind. Forthcoming staged performances of Dr. Dee will happen at English National Opera at the London Coliseum in late June and early July.
David Kidman May 2012
Cathy’s been the vibrant front-lady of the mighty Irish band Dervish for a great many years, but only now has she got round to releasing a solo album – and sure it’s been worth the wait. But it’s nothing like a Dervish album, instead possessing an altogether different vibe – even on The Jordan Jig, the livelier of the disc’s two purely instrumental tracks. All The Way Home is aptly named, being a reflective, highly personal collection of songs that explore the omnipresent call of home and the often conflicting emotions that it engenders.
Several of the songs on the collection are ones that Cathy’s carried around with her since her happy Co. Roscommon childhood. Singing sessions were an integral part of that childhood, and the songs she and her family sang on those occasions clearly left an indelible mark on her psyche, for her performances of such songs as Sliabh Gallon Braes, Eileen McMahon, Ould Ballymoe, The Lark In The Clear Air and The Banks Of The Foyle (even the more well-known ones among them) bear the hallmarks of love, affection and a responsive respect. And a certain degree of understatement too, as on The Bold Fenian Men, which Cathy often heard her mother sing as she swept the floor or putting down the dinner! The disc’s five traditional items are complemented by a small handful of her own (some co-written) compositions, the most quietly compelling of which is undoubtedly In Curraghroe, Cathy’s setting of part of a poem by Patrick Devine which she found in a neighbour’s house; the poem tells of the area where her mother was born.
Cathy’s decision to perform these songs intimately and in a generally quite pared-down setting is a natural one for her, and over-arrangement is clearly anathema to her vision of these songs. But also key to the relaxed nature and intimately involving ambience of the record is the production by Cathy’s long-time friend Roger Tallroth, who also contributes some wonderfully sensitive guitar and cittern playing to the mix. Other musicians have been drafted in to play what turns out to be more than mere supporting roles; these include Andy Irvine (mandocello, bouzouki), Rick Epping (concertina, harmonica), Seamie O’Dowd (fiddle), Michael McGoldrick (uilleann pipes), Liam Kelly (flute), while multi-instrumentalist Gustaf Ljunggren heads a small cast of Swedish musicians and Eddi Reader joins Cathy for a beautiful duet performance of Eileen McMahon that arguably eclipses Cathy’s earlier fine treatment of the song (on Dervish’s At The End Of The Day album).
David Kidman May 2012
AYE (note the defiant use of upper-case here) is both a memorial “best of” collection and a celebration of the astounding, literally groundbreaking talent of the visionary creator of contemporary Scottish music Martyn Bennett, who died so tragically of lymphoma back in 2005, barely into his mid-thirties. Though the son of noted traditional singer and folklore expert Margaret Bennett, Martyn’s own highly intuitive musical intelligence and creativity combined with an intense thirst for adventure that led him down a quite different, though uncannily also closely related musical path, whereby his intrinsically Scottish cultural roots were defiantly reasserted, daringly reappraised, then transmuted and dragged into our own bewilderingly multicultural age. The old ways being seen in new surroundings, in other words.
The progress of Martyn’s unique odyssey is fulsomely charted on this retrospective collection, albeit not strictly chronologically, for the disc ends with the ambitious (if perhaps with hindsight over-indulging on sampled found sounds) ambient soundscape of Stream which, together with the (arguably more orthodox) cathartic drum’n’bass fusion of Swallowtail (also taken from Martyn’s eponymous 1996 debut), makes up a generous 15-minute allowance of the CD’s total 66-minute playing-time. For even at that early stage of his artistic development, Martyn’s music was displaying all the contradictions, the traits that were to mark him as a creative force to be reckoned with: uncompromising yet accommodating, all-embracing yet at times quite exclusively “clubby”, admirably respectful yet also highly irreverent, challenging yet curiously accessible.
1997’s aptly-named Bothy Culture followed almost too quickly on the heels of Martyn’s debut, for all the world as if his pipes were working overtime with their ferocious outpourings of reels dazzlingly filtered through all manner of world- and rave beats; AYE’s opening gambit sensibly and crucially preserves the shared-theme companion sequence of the fiery Ud The Doudouk and 4 Notes, which rapidly became a staple of Martyn’s live sets. (Before the next album proper, Martyn produced the epic Mackay’s Memoirs, written in honour of the late Dr. Kenneth A Mackay of Badenoch. Scored for pipes, clarsach, voice and orchestra, it was performed in 1999 at the opening of the Scottish Parliament by the students of the City of Edinburgh Music School, but a subsequent studio recording of the work by the same forces was only completed the day after Martyn died. Sadly, but perhaps inevitably given the work’s format, AYE lacks any excerpts from that masterwork.) Martyn’s third album, the visceral and often terrifying Hardland, is ably represented here by the iconic ululations of Distortion Pipe and the strangely episodic Harry’s In Heaven (which incorporates samples of Sir Harry Lauder). Leaving aside Martyn’s next major project, the achingly atmospheric Glen Lyon cycle, AYE then moves straight on to the invigorating Grit (which was to turn out to be Martyn’s final release during his lifetime), which Peter Gabriel issued on his own RealWorld label in 2003. Deriving its key inspiration from famed source singers, this majestic record furnishes two contrasted tracks for AYE: firstly Blackbird, a powerful and beautiful meditation on a traditional ballad as performed by Lizzie Higgins, and secondly the incandescent spirituality of Liberation, which contains Psalm 118 voiced by Murdina, Effie MacDonald and Michael Marra and represents Martyn’s fortitude, endurance and spirit which saw him through an extremely traumatic period in his life.
AYE completes the picture of Martyn the iconoclast who also derived enormous fun from his music-making, by including three previously unreleased cuts. The playful Paisley Spin weaves dance patterns and soaring Bollywood string inflections around Gerry Rafferty samples, while the newly-unearthed Crackcorn is a deliciously subversive 1999-vintage pounding rave groove built out of Martyn and a friend singing the old American folksong Jimmy Crackcorn; finally, Sky Blue Remix is a 2002 reworking, at the invitation of Peter Gabriel himself, of a track from Peter’s own album Up.
All of which adds up to a magnificent, well-packaged and entirely fitting memorial to Martyn and his all-encompassing musicality: his passionate integrity, shot through with a true comprehension of both deep tradition and deep modernity, allied to a genuinely audacious and irrepressible command of these sensibilities and the matchless ability to combine both disciplines in music of true originality, tremendous power and sincerity.
David Kidman May 2012
This, the seventh CD from the ever-popular and charismatic Australian duo (John Thompson and Nicole Murray), concentrates on showcasing a cornerstone of their repertoire that hitherto has not been sufficiently explored on record, that of Australian song. Its provenance stems from a major, nay epic project undertaken by John between Australia Day 2011 and Australia Day 2012, a blog called An Australian Folk Song A Day, described as “a daily posting of Australian folk songs” (and using Jon Boden’s own Folk Song A Day project as a model). For this blog John had specially recorded (or in some cases supplied from an existing recording) a total of (I think) 367 songs from Australian sources (which might be traditional lyrics, bush balladry or contemporary songwriting).
This treasure trove has now been selectively mined to provide the basic material for ten of the 13 tracks on The Land Of Bright Gold, exceptions being the glorious title song (one of John’s own compositions, here sung acappella with lovely additional harmonies courtesy of the Morningsong Choir), The Gartan Mother’s Lullaby (the disc’s only truly non-Australian item, but hauntingly characterised and therefore a must for inclusion) and a jolly instrumental set (pairing two fine tunes much in the Irish trad style, composed by Nicole) that slots in nicely just before the disc’s mid-point. The ten songs that have the chance of being a little familiar to habitués of John’s blog include some real gems, and the newly-fleshed-out versions recorded for this CD have coaxed some mightily gorgeous performances from John and Nicole, with their perennially excellent singing blessed with creative and exceedingly well-judged arrangements variously involving concertinas, whistle, wooden flute, fiddle, viola and guitar. Highlights for me are the magically evocative Wood-Turner’s Love Song (from the pen of Phyl Lobl), with its setting redolent of Robin Williamson’s Merry Band; Banjo Paterson’s Song Of Artesian Water (done to the spirited tune by The Overlanders’ Graham Jenkin); and To The West, a poignant song of dreams and speculation that opens proceedings and instigates the cycle of hope which the title song so beautifully reinforces at the disc’s close.
Another standout track is John’s exceptional unaccompanied interpretation of Jim Jones At Botany Bay, which forms a tremendously compelling centrepiece to the disc. The Maryborough Miner (a counterpart-adaptation of a shearing song collected by Bert Lloyd) and the traditional Sign-On Day provide further moments of lively acappella, while in contrast John gives us a passionate, flowing version of Slim Dusty’s setting of one of Henry Lawson’s best-loved poems, Do You Think That I Do Not Know (also featuring some sumptuous fiddle playing from guest Emma Nixon), and Nicole treats us to a well-turned rendition of The Blooming Queensland Side, a little-known variant of Banks Of The Nile.
The disc’s best-known item is The Maid Of Australia: described in the booklet note as “seriously strange”, it’s probably the most dubious in terms of having any real Australian origin – but who cares, when it receives such a persuasive performance as this? But the entire landscape of this Land Of Bright Gold is magnificent, and very probably will be counted John and Nicole’s best album yet.
David Kidman May 2012
Paddy Moloney’s veteran Irish traditional combo celebrates its half-century not with a marathon jam-session on Toss The Feathers (Paddy’s original idea, apparently) but by following up its 2010 Irish-Mexican fusion project St. Patricio with a collection of new tracks recorded in tandem with a host of new collaborators. In the past, of course, we’ve encountered the Chieftains almost in the role of self-styled cultural ambassadors, where the ostensibly least logical of musical collaborators have been coerced (or not) into The Chieftains Experience.
On Voice Of Ages, these are mostly singers, and in the main drawn from the fertile plains and broad churches of indie music, new folk, new country and newgrass. And although the disc contains its inevitable share of misfires, much of the rest is very pleasurable indeed, if not actually stunning perhaps. Carolina Chocolate Drops – and especially their raunchy vocalist Rhiiannon Giddens – come off well on a rollicking blend of hoedown and hooley (Pretty Little Girl), Lisa Hannigan scores with a delicate My Lagan Love, The Civil Wars (Joy Williams and John Paul White) contribute a fetching self-penned number (Lily Love), The Decemberists a pounding Dylan cover (When The Ship Comes In), and Pistol Annies make a good fist of Come All You Fair & Tender Ladies.
On the more upbeat side, the Punch Brothers turn in a sparky version of The Frost Is All Over, while the 11-minute Chieftains Reunion track er, reunites in the context of a veritable toss-of-the-feathers extravaganza the current band with past members including Michael Turbridy and Seán Potts, and the bonus track Lundu is a fairly riotous Galician knees-up with Carlos Nuñez. Paddy’s men themselves exhibit their customary charm, bonhomie and gentlemanly respect for their guests, being perfectly happy to play second fiddle (and pipes and whistle and bodhrán etc etc!) to those celebrities’ talents. The sheer elegance of the boys’ playing, their intuitive responsiveness to the vocal nuances of the various singers, is a given, and yet that very virtue of understatement can also quite easily underscore any tendency to undercharacterisation on the part of those singers.
Some contributors seem ill at ease even in this company, and their tracks come across as merely limp despite Paddy’s best efforts. Paolo Nutini’s take on Hard Times is plain boring, and the City Of Limerick Pipe Band’s coda to this track just seems ridiculous and out of place. Bon Iver’s take on the murder ballad Down In The Willow Garden is overly underwhelming and seriously misjudged, and an imported kids’ choir rather ruins an otherwise respectable take by Low Anthem of MacColl’s School Day’s Over. The Secret Sisters don’t do an awful lot for Peggy Gordon, but against all the odds Irish rockabilly star Imelda May does real good on a swingingly syncopated version of Carolina Rue and – weirdest of all – NASA astronaut Cady Coleman takes Matt’s flute and Paddy’s tin whistle into orbit (literally) for a spin through the air (in the musical as well as literal sense) on the well-known O’Carolan tune Fanny Power, over which the band have later overdubbed a backing track which easily overcomes any potential charge of artifice: not a waste of space, then!… and in the final analysis neither is the whole album.
David Kidman May 2012
The North East can proudly boast that it has produced some tremendous music from its home-grown talent, a truth of which you wouldn’t think anyone, let alone its residents, still needs persuading! But this new DVD – home-grown by one of the region’s most widely recognised and respected exponents of its arts heritage – contains more than enough to sway even the doughtiest of unbelievers. Sure, its marketing attempts to “sell” the region and its music in a distinctly tourist-friendly package, but at the same time, what matters is that it’s been put together with care and genuine affection by a team of folks (director Geoff Wonfor and producer Ray Laidlaw) who have in their genes the special character of the region and the skill to depict its landscapes, activities and culture in all its moods and flavours.
It takes in an all-encompassing selection of music inspired by the Big River and the people who live along its banks, initially (though thereafter not exclusively) in the form of a veritable journey of discovery, a kind of musical travelogue from its source up in the hills through to the sea. The exploration, with Eric Robson and Charlie Hardwick as our guides, is reliably and companionably undertaken, and illustrated along the way with stunning aerial shots, copious (and cannily chosen) archive film and photographs and – crucially – plenty of representative songs from the region’s many and varied traditions, performed by many of the cream of the region’s artistes in a variety of musical styles and arrangements from folk to rock, classical to music-hall: formal or informal, on stage or in the pub, on location or in the recording studio.
No fewer than 30 indigenous musical items (mostly songs) are included during the course of this 110-minute DVD, and the majority of them (I’m glad to say) in their entirety. Fans of the likes of Jez Lowe or The Unthanks, say, will doubtless carp at their omission, and yes we all know of several more performers and songwriters equally worthy of inclusion (the name of Barrie Temple is just one that immediately springs to mind), but the geographical or cultural boundary had to be drawn somewhere I guess, and IMHO the team has done a splendid job in capturing the essence of the region and the breadth of its talent, at least in the popular parlance. The liveliness of the living tradition is everywhere you look, cheek by jowl with a keen awareness of, and pride in, the region’s history and heritage, all aspects of which are reflected in the performances chosen.
Favourite segments for me are the leisurely chat with Johnny Handle, and Pete Scott’s lengthy but entirely justified appraisal of the art of Joe Wilson. Inevitably perhaps, a significant proportion of the DVD’s musical items enjoy a keen involvement from Billy Mitchell, whether as performer or arranger. And among those we find some of the anthology’s brightest gems, fresh takes on old favourites: Angie Lonsdale’s Cullercoats Fishlass, Charlie Hardwick’s renditions of The Sandgate Wife’s Nurse’s Song and Shoe Makker. From the archives, there’s Alex Glasgow’s Dance Ti Yer Daddy and a couple of items from Lindisfarne’s legendary 1976 Christmas reunion concert. The more classically-inclined renditions are a mixed bunch artistically perhaps, and not all will be to all tastes: Bob Fox sings Johnny Handle’s Guard Yer Man Weel exceptionally well, but the orchestral backing seems stagey and ill-matched, whereas Keep Yer Feet Still Geordie Hinny seems better to retain its spirit in the fulsome Cathedral setting with soloists, orchestra and choir.
The splicing-together of two different baritones’ performances of The Hexhamshire Lass is technically very well managed, but ultimately unsatisfactory, and I remain unconvinced by the aria-like treatment of Doon The Waggon Way, but Blow The Wind Southerly is beautifully sung by Jill Halfpenny with the EPO. Similarly, although Joe McElderry’s rendition of Jimmy Nail’s celebrated title anthem is well controlled and passionate, it won’t ever displace the writer’s version in our affections and many will find Sting’s lavish treatment of The Water Is Wide a touch over-arranged. Also, and more crucially, I feel we should’ve heard much more of Terry Conway, whose glorious Eastern Allen Runs is only briefly excerpted; and a similar fate befalls Judy Dinning’s fine performance with Jed Grimes of the old ballad Hughie The Graeme. And yet other (to my mind less musically satisfying) examples are allotted their full running-time, although in the end it’s churlish to complain, even at the items which might tax some folks’ patience, like overstretched stage renditions of Wor Geordie’s Lost His Liggie and Why Aye Man or a larger-than-life rock treatment of Blaydon Races (from Messrs. Nail, Whiteley and Healy).
What matters overall is that the final product is coherently assembled, flows well, and gets across, in appealing, well-turned-out and authoritative (if not necessarily definitive) performances, the essential story of the Big River. And it’s a final product to which (notwithstanding its quirks and foibles) I’ve no doubt the purchaser will want to return over again; for it does the region and its talents proud. The level of information in the accompanying booklet is admirably informative, both as regards sources for songs and recordings, while also giving pointers for those wishing to explore further; it’s attractively presented (and what a nice change to find a DVD with a decent booklet of any kind!), scholarly but unfussy, entirely in keeping with the high standards already set by the Mawson & Wareham imprint and their ongoing Northumbria Anthology project (effectively a Not For Profit company which is one of the three charities that will benefit from 75% of the profits from this DVD), from the archives (and existing catalogue) of which a number of the DVD’s tracks were taken.
David Kidman May 2012
Yorkshire-based bluesman and songwriter Gerry has been steadfastly championing the blues masters for many years, and has to date produced two reliable and satisfying CDs consisting mostly of his own faithful and refreshingly unadorned interpretations of both acknowledged and lesser-known blues classics, while showcasing his undoubtedly keen and increasingly adept skills as a guitarist (versatile on both six- and twelve-string acoustic and resophonic slide).
Of late, while continuing to develop his own acclaimed solo repertoire in live performance, Gerry has also teamed up on some gigs with brilliant multi-instrumentalist Phil Snell (whose own CD In The Pines was reviewed in issue 159 of this mag), and Phil’s Otley studio and all-round expertise have provided the companionable home-base for Gerry’s third recorded excursion, which also marks a number of significant departures.
Firstly, it features a healthy number of Gerry’s own compositions (seven out of its 14 tracks, in fact). Secondly (and notably on these self-penned numbers), much of the album expands Gerry’s musical language; even though his take on the blues has always ranged commendably far and wide, as for instance here he absorbs the stylings of Arthur Crudup, Blind Blake, Buddy Woods and Tampa Red, his new, broader ambit now also eagerly embraces other musical sub-genres for which he also has a clear affection and affinity. We therefore encounter fond country-styled waltzery (Already Gone), the atmospheric Deep-South-influenced title track, and the simpler folky love-song Coming Up For Air, all of which receive very persuasive treatments. And thirdly, the disc includes a goodly and tasty modicum of musical accompaniment, much of this courtesy of Phil Snell himself, the rest taking the form of selective (and typically inventive) contributions from drummer Hugh Whitaker, in addition to (on several of the tracks) backing vocals drawn from a small pool of guests – Christopher Brant Anderson, Tom Attah, Ann Davis (aka Best Beloved!), Nick Hall, Michelle Plum and Lucy Zirins.
The musical arrangements on this extended palette are invariably significantly more creative than we might get on yer average “white man sings the blues” record (not that Gerry’s work is ever anything like that mundane!); Phil’s an excellent mandolin player, fully complementing Gerry’s proven guitar skills, while his chunky bass work also provides an ideal foil, as does his occasional shift onto electric guitar. Indeed, and notwithstanding Gerry’s well-documented penchant for reinterpreting the work of the blues masters that have clearly furnished him with long-term deep-rooted inspiration, some of the less conventionally bluesy items on this album provide it with distinct highlights.
Of the more traditionally blues-inflected cuts, Drop Down Mama and the instrumental Boogie Woogie Dance come off best; on the other hand, if I’m honest, there are some tracks where Gerry seems just a touch laboured vocally, as if he’s trying a little too hard to be authentically tough and gritty, and as a result not quite convincing. One thing that’s never in doubt, though, is Gerry’s total conviction and feel for the blues and all its roots and branches. (Available at gigs or from 64 Norwood Terrace, Shipley BD18 2BB, £12 incl. P&P.)
David Kidman May 2012
Proud young Scottish outfit Breabach has achieved a lot in a very short time; they’ve been winning over audiences ever since their inception, and were growing steadily in stature from even before their first CD The Big Spree appeared towards the end of 2008. The “difficult second album” The Desperate Battle Of The Birds, which followed in 2010, was anything but difficult (or desperate), and led to simultaneous nominations at both the BBC Radio 2 Folk Awards and Scots Traditional Music Awards in 2011. That same year saw major lineup changes however, which have been taken in their stride and the band has survived on into a new creative era, with the signature Breabach twin-bagpipe front-line attack remaining intact.
Basically, James D. Mackenzie has replaced original piper Donal Brown, and fiddler and singer Megan Henderson has replaced Patsy Reid, while double bass player James Lindsay now formally joins the band for recordings as well as live shows, having for some time already also played an integral part in arranging and writing for the band and, in tandem with guitarist Ewan Robertson, developing their special sound. And it is special, for the new record with its unassuming, bald title (Bann meaning simply “band”), is a masterly statement of intent.
The opening set, which pairs an original piece by band member Calum MacCrimmon with a pipe tune from Donald MacLeod’s book, sets out the band’s stall with some really spicy solo work (especially that key pipes-fiddle combination) and a persuasive demonstration of their strengths of scoring and instrumental grouping, showing that there’s plenty of fire in the engine room and yet also plenty of crafted shade, within this versatile lineup. It’s a mark of the band’s maturity that even the fieriest of their tune sets don’t feel rushed, notwithstanding the lick at which sections of pieces like Calum‘s own Gig Face are taken (that track features some stunning double bass work too by the way!). And the facility with which they cope with and adapt to sudden gear-shifts – as on the shape-changing Sorry I’m Late set – is both miraculous and thrilling. As of course is the massive-pipe attack of the Donald’s Rant strathspey-and-reel set, which seems to have Tardis-like properties!
On the other hand, the mighty majesty of the slower tunes like Duncan Chisholm’s Farley Bridge is quite overpowering too. Another interesting feature of this new album is the band’s unusual penchant for interspersing vocals within an instrumental set – Mogaisean sandwiches a Gaelic song (sourced from the singing of Margaret Bennett) between a Norwegian dance tune and a lively jig by James D., and the aforementioned Gig Face enjoys a relaxed wordless-vocal coda. This time round, the exclusively-song quotient (not counting the above-mentioned interpolations) is four tracks, almost all of which provide highlights rather than respite-interludes. Scotland’s Winter, Ewan Macpherson’s setting of an Edwin Muir poem, is stupendous, and Calum’s own composition Western Skies not far behind in memorability, whereas Megan’s rendition of the Gaelic praise song M’eudail is a worthy addition to the band’s repertoire; only Karine Polwart’s River Run feels a touch underplayed, despite its charming whistle-based setting.
I’m not sure why the band felt it needed to append a second take of Scotland’s Winter (a wireless edit, ie minus that fabulous pibroch coda) at the end of the disc, but in all other respects this is a well-planned and stimulating CD that does the dynamism of Breabach real justice.
David Kidman May 2012
This is one of those records that’s probably destined to remain a best-kept secret, for although it came out late in 2010 its existence (let alone its availability) has not been at all widely advertised. But in my opinion it’s one of the finest discs to be released by any folk artists over the past couple of years. The fact that it has taken me so long to get hold of a copy bears testament to my opening statement, of course. And any review needs to do it at least some measure of justice in conveying at least a measure of its stature.
In common with previous releases by this long-standing singing partnership, this CD, in spite of its wholly authoritative air, makes no grand pretensions; yet it’s handsomely packaged and annotated (although unusually, no texts are provided), while its contents are impeccably chosen, sensibly contrasted and sequenced, matchlessly well sung and cleanly recorded. And the performances themselves, by these acknowledged supreme tradition-bearers in perfect concord (I won’t say harmony because that would mislead as they tend to sing separately!), evidently derive as much pleasure and satisfaction from the singing as they give to the listener (and, rightly, demand an equivalent level of commitment).
But this is no ordinary disc of traditional song either; for although 10 of the 14 tracks actually employ a tune of traditional origin, the words to no fewer than five of these were penned by Geordie himself, one (Love Song) by Hamish Henderson and another (Gloomy Winter’s Noo Awa’) by Robert Tannahill. Geordie’s songs are nothing if not masterly, and range emotionally from the striking opener From Gulabeinn (its composition triggered by the scattering of Hamish Henderson’s ashes in a “natural tomb” at the mountain’s summit) and The Lights Of Home, the moving story of POW Andy Coogan (evocatively accompanied by Alison’s banjo), to Tam Chambers, a canny wee celebration of Glasgow “character” Big Tam. And it’s really weird, but listening to Geordie “blind” (as it were) I’d swear that oft-times I’m hearing Ewan MacColl reincarnated… spooky, that…
Additionally, three of the disc’s remaining items sport tunes by Geordie. First, there’s the magnificent title song, which, though inspired by a dream, reflects on a mystical experience on the Argyll peak of Stob Gobhar, with an eerily throbbing guitar figure that seems to evoke the swirling mist of the mountaintop environs. Then there’s Winter In Glencoe, which sets words by the late poet, song collector and activist Helen Fullerton, and The Tryst (words by Perthshire poet William Soutar). The final item, a satisfyingly credible version of Thomas Rymer (Child 37), finds Alison providing her own entirely idiomatic tune for this time-honoured ballad. And talking of such “muckle sangs”, Alison’s solo unaccompanied performances of The Cruel Grave (Child 248) and the intriguing Burns And Highland Mary are chillingly paced and especially tellingly rendered, while Geordie’s version of the classic Clydes Water stands comparison with the finest available.
Although the majority of the disc’s tracks focus on Alison or Geordie themselves, Alison’s daughter Kirsty Potts sings in glorious harmony with Alison on two (Factory Girl and Mary Slessor), and Jo Miller brings her fiddle along to augment From Gulabeinn. I really wouldn’t want to be without this CD, for it contains an abundance of singing of true distinction that in every way entirely matches the couple’s unalloyed integrity.
David Kidman May 2012
This award-winning duo, comprising top-league Scottish fiddler Alasdair and ultra-talented Californian cellist Natalie, has captivated music lovers with its dazzling teamwork for several years now. The previous two CD releases by this special pairing, Fire And Grace and In The Moment, have already given me many hours of pleasure, and both were greeted with justified acclaim from critics and public alike.
Hard acts to follow, both, but with Highlander’s Farewell, the duo have produced their finest record yet. I wouldn’t want it taken the wrong way, but the presence of a handful of guest artists may have a little to do with that – notwithstanding the consistent excellence of the duo’s own playing and arranging, which lacks absolutely nothing in verve and spark. Their trademark fluidity in juxtaposition and allocation of parts, the judicious switching-around of melody, harmony and rhythm lines, is all still present and correct as you’d expect – nothing’s changed there, and the artistry is as persuasive as always.
And once again, there can be no complaint about their canny choice of material, which capably intersperses well-loved items (eg Nathaniel Gow’s Lament and The Gallowglass, and Duncan Johnstone’s modern-day pipe march Farewell To Nigg) with vibrant arrangements of less-often-heard traditional pieces (The Pitnacree Fisherman reel), modern Cape Breton tunes (Grand Étang & Hull’s Reel) and Galician dance delights (the track 11 medley) with original compositions from inspirational figures like Gordon Duncan. Alasdair himself provides three contrasted pieces: the infectiously snappy McLaughlin’s Strathspey, a gorgeous dedicatory air (Cragmont) and a more energetic piece in the form of a reel (Whitewater) which is informed by the beauty and strength of the river near where Alasdair lives in the Sierra Nevada foothills. In contrast, Gloomy Winter’s Noo Awa’ is given a suitably low-register balance against which to measure its gradual climb into the sunlight.
The epic medley that starts the disc (and gives the CD its title) just has to be a standout track, with its seven-minute journey propelling the musicians from strathspey to Irish reel and finally Appalachian breakdown and sporting Bruce Molsky and Martin Hayes & Dennis Cahill in tow. Natalie’s sister Brittany (of Boston-based bluegrassers Crooked Still) adds her expert five-string fiddle playing to two tracks, and Laura Risk (of Cordelia’s Dad) to two also, including on both counts meaningful contributions to the grand noise made by the cast of seemingly-thousands of fellow string players on the disc’s grand-finale, which takes the form of a stately neo-classical-styled schottische (La Sansonette).
Guests aren’t always a good thing, concealing as they can do the talents of the main protagonists, but in this instance their embellishments are both commendably selective and genuinely enhancing, and the focus remains firmly on Alasdair and Natalie and their core musical relationship throughout, exactly as it should be, and strongly and sweetly characterised at all times.
www.alasdairfraser.com
www.nataliehaas.com
David Kidman May 2012
Pieta, daughter of the iconic Greg Brown, has an equally disarming, and quite distinctive, performance style that exhibits some of the very same characteristics – notably a fluidity that enables her to switch mercurially between country, roots, blues, folk or gospel without batting an eyelid. This can at times lead to a certain over-nonchalance and a suspicion of under-involvement, but not so on her latest album, Mercury, which is as persuasive a collection as we’ve a right to expect from Pieta (and then some).
The album was recorded live in just three days, with all the players gathered together in a single-room barn-studio in Tennessee. The cast-list includes Pieta’s frequent collaborator (and husband) Bo Ramsey (a master of production too), together with dependable sessioners Richard Bennett, David Mansfield, Glenn Worf and Chad Cromwell, while Mark Knopfler (with whom Pieta had toured back in 2010) adds some inimitable signature guitar work to the disc’s penultimate number, the edgily bluesy So Many Miles. Following which, Pieta closes the set with a compelling song she wrote backstage on that very tour in wide-eared response to hearing Mark and his band play live, No Words Now. Of course, Pieta plays no mean (if minimal) guitar herself, as you can appreciate on this defiantly less-is-more record…
The true gestation of the album, however, is a dream Pieta had about going back south to revisit her Alabama childhood, and so it’s only to be expected that a melange of southern musical styles infuses her work here as naturally as breathing almost. Pieta’s songwriting on this latest project is as seductive as ever, if at times almost wilfully enigmatic and creating a sense of unease and volatility from expectation and emotional understatement; she ranges easily from the delicate I Don’t Mind to the rockabilly-tinged gospel-rouser Glory To Glory, the genial country of Be With You to the queasy Butterfly Blues and the obvious elemental import of the disc’s quintessential title song. And in common with Pieta’s earlier work, you need to be prepared for a certain modicum of delayed-reaction, as her music can take a few plays to reveal its true stature.
David Kidman May 2012
It's been around four years since Steve's self-styled comeback album The Whirligig Of Time, which followed on a period of a dozen or so years away from the folk scene. That album has been a constant companion, its virtues never waning – indeed, revealing themselves even more with repeated exposure over the intervening years, and cemented by a selective series of live performances. Thus I'm so glad now to find he's still in fine fettle and has ventured back into the studio to record this followup CD (with some handpicked guests in tow).
As with Steve's rightly celebrated live sets, this latest collection contains a typically eclectic range of material, reflecting his exciting, fully committed approach to tradition in the broadest sense. This time even more than last time, I was struck by the parallel between Steve and Nic Jones in particular, in that Steve brings to any song he takes on a forthrightness, a ring of total authenticity, while carrying that song forward from previous benchmark interpretations to create his own distinctive imprint and (invariably) a new benchmark on which future tradition bearers may then choose to build. And, like Nic Jones, Steve doesn't ever sound like anyone else but himself! Steve's supremely confident singing voice is so stylishly accompanied by his trusty "extended" English concertina (what a wondrously full sound it makes!), that it can almost seem invidious to welcome any degree of enhanced accompaniment by way of extra instrumentation, even when it's of the calibre of Martin Carthy's signature guitar (on three tracks), Oliver Knight's electric guitar (two tracks), Riki Gerardy's cello (two) and Pete Flood's eccentric-but-fun percussion (a further three).
The ensemble is consummated with some superb vocal harmonies from Moira Craig on no fewer than four tracks: a sumptuously jaunty Follow The Drum (on which Steve's classy cittern playing excels itself), a version of Paul Metsers' lovely Peace Descends that must be regarded as every bit as definitive as Paul's own classic recording (on In The Hurricane's Eye), and fresh-minted renditions of Jordan and Claudy Banks, both of which have been furnished with sparkling new tunes by Steve himself (Steve's noted penchant for supplying new tunes to traditional songs and/or unearthing different variants is both more pronounced and more fruitful on this new disc).
Steve also revisits two songs he'd previously recorded on his 1984 LP Eclogue. Napoleon's Farewell To Paris, which closes the disc, is even more stirring than his earlier recording, his newly-introduced concertina accompaniment giving the narrative a greater edge, even when compared to the already extremely fine unaccompanied rendition we've been used to hearing from Steve over the years. The old Ry Cooder number Boomer's Story receives a neat kickstart with a spankingly contemporary electrified treatment, and provides a keen contrast following the disc's one and only unaccompanied selection, Steve's involving rendition of Eric Winter's epic Flowers Of Manchester, to the local setting of which he feels a strong personal connection. But arguably the finest moment on the whole record comes with the song whose lyric provides the CD's title: The Crows That Crow, an intensely powerful Paul Metsers opus from the late 80s that Paul himself hadn't recorded at the time, based on a true story of a visit made by Paul to Nic earlier in that decade, with the chilling image of the "man by the turnstile" prefiguring Nic's fate. Sheer genius, and Steve and his concertina can be heard to make the very most of this song's strange yet ominous beauty.
As he unquestionably does with every song he chooses to tackle here, making Rim Of The Wheel a sure contender for my "top folk albums of 2012" list.
David Kidman May 2012
This laudably eclectic disc showcases the voice, banjo and guitar of Walthamstow Folk Club mainstay Russ, who really ought to be better known. He brings a deceptively undemonstrative yet knowingly responsive quality (and a nicely unhurried sense of pacing and timing) to his sparky, one might say distinctly Robb-Johnson-esque treatments of anything from folk and protest to minstrelsy and music-hall, via Bob Marley's Get Up, Stand Up and a lesser-known example of the work of Pete Atkin & Clive James (Thief In The Night).
Russ can do tender (Ewan MacColl's Nobody Who Knew She Was There and Robb Johnson's own Carrying Your Smile), silly (Leslie Sarony's priceless Ain't It Grand To Be Blooming Well Dead), and cheeky traditional (My Father Had A Horse, from the singing of Harry Cox) with equal facility – and always a large helping of gut-commonsense (he sure knows what these songs are all about). Russ also delivers a rather lovely banjo-and-pedal-steel-backed version of Lou Reed's Pale Blue Eyes, which prompts me to mention that his support crew does a grand job in helping him to realise his unique vision of each song. Sensitive vocal harmonies from members of a three-lady team, and some keen musicianship (mandolin, concertina, fiddle, trumpet, piano, sax, bass and drums all make unmissable and well-judged contributions).
Russ's banjo playing is no slouch either, as his rendition of Syncopatin' Shuffle (fingerpicked on a nylon-strung instrument) proves; its combination with piano on Frank Lee's setting of Ralph Hodgson's Time You Old Gypsie Man is even more eerie than its minor-key tune. Only a brief review – but a masterly album that will seriously haunt you if you give it the chance.
David Kidman May 2012
Two years ago, Doris Muramatsu, co-singer with the Brooklyn roots rock outfit, was diagnosed with leukaemia. She’s now in remission, but the experience has inevitably informed the mood and content of their new album, a far more musically subdued and melancholic set than Everything's Easy, its songs shifting lyrically between resignation, loss, acceptance and hope.
It opens in magnificent, yearning form with Nothing Left, writer Nate Borofsky taking lead on a ballad of regret and renewal ("I’ve seen a chance to say amen, to just let go and start again") that sounds almost like an Americana Snow Patrol before Doris takes over for another lost love number, the uptempo acoustic Caroline, that underscores their way with instantly catchy melodies. Guitarist Ty Greenstein then steps up to sing his own Break Me Slow, a beautiful song of confession and penitence that touches on the hymnal.
Although Greenstein has the larger share of credits, the democratic balance of songwriting and lead vocals is reflected across the album, each of the trio (now joined by former Po’ Girl drummer JJ Jones) contributing their own musical character without compromising that of the band itself.
Perhaps inevitably, Muramatsu doesn’t seem to have had much time for writing, but hers certainly feel the most personally informed, the lilting slow waltz Saint Augustine a direct reference to her illness and ‘something unseen, something inside me’ and while piano ballad Long Time Gone may be a group effort, it’s not hard to see where lines like ‘just a lonely girl who thought she had more time’ came from. Likewise, the closing banjo and fiddle bluegrass shuffle Best I Could, ends the album on a celebration of life as she sings ‘I’m just a girl who loves to eat and drink the world’.
They may not be, but even songs written by the other two seem to reflect Muramatsu’s brush with mortality, Greenstein’s brooding bluegrass See To See opening with ‘maybe I’m fading and everyone knows it’ while the Borofsky penned Supernova, on which Doris sings lead and Julia Biber provides cello, is built around do not go quietly imagery.
However, for all the references to loss and leavings, the melodies and the vocals ensure that it’s no depressing album, the don't let the world make you bitter poignancy of Michelangelo and No Matter What I Do both couched in Beatles influences while Greenstein’s lovely folksy mandolin dappled swayer The Person I Want calls to mind the early days of The Indigo Girls, a comparison strengthened by having Emily Salier drops by to add vocals to his Empire Of Our State.
At one point Muramatsu’s cancer seemed that it might spell the end of the band, certainly as a touring entity. Her recovery has given her and them a lot to be grateful for, and arguably the finest album of their career to date.
Mike Davies May 2012
Although already superseded by Small Town Hymns, released here in 2010 via Evangeline, the Raleigh outfit’s third album has never previously been available in the UK. It’s certainly well worth investigating its belated arrival if you’re a fan of the brand of guitar ringing alt country served by the likes of Petty, Springsteen and Earle. It may be bar band music but it certainly makes you want to hang around until closing time.
Katherine Belle pulls the first pint with rousing, horns backed, ringing guitar, frontman BJ Barham going on to fill his glass with Queen Of The Scene’s throaty Earle-style strum and City Lights and Downtown Girls’ shameless steals from Springsteen’s husky confessionals, and to take a shot of The Hold Steady with Mary, Mary.
Essentially a collection of songs about girls and bars, they’re pretty much all veined with the cynical misogyny of someone who’s had his heart trampled, its lyrical bitterness and Barham’s self-image as a man done wrong by cold hearted women, may leave a bad taste but you may find yourself keen to order another bottle.
Mike Davies May 2012
Incredible to believe it, but Stacey and Mark have been together musically for two decades, and Dedication, their fifth album together, marks that anniversary. It's their first new record since 2008's Town Square, and it plays to their strengths while also (frustratingly for this listener) displaying an increasing tendency to waywardness that's probably down to a desire to showcase broader musical proclivities than the country-Americana stable where they started out. The duo's principal musical virtues are, however, intact on this new set: their knack for penning and expressing heartfelt and intimate feelings is undiminished, while Stacey's voice gets better with each new record, having lost the overly chirrupy timbre that gave a jarring edge to the early recordings, and there's no denying that the duo's personal and musical empathy feels stronger than ever.
So what's the game with Dedication? Well, the record was partly inspired by the couple receiving as a gift a 1928 Baldwin piano, on which they were to end up writing what were to become the disc's core songs. These prove to be a decidedly mixed bunch, and provide the disc's highs and lows: I particularly liked For A Long Time and Here Comes The Pain for their attractive, distinctly McGarrigle-esque turn of melody that's carried through into Stacey's vocal delivery, while the disc's title track features Mark's sterling twang guitar and some inspired duet harmony vocal work, and Little Rock (presented here in full-length and radio versions) is an affectionate road-song that will surely stand the acid tests of time and memorability.
The latter song is a very good example of Mark's talent for writing about life exactly as it's lived, straight from experience. I also liked If You Change Your Mind, a kind of cross between Dolly Parton and the Everlys, country with a touch of early-sixties pop and rather appealingly done with a sensitive, understated arrangement. The disc's emotional centrepiece, though, is a real curiosity: on The Flag, Stacey intones, or narrates (as opposed to sings) a mother's fond remembrances to the accompaniment of spare plucked guitar notes and wheezy accordion and other incidental noises. It's at once not entirely comfortable listening and strangely comforting in its poignancy.
As for the disc's low points, these just don't fit with the rest: Mark's R&B-styled Broken Heart For You is like a mundane late-Beatles number, Stacey's Here Comes The Rain is a breezy pop throwaway and I've Been Wrong, I've Been Right an undistinguished soul ballad.
In the end, even though one can't fault the togetherness of the singing and playing, and Craig Wright's drums provide some sympathetic underpinning for the couple's limpid, elegant guitar- and piano-based textures, I suspect that even the duo's fans may still find this new collection a touch too uneven stylistically to be wholly convincing. Or perhaps it's just meant to reflect the highs and lows of life itself.
David Kidman April 2012
Recorded live over four days in a converted church, it’s appropriate that soul is the keyword for Earle’s fourth album, both in terms of baring his and of the Memphis influence in which it’s soaked.
Turning 30 finds him in reflective mood with songs about looking for answers and looking for love, but finding neither. The first track, the worn down Am I That Lonely Tonight?, opens with a line about hearing his father on the radio, tellingly going on to add ‘sometimes I wish I could get away, sometimes I wish that he’d just call’. There’s a sense of being tired and empty that permeates much of the album.
"We're better off if we all remain strangers stumbling through the dark," he concludes resignedly on the mid-tempo broken relationship Maria but throughout he’s blaming no one but himself. "Maybe I broke myself a promise that I never intended to keep," he sings on the musically and emotionally naked confessional Won’t Be The Last Time, clearly referencing his well documented problems with booze, sentiments that also feed into Movin’ On ("thirty years of runnin’s left me standing with my back to the cold....wondering if I’ve ever really learned a thing at all"), a Johnny Cash style chugger that mentions both his separated parents, and the sparse Unfortunately, Anna which refracts his own problems ("it’s you that needs to change") through the song’s subject.
There’s a strong echo of Springsteen to the latter, an influence that rears its head too on the horns swinging Look The Other Way, a song that (especially on the chorus line) imagines Bruce playing Stax as he acknowledges that even if he could change it’s probably too late, an admission that also informs the warm but deeply sad title track.
As you’d imagine from an album that has its heart in Memphis, there’s a couple of belting up tempo tunes too, the fat brass boogie Baby’s Got A Bad Idea with its Jerry Lee piano chops and the punchy soul Memphis In The Rain which, driven by organ, horns and rock n roll guitar licks, sounds like it should light up any stage show.
But, like the gorgeous, Tom Waits spirited, lazy loping Down On The Lower East Side with its sax solo and double bass, it’s the smoky, slower grooves and bare bones that cut deepest and linger longest. I’ve been smitten by his music since the first track on his debut album five years ago, and nothing’s gonna change the way I feel about him now.
Mike Davies March 2012
Sometimes an artist can release numerous albums and still remain below your radar. Gordon’s a case in point. This is his fourth, his first in seven years, but until now my only brush with him was a duet on one of Kate Campbell’s early releases. I’ve clearly been missing out.
He’s steeped in the sort of southern soul and blues that, as exemplified by the title track with its roll call of desperate TV evangelists, politicians and suicide bombers, will attract fans of Little Feat and Tony Joe White alike. His voice also occasionally recalls Guy Clarke, as on Pecolia’s Star, a dusty Americana duet with Sarah Siskind about the late Mississippi folk artist and quilt maker Pecolia Warner. Like Clarke too, he’s fond of narratives and characters, an approach evident on Southern funky boogie of Bus To Shreveport (where his delivery’s surely Elvis influenced) and its childhood memory of going to a ZZ Top gig and the run in with a bunch of Latinos and the world weary Trying To Get To Memphis in which the narrator talks of a guy coming to his door begging for a hand out.
Most of all though it’s illustrated by the 10 minute plus Colfax/Step In Time, another Guy Clarke comparison and (reputedly autobiographical) childhood coming of age story about playing trumpet in a junior high school marching band with an African-American teacher and their brush with Ku Klux Klan, a description rich number that, pinned by a steady drum beat, banjo and soulful organ, namechecking fellow students like Danny Amos who locked himself in the music room, blasting Ted Nugent over the speakers, as it builds to a triumphant gospel choir finale.
With other numbers that include the suburban paranoia slow blues rock Black Dog, Side Of The Road’s ominous tour that takes in a burned down Southern church, Baghdad and Basra and the defiantly upbeat Buddy Hollyish guitar ringing rocking closer The One I Love, if he’s as new a name to you as he was to me then I wouldn’t waste any more time in making the acquaintance.
Mike Davies March 2012
Back in the early 80s, Kell was one of those new country names who was always tipped to make it but never did, releasing a series of albums that featured players such as JD Souther, Bernie Leadon, David Lindley, Karla Bonoff and Wendy Waldman but which never found their way from the record stores into album collections. When his fourth album met a similar fate back in 97, Kell called it a day.
But you can’t keep a true artist down and he’s finally resurfaced with a new collection of original material and covers and some old friends, among them Bob Glaub, Greg Leisz, Don Huffington and the late Kenny Edwards. There’s no Waldman or Bonoff providing back-ups here, but I was particularly excited to once again hear the sensational voice of the criminally underrated Valerie Carter, not only on harmonies but duetting with Kell on the plaintive dusty love song Dove. In my book the album would be worth it for that track alone, but the fact is that pretty much everything else here will amply reward the purchase.
Kell has one of those sage-brush seasoned voices that’s both sweet and stained, world worn but still veined with notes of hope. The bittersweet nostalgia of a musician’s life, Which Road sets the standard from the opening, a song that takes you back to those classic days of late 70s Southern California, its theme of a life that somehow ended up being lived alone carried over into the equally reflective Sometimes and the achingly sad Texas On The 4th Of July with its weeping accordion accompaniment.
If those are vintage acoustic troubadour settings, the smouldering LA story of The Way Of The World takes him into bluesier territory with more emphasis on electric guitar while Sands Of Time’s lyrically wry sketch of LA conjures Lindsay Buckingham’s nimble guitar folk pop off Rumours and, Hold On filters Jackson Browne through Pettyish ringing guitar country rock.
There’s two covers, a moody, border blues reading of Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood with prowling accordion and Baby’s In Black where Kell teases out the Everlys influence in the Beatles swayalong. Kell closes the show with a gospel tinted I Wouldn’t Trust The Moon, another wistful reflection on how the allure of California can prove an impossible dream that leaves you selling your soul. For 40 years it seemed as though the dream was always out of his reach. With this album, he might finally, and deservedly, have it come true.
Mike Davies March 2012
Throughout the years, the measure of every true folk artist’s music has been a response to and document of the age in which he lives. That has been increasingly true of Springsteen over the past decade. The Rising was his response to 9/11, Magic documented his antipathy to the Bush regime and the Iraq war and Working On A Dream was infused with the hope offered by the new Obama administration.
However, that optimism has been swallowed up by the devastating economic downturn caused by Wall Street greed and the recession’s increasing gulf between the haves and have nots, both in American society and globally. As such, it’s perhaps no surprise then that, this album’s closest companion in the Springsteen canon is We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions, the roots of both buried in the soil of American folk music. Thematically too, it shares the same concerns but also, like Nebraska and The Ghost Of Tom Joad before it, reaches back to the blue collar dust bowl protest songs of Woody Guthrie. Yet, neither of those albums were as bleak or as angry as this.
When he released Born in The U.S.A, the then administration wilfully ignored its true sentiments and shanghaied it as a flag waving anthem for the first Gulf War. Burned by the experience, Springsteen leaves little room to misconstrue the bitter ironies of the album’s opening salvo, We Take Care Of Our Own. A classic chest bursting Springsteen triumphant anthem, it sets the sloganeering title line chorus against rhetorical question verses ("where's the promise from sea to shining sea? Where's the work that will set my hands and my soul free?") that give it the lie.
For Springsteen, work and dignity go hand in hand, take away the one and you lose the other. On the roots rock gospel infused uptempo Shackled and Drawn he sings "freedom son's a dirty shirt, the sun on my face and my shovel in the dirt" while the careworn acoustic slow march Jack Of All Trades with its mournful trumpet solo has the narrator listing the handyman jobs he can do to keep the family from going under.
In both songs he clearly identifies those to blame as the bankers who still have it ‘fat and easy’ while the workingman pays the bill. It’s a theme he robustly furthers with the folky stomp Easy Money, where his character decides to take a leaf out of the fat cats’ book and turn to crime, and, musically echoing his collaboration with the Dropkick Murphys, with the Irish rebel song flavoured, tin whistle accompanied Death To My Hometown which talks of the robber barons who ‘destroyed our families, factories and they took our homes’ and ‘whose crimes have gone unpunished now.’
Featuring Rage Against The Machine’s Tom Morello on guitar, the soulful, wearied melancholy of This Depression marks the lowest ebb as he sings ‘I’ve had my faith shaken but never hopeless... I haven’t always been strong, but never felt so weak’. But, in the line about the morning sun breaking the song also marks the start of the journey out of the darkness to, perhaps, ‘the new world coming’ he mentions in Jack Of All Trades.
Written in 2009 in tribute to the Giants Stadium in New Jersey which was set to be demolished, Wrecking Ball is classic Springsteen. One of the final recordings to feature Clarence Clemons’ might sax sound, it’s an anthem of defiance as he advises’ hold on to your anger’ and declares ‘c’mon and take your best shot let me see what you got’.
Opening with just acoustic guitar but opening up to take on drums, electric guitar and handclaps, the bluesy You’ve Got It is easily the album’s weakest track, but its simple statement of romantic/sexual magnetism also serves as an image of salvation, bridging the album’s journey from despair to hope.
Journeying, literally and metaphorically, is at the heart of Rocky Ground which, sampling the traditional hymn I'm a Soldier in the Army of the Lord and drawing on religious imagery, adopts a similar musical mood to Streets of Philadelphia. With lines about prayers going unanswered and doubt supplanting faith, it may seem defeatist but references to the flood, Jesus throwing the money lenders out of the temple and being Canaan bound culminate in another mention of a new day coming, as the song breaks into a rap (a Springsteen first) by Michelle Moore before a gospel choir picks up the title refrain for the fade.
The second of the tracks to feature a Clemons solo, Land Of Hope And Dreams actually dates back to 1998 and was originally intended to appear on The Rising. Picking up the journey motif and again featuring Moore, it finds its home here in full E Street blood with its migrants imagery and a message to get on board, leave darkness behind and that ‘dreams will not be thwarted’ as its binds a sample of Curtis Mayfield’s People Get Ready to a backbone carved from Woody Guthrie classic This Train.
Every struggle to throw off tyranny and oppression costs lives, and so it is that the album closes with We Are Alive. Opening with a single acoustic guitar, it breaks out into another Irish cum bluegrass knees up with fiddle, banjo and a gleeful borrowing of the riff from Ring Of Fire in celebration of those who died seeking a better world, referencing the Maryland railroad workers strike of 1877, the 1963 Birmingham Alabama church bombing and, less specifically, those who never made it across the desert from Mexico. But while their bodies are gone, Springsteen affirms that their spirits live on, their souls rising to ‘ light the spark’ and carry on the fight ‘shoulder to shoulder and heart to heart.’
They couldn’t ask for a better rallying cry than this album and while it might not find a place on the Goldman Sachs jukebox, it might be an idea for the likes of Obama, Romney, and Gringrich to familiarise themselves with a copy.
Mike Davies March 2012
Having recently picked up Grammys for Best Folk Album and Best Country Duo/Group Performance, you might wonder exactly to which genre acoustic duo (but not a couple) Joy Williams and John Paul White belong. The answer would be both, but his Appalachian Alabama heritage (there’s a fair deal of banjo going down) hold sway over her Nashville roots so that even when the album does venture deeper into country territory, as with the waltzing Forget Me Not, it’s decidedly of the retro back porch variety on which he was raised.
White’s background is probably most evident on the title track, a rousing strummed gospel blues with a cinema noir narrative that balances his gruff tones with her softer notes in a manner that will inevitably bring the Plant/Krauss collaboration to mind. But while the massive success of Raising Sand surely has a lot to do with ensuring the duo attention, it would be wrong to suggest they’re riding its coat tails.
Listen to C’Est La Mort and you may well discern as hint of the Everlys while the harmonies and vocal contrasts of To Whom It May Concern and Poison & Wine are far more of the Gram and Emmylou variety just as the spooked atmosphere of My Father’s Father with its repetitive simple guitar figure suggests Welch and Rawlings and Girl With The Red Balloon with its filmic lyrics and the evocative European colour of the strings calls to mind The Swell Season.
Sparsely arranged to rely largely on just vocals and guitar (although The Violet Hour provides a moody piano and cello instrumental), the musical mood reflects lyrical themes of love, loss, death, and disappointment.
On Falling they sing ‘I can’t help falling out of love with you’ while 20 years has the narrator still waiting for forgiveness and redemption two decades on from leaving a note under the door. But misery and broken hearts have always been a folk music staple and the duo’s strength lies in making melancholy more attractive than most, even restyling Michael Jackson’s denial and rejection Billy Jean as a slow late night jazzy blues.
Released in America last year it wound up on many year end Best Of lists. There’s every reason to think it’ll do the same over here this December.
Mike Davies March 2012
The unassuming yet appetising subtitle of this disc is A Musical Odyssey From Appalachia To Himalaya. It's not a fusion music experience as such, and certainly not one of those "let's throw it all together and see what happens" experiments, but instead it's more in the way of an exploration of parallel experiences of musicians from Virginia and Nepal.
The Mountain Music Project's mission is to encourage the preservation of musical traditions in rural and under-served communities throughout the world, with a special focus on mountainous regions. Its activities include cultural exchanges and expeditions, multimedia documentation, and supporting local cultural preservation organizations, notably musicians in Nepal, Bhutan, Thailand, Burma (and wherever the songs carry them!). This particular release stems from the MMP's 2006 travels to Nepal, where the participants sought out folk musicians of the Gandharba caste, whose music's homemade instruments and raw quality reminded them much of oldtime Appalachian music.
And when you spot Tim O'Brien's name prominent among the credits and author of the introductory liner note, that particular angle can indeed be seen as the key, for in that respect the project can be viewed as another aspect of Tim's personal odyssey, his eternal fascination with the trans-continental cross-currents, both in the relocation of the old songs and tunes down the years and across the oceans and the realisation of just how much common ground exists between ostensibly disparate musical cultures. This is illustrated through what might in one respect be heard as Transatlantic-Session-styled performances of15 items in total: eight are US traditional or thereabouts (a couple of Stephen Foster numbers), while the remainder are of Nepalese origin (four traditional pieces and three original songs by musicians from the gathering).
The project's been coordinated and arranged by its producer Danny Knicely, and recordings were made both in the Appalachian region of the US and in the Himalayan region of Nepal, featuring legendary musicians from both countries. In addition to Tim, the nucleus of the US contingent comprises Mark Schatz, Danny Knicely and Curtis Burch, with Aaron and Matthew Olwell in tow, and there are also guest appearances from Abigail Washburn (a lovely duet with Tim on My Home Is In The Blue Ridge Mountains), Tony Trischka (banjo on Old Joe Clark) and Riley Baugus (who contributes idiomatic vocals to Little Liza Jane and the Old Regular Baptist hymn The Day Is Past And Gone).
The central thesis - in its most simplistic form - has to be that the Appalachian and Nepali traditional musics have more in common than we might think, and the most obvious instances are brought into sharp focus with the disc's consecutive placings of songs where the melodic contours are surprisingly similar - Going Across The Sea is paired with the Nepali song So Many Eggs, and Sally Anne with Resham Firiri. But the cross-pollination extends beyond the actual material into the performances themselves; many of these have traditional Nepalese instruments playing perfectly happily alongside their American counterparts and sounding pretty natural. The plangent tones of the Nepalese sarangi (four-stringed fiddle, interestingly employing similar intonation to some Appalachian cross-tunings and played vertically like a cello) complement the western fiddle, while the bansuri flute parallels the Irish wooden variety; mandos, dobro and guitar provide suitable embellishments and the madal drum is the principal source of percussion. Worry not, for it's all very accessible to western ears.
The joyous ensemble rendition of Oh! Susanna is the only "contrivance", and then only in the sense that it incorporates a Nepali translation of the lyric, but even this fun interpolation doesn't sound out of place in the context of the whole enterprise, which amounts to nothing less than a vibrant and entertaining instance of fertile cross-cultural exchange.
David Kidman 2012
There's two ways you can approach recording an album of classic covers. You can reinvent and remodel them in your own image or you can stay faithful to the original templates. Sometimes either will work, sometimes neither do. If you bend the songs out of shape, you can get accused of being sacrilegious, and if you honour them you're likely to be dismissed as karaoke. In paying tribute to the recordings and artists that inspired his own music, Isaak has gone back to the music of Sam Phillips' Sun Studios (where he recorded the tracks to capture its unique vibe, the studio's veteran producer Jack Clement among the guest musicians) and the artists that came through its doors. There's a few tweaks here and there, but mostly he's playing it straight as they were first heard.
You can call it karaoke but I'd rather think of it as a guy having a good time singing and playing the music he loves as authentically as he can while also offering a musical history lesson about a seminal moment in rock n roll history that embraces both the legends and the long forgotten.
Throughout his career Isaak's voice has been likened to Presley, so it's no huge surprise to find Elvis recordings, both ballads and rock n roll tunes, provide the bulk of the 19 tracks here with Trying To Get To You, I Forgot To Remember To Forget, Can't Help Falling In Love, My Baby Left Me, How's the World Treating You, It's Now Or Never, Doin' The Best I Can, She's Not You and, the first songs he ever recorded, My Happiness.
Indeed while Isaak has a stab at the low notes to emulate Johnny Cash's baritone on I Walk The Line and Ring Of Fire, he makes them sound almost as they might have done had Elvis got to them first.
Another comparison is Roy Orbison (who also recorded Trying To Get To You the year after Presley) and his contribution to the Sun sound is represented by two tracks, a solid version of Oh, Pretty Woman (but no, Isaak can't do the growl), and the Orbison penned (though curiously credited here to Sam Phillips) rockabilly So Long I'm Gone which provided Warren Smith with his biggest Sun hit in 1957.
Naturally Sun stars Jerry Lee Lewis and Carl Perkins get the nod too with the former's immortal Great Balls Of Fire (a reminder that, with Scott Plunkett on the ivories, it was never played as fast as you think it was) and Ray Price country cover Crazy Arms and the latter's Dixie Fried and Your True Love, the B side of Matchbox.
But it's not just the legends Isaak's acknowledging. A slice of raw garage rockabilly with fierce, frenzied guitar and raw throat delivery, Miss Pearl was recorded for Sun by Mississippi's Jimmy Wages in 1956 (with Charlie Rich on piano) but was deemed too gritty and lyrically unsettling for release and didn't surface for another 25 years.
And, while it may be a touch presumptuous, Isaak also includes one of his own numbers, Live It Up, a reminder that Sun still shines bright to this day.
Note: Not available for review, a De-Luxe edition is also available with six further tracks, Lovely Loretta, Everybody's In The Mood, I'm Gonna Sit Right Down And Cry, Love Me, Doncha' Think It's Time, and, fittingly enough, That Lucky Old Sun.
Mike Davies March 2012
After what seems like countless (actually 23) albums showcasing his glorious deep growl of a voice and tellingly rootsy writing style, you'd perhaps be forgiven for thinking Greg's got nothing more to prove and nothing more to show – but hell, he just keeps on coming up with the goods, finding a subtly different spin on his art with a brand new collection of self-penned songs of easy craft and dependable quality. Which is why each successive Greg Brown album proves a harder act to review - for if it springs no surprises then there's gonna be little meaningful to say beyond the "this is another fine record that entirely effortlessly amasses its Brownie Points".
As indeed here with Freak Flag – well almost, I guess. This album nearly didn't happen – when the entire batch of original recordings destined for its release was destroyed in a lightning strike at the studio site. But Greg just turned round and wrote another new batch of songs! And every one of these is a gently polished little gem with its own special sound-world, from the cheeky Someday House to the wayward rockabilly Where Are You Going When You're Gone, the wistful reassuring fireside glow of Rain & Snow to the tougher-edged bluesy roller Mercy Mercy Mercy. And this time round, almost at the end of the disc, there's a couple of covers, both as it turns out by "family": (daughter) Pieta's Remember The Sun and (wife) Iris DeMent's Let The Mystery Be - the latter receiving a particularly gorgeous, vulnerable reading.
But it's quality through and through, with no excess baggage – well, except possibly the title track, a kind of hymn to family connections on which Greg seems (uncharacteristically, but here, forgivably) guilty of over-emoting a little. But I'll admit, even though Greg's never anything but leisurely in the manner in which he lovingly caresses you into submission, no individual song is ever allowed to outstay its welcome and he always knows just when to stop. And at the risk of damning with faint praise, you can't say fairer than that.
Oh, and should you still need convincing, here's one more selling point: a crack backing crew including Bo Ramsey, Richard Bennett, Steve Hayes and Jon Penner, with Mark Knopfler guesting on one track (Flat Stuff). Yes, Greg's latest offering is an intimate and involving album with a real sense of depth and atmosphere that manages to keep a puckish smile on its face while it keeps its own freak flag a-flyin'.
David Kidman March 2012
Right at the outset, I need to clear one important point of information: that, in its latest incarnation, The Albion Band doesn’t actually include its founder Ashley Hutchings among its personnel – at least not in any corporeal sense. This has been seen as at best a cheeky gambit, at worst nothing less than a traitorious, disrespectful and grossly misleading cash-in, and, while I must admit my initial reaction found a fair degree of sympathy with the former, more favourable interpretation, I can also see the sense in both sides of the argument. Especially since this new six-piece lineup includes among its ranks Blair Dunlop, Ashley’s son, to whom Tyger himself gave his full blessing in the use of the Albion brand name for this stretching of the continuity of Albion tradition, onward and down into the next generation.
Thus, we encounter here some key performers from that “next generation” who’ve already proceeded well past the “up and coming” finishing-post and can currently sport a proven and impressive CV through past and present involvement with other bands, projects or enterprises. On fiddle and mandolin we have Katriona Gilmore (Folk Award-nominated in her duo with Jamie Roberts, toured as Fairport Supporter, also formerly of Tiny Tin Lady); on guitar, cittern and concertina Gavin Davenport (member of Crucible and Glorystrokes, also well-regarded solo performer and mainstay of the Sheffield folk scene); ace songwriter and guitarist Blair Dunlop; bass and melodeon player Tim Yates (currently also with mighty ceilidh-band-cum-folk-rockers Blackbeard’s Tea Party); and drummer Tom Wright (formerly involved with Eliza Carthy projects, also Glorystrokes). All five of these musicians got together a few months back and recorded a feisty (if ultimately patchy and perhaps not altogether focused) taster-EP, Fighting Room, since which time lead guitarist Benjamin Trott has joined the ranks.
This lineup can also proudly boast no fewer than three excellent singers in Gavin, Katriona and Blair – although to my mind Katriona’s rather underused on this occasion (she’s got a great, tough voice for folk-rock, but here only takes the lead on her own fine composition Coalville, although her duet with Gav on How Many Miles To Babylon? provides another disc highlight). Gavin in particular brings a really strong sense of presence to his vocal tracks, and good use is made of the potential of contrast on the songs where he shares the lead with Blair, whose lighter-timbred assurance works well in counterpoint.
Gav’s songwriting is consistently impressive, recognising and reconciling the deeper folk tradition with what might be judged the Albion tradition, and leading the brand firmly and surely into the present day. I feel sure that Thieves’ Song, for one (here convincingly reprised from the EP in a sharpened-up version), is destined for classic status, while How Many Miles To Babylon? won’t be far behind it I suspect, and Gav’s flair for intelligently arranging traditional material comes into its own on a rocking One More Day and Adieu To Old England. Elsewhere on the disc, after the acappella introductory snippet A Quarter Hour Of Fame (today’s equivalent to Steeleye’s Calling-On Song maybe?), the whole band shows it means business by pulling out all the stops on a steaming romp through Richard Thompson’s Roll Over Vaughan Williams. There’s also a pounding revisit of Phil Beer’s setting of François Villon’s Set Their Mouths To Twisting (which first appeared on the 1989 Albion Band LP Give Me A Saddle…), and while the band’s cover of Nik Kershaw’s Faces may arguably seem less distinguished, they sure rock in the approved manner.
The disc’s pair of tune-sets prove stompingly efficient; the first, comprising mostly tunes of Katriona’s devising, is the more interesting of the two. But throughout the enterprise the band retains a persuasive sense of ensemble, and the various instrumental colours are always well deployed. All in all, the new Albionites’ debut full-lengther is a confidently edgy and purposeful record. OK, so it doesn’t invoke the consciously pioneering stance that was associated with the original Albion Bands, and I admit I wasn’t completely convinced by the Fighting Room EP, but The Vice Of The People feels more like a considered mission statement and on reflection I do think it succeeds in doing what Ashley clearly intended: giving folk-rock a shot in the arm, a hefty kick up the backside too, and propelling it forcibly into the present day while consciously paying homage to both the spirit of the classic Albion Band and embracing the power of contemporary indie and rock. The band members' fantastic energy, commitment and sheer talent are a killer combination!
David Kidman March 2012
At long last, another highly consumable artefact from this distinctive African-American combostring-band, to follow up their acclaimed Genuine Negro Jig album of a couple of years back – and I’m convinced it’s even finer! OK, so some folks still don’t know quite what to make of this exuberant outfit, not least for their unorthodox teaming of primitive old-time mountain music and bluegrass with influences from hip-hop, soul, blues, gospel and beyond. But the Drops really don’t sound like any other group, for their sheer conviction and honesty, their incredible energy, aren’t the only qualities that set them apart from those bands that proclaim (but can’t deliver) a genuine fusion of elements. There’s that defiantly dark percussive element too, that which when reviewing Genuine Negro Jig I termed dirt-floor immediacy, that’s unshakable and impossible to ignore.
But the unbridled eclecticism of the Drops is also undoubtedly a contributory factor in their success, since their glorious musicianship enables them to genre-hop ever-joyfully. And whatever the choice of song or tune, there’s full authenticity on display in the music that’s complemented by authoritative research in their liner notes which give full credit to sources. Again, founder member Rhiannon Giddens delivers some absolutely stunning vocal performances on some highly contrasted material, notably on the gritty Ethel Waters number No Man’s Mind, the disc’s outstandingly poignant title song (an original composition by Laurelynn Dossett concerning the fate of a mill town) and a supreme acappella rendition of Hazel Dickens’ powerful Pretty Bird.
But Rhiannon can’t always be upstaging the rest of the unit, no sir! For co-founder Dom Flemons proves at his charismatic and versatile best again throughout, whether driving away on his signature four-string banjo, ferociously pounding the drums on the rough-house of Riro’s House or clacking the bones on Rhiannon’s furious reinvention of Cousin Emmy’s Ruby Are You Mad At Your Man?, both intoning the chant and playing the quills on the feisty Run Mountain, or spiritedly leading the vocal gang on Read ’Em John (sourced from an Alan Lomax recording of the Georgia Sea Island Singers). And mandolin maestro Hubby Jenkins excels himself this time round in a variety of instrumental settings that make their own playful connections between the indigenous musics, also sharing the credit for a smile-inducing arrangement of the little tune Mahalla from the Karoo region of South Africa.
In addition to the Drops’ standard trio lineup, a couple of tracks also feature the fine cello playing of guest Leyla McCalla, and a further handful contain backing vocals from Adam Matta. But for sheer guts and grit, just set track 12 (I Truly Understand That You Love Another Man) on replay and crank the volume up. Irresistible – as the band are when on stage of course (but chances to catch the band live in the UK are unjustly parsimonious – their latest UK “tour”, at the end of last month, barely took in Celtic Connections and CSH before they were whisked back to the States, and it was long gone before I received this disc for review… hey, there ain’t no justice!).
www.carolinachocolatedrops.com
David Kidman March 2012
Coming twenty albums into her career, Intersection is being promoted as Nanci’s most personal album yet, an exposed examination of what’s been a particularly difficult period in her life, involving much turmoil and various bust-ups.
This all fairly explodes on track 5, Hell No (I’m Not Alright), the catchy, if frenzied delivery and pounding Buddy Holly-style setting of which rather belies her anger. Several of the album’s subsequent tracks share a similarly deceptively pop-lite vibe, which may or may not work to Nanci’s advantage here, I'm really not sure.
For Intersection sees Nanci at a kind of musical - and literal - crossroads, an uneasy paradox of a kind, where the contemplative, tender-yet-defiant songs like If I Could Only Fly that form the emotional core of the record are almost subsumed by the album’s altogether pithier, more uptempo outings like Bad Seed and the yearningly wistful Just Another Morning Here. On Never Going Back, a composition by Mark Seliger, Nanci voices her feelings on leaving her native Texas some years earlier, whereas Davey’s Last Picture is a character study much in the mould of Nanci’s more familiar vignettes and the reflective opener Bethlehem Steel concerns the closing of a mill in the very town where Robert De Niro filmed The Deer Hunter.
The album closes on a more optimistic note: Come On Up Mississippi manages to both rally and rouse, followed by the bluegrassy, banjo-ridden High On A Mountain Top. This breezy number only adds to the unease with which Nanci straddles the contradictions of that metaphorical and literal intersection here. The musical backdrop, too, is unusual in Nanci’s output in that it imports the skilled jangle of Peter and Maura Kennedy, a sonic signature which is key to these very contradictions.
If you take this album on a cursory listen, you may hear much of it as unduly chirpy, so you need to take in the lyrics almost on a separate plane to get the most out of them. It’s curious that even after a few playthroughs, overall, and musically speaking, Intersection still doesn’t seem to be a wholly consistent set, but nevertheless I feel sure you’ll find it hard to resist Nanci’s charm as she guides you eloquently and honestly through her recent experiences.
David Kidman March 2012
A year or two back, Anaïs’ ambitious folk-opera Hadestown gained considerable critical acclaim, although it proved a hard nut to crack for many listeners. Her creativity continues unabated, however, and her admirable, steadfast refusal to compromise musically remains at the forefront of her followup project, Young Man In America, which Anaïs herself describes as “inspired by American manhood, British ballads and my father”. Although it’s not exactly autobiographical, and less of a thematic song-cycle than its predecessor, it still has a well-defined artistic unity for all its ostensible musical strangeness. It’s fair comment that Anaïs’ singing can mildly irritate, for her voice is at times quite strident in its chirpiest timbre; but equally fairly, I don’t find this a problem here, and certainly that tendency isn’t as pronounced as on some of her earlier records. And in any case, the songs are the thing - so concentration will necessarily be on the allure and mystery of her lyrics. These concern or relate the experiences of her various protagonists, who mostly tend in some way to be at odds with the world in which they’re living (or forced to live) but who inevitably have an interesting story to tell. Significantly, a number of the songs (eg. Venus, AnnMarie and the title track) are tellingly voiced in a male persona, a recurring character, a restless man on a feverish hunt for pleasure and success who’s both “very desirous and very sad”, and thus who to all intents and purposes could be regarded as the mythological hero of the sequence, while at the same time having much in common with facets of Anaïs’ own personality.
Standout songs like Tailor, Shepherd and Ships could easily be viewed as surpassing even the best of her earlier compositions, and even those possessing the more awkwardly angular melodies (like the itchy You Are Forgiven and the intense, emotionally intimate piano-backed Coming Down) can’t be considered weak or deficient for that or any other reason. And once again, Anaïs’ strongly individual songs are given unusual and inventive arrangements by producer Todd Sickafoose: settings that imaginatively and undistractingly transcend the s/s, indie, folk or rock templates, with playful touches of jazz here and there, and instruments like trumpet, flute, clarinet, banjo, accordion and organ sneaking in and out of the colourful textures, supplemented by some super guest cameos courtesy of the likes of Chris Thile (delicious mandolin fills on Dyin’ Day), Michael Chorney (who masterminded the score of Hadestown, you’ll remember) and contributions from experimental jazz players Adam Levy (guitar) and Jenny Scheinman (violin). Young Man In America contains some challenging and extraordinarily persuasive music, but also happens to be a very listenable record, and one which, after the slightly thorny proposition of Hadestown, cries out for Anaïs to be given another chance by the unbelievers out there.
David Kidman March 2012
Back in 1998 Billy Bragg and Wilco came together to make Mermaid Avenue, an album that saw them putting music to previously unheard lyrics by Woody Guthrie. Two years later they returned with Mermaid Avenue Vol II. Together they contained 30 different songs.
Following that, in 2006 neo-klezmer outfit The Klezmatics not only brought their own interpretation to 16 more 'lost' lyrics (including Mermaid's Avenue) with Wonder Wheel but that same year also released Woody Guthrie's Happy Joyous Hanukkah, twelve songs adapted unseen Hanukkah poems also written while living in Brooklyn during the 40s. Then, in 2009 Jonatha Brooke released The Works, putting music to a further dozen previously unrecorded Guthrie lyrics.
You'd think the archive would have been pretty much exhausted by now and anything left over not worth the effort. But no, Guthrie's daughter Nora has unearthed a whole new stash and handed them over to this quartet comprising members of Son Volt, Centro-matic, Varnaline and My Morning Jacket respectively to come up with melodies and accompaniments to mark the centennial of her father's birth.
Giving the material contemporary musical settings, there's no sense that the sixth time to the well has come up empty. Guthrie's Dust Bowl politics (and his Hannukah scribblings) may be a largely tapped out seam, but the lyrics the foursome have worked up here focus more on his introspective writings in 30s California and his final days in New York, the latter and his ailing health spurring No Fear, a defiance of death set to a guitar thrum and percussive backdrop.
Though arguably at its best with the four voices in unison, each singer takes lead vocal responsibility for three tracks. Farrar wistfully frames the album with the thematically kindred Hoping Machine and the title track (not the greatest lyric), both vocally and musically reminiscent of Bruce Cockburn, with Careless Wreckless Love sounding more akin to the folk rock of Richard Thompson.
As well as No Fear, raspy voiced Johnson dials up distorted riffage and harmonica for VD City to sound like Dylan fronting Crazy Horse and, in distinct contrast, the sparse trad American folk sounding romantic longing Chorine My Sheba Queen. Parker's the least distinctive of the group, Fly High all flimsy Laurel Canyon folk pop and the throaty Old L.A. simply channelling auto pilot REM though he's partly redeemed by Angel's Blues where he visits Neil Young's psychedelic blues.
Yames (the silly alias adopted by Jim James) scores strongest, opening his contributions with the vocal reverb weary slow march My Revolutionary Mind (though the tapping drumsticks are very annoying), following up with the acoustic Talking Empty Bed Blues where he shifts the tempo, evokes the Everlys and slips in a subtle guitar reference to Spanish Harlem in the space of four minutes, before providing the album highlight in Changing World which borrows the melody from How Can A Poor Man Face Such Times And Live for the verse and South African township music for the intro and the anthemic chorus of 'change the pen, change the ink, change the way you talk and think. Change the tubes and change the tires and change the thing your heart desires."
And as if all this wasn't Guthrie manna enough, rather than wait around to do Vol II, the quartet also recorded a further 11 tracks (not available on the promo copies) for a second disc on the DeLuxe edition.
Forty seven years since his death, Guthrie still inspires and still has something to say. And, with apparently some 3000 lyrics and fragments still in the archive awaiting further projects like this, his voice is going to be heard for some time to come.
Mike Davies March 2012
Described by its makers as “something like a divine hootenanny”, this project is a collaboration between omni-folk-pop trio Sons Of The Never Wrong (Sue Demel, Deborah Lader and Bruce Roper) and a few of their talented Chicago music friends.
Each of those friends was asked to show up for the sessions armed with music they themselves considered to be holy in their own way (celebrating our humble place in the universe), and to grant permission for the Sons to contribute their own stamp to the performances. This made for some audibly joyful music-making, as you can hear – especially on the gospel-inflected material like Standin’ On The Mountain, and traditional staples Jesus On The Mainline and People Look East. But there’s also a quieter, more reflective and contemplative brand of joy shining gently through other ensemble numbers like God’s Children and the Sons-composed Communion, while the joint Sue Demel-Michael Allemana composition Amen provides a jazzy mid-disc treasure. A good proportion of the disc’s source material consists of original compositions by individuals from amongst the aforementioned friends; Megon McDonough’s tender Meditation is very probably the pick of these, while other self-penned items come from Steve Dawson, Mark Dvorak, Pat Roper, Michael Miles and Al Day. Deb delivers a spirited setting of a traditional Hebrew prayer, whereas Nancy Walker’s revisit (in tandem with Sue) of the traditional Talk About Sufferin’ (a track from her acclaimed 2004 album Layers Of Rust And Time) contains some wonderful vocal harmonies.
Even tho’ I can’t quite connect (musically that is) with a couple of the items on the disc (those led by Michael Smith and Robin Bienemann), I can’t accuse any of the disc’s 20 items of outstaying their welcome, and there are none of the slightly uncomfortable would-be-wacky moments that tended to compromise some of the Sons’ earlier records, while the respect, sincerity and intelligence of the artists’ performances is never in question.
This Church Of The Never Wrong sure is a neat place to worship, and you’re bound to come out into the light of the world again duly refreshed and energised.
David Kidman March 2012
Cabaret, circus, folk, klezmer, melodramatic song, Totnes. Those are the tags listed on her Bandcamp page and pretty much sum up what lurks inside the second album from Devon’s Mae Karthauser and (following Mae Karthauser and The Good Unit recorded with a bunch of Californians) the first with her new British band comprising bassist Rich Taylor, Tim Heming on clarinet and J D Dalton on drums with guest cello from Jered Sorkin. She herself plays keyboards and citern as well as singing.
Totnes is where she’s based (apparently living in a caravan on a hill top) but her musical influences are imported from Eastern Europe, Africa, North India and Java while jazz, folk and music hall all provide extra colours. As the carousel on the cover suggests, there’s a lot of the fairground about them, especially when it comes to visual presentation, with that air of mystery and not a little hint of darkness and danger.
A quirky artist, the songs are suitably enigmatic. On Lucian she sings of the lad who ‘won the cockerel every time at the summer races, wearing lucky trainers and the pants his grandfather gave’ while wide eyed kids gawped in wonder, but mischievously ponders what might happen if he fell.
The piano waltz Tabby has her singing in the voice of someone now in the body of a cat turning up at lover’s door (I think you can safely take that as metaphorical), the clarinet trilling jazzy Please Dear! concerns female manipulation with lyrics about making her brothers wear dresses and how the bible taught her that you have to be nice and charming to get people ‘to shovel shit’ and with a queasy rhythm and a mix of Bulgarian folk, blues and snake charmer clarinet, she visits The Chinese Restaurant to buy a loaf of bread and observes that to be a happy human you have to get away from ‘the concrete jungle and the chewing gum in your hair’.
You can probably spend hours musing over her lyrics while the inventive arrangements (Flora The Ballerina dances across a musical box melody, The Sea sounds like she’s singing from an echo chamber over a foghorn) keep you constantly wondering where each song will strike off to next. The problem is that the album will inevitably evoke thoughts of Brel, Lotte Lenya, Anais Mitchell’s Hadestown project and Tom Waits but, while her voice can do acrobatics it’s also rather hard and cold rather than the earthy warmth and passion the music needs so that you tend to be impressed by the technique rather than be moved by the emotion.
However, as Devon’s answer to The Dresden Dolls she’s undeniably doing something different and, if she can broaden her gigging horizons beyond the southwest then a healthy cult following awaits.
Mike Davies March 2012
Finalists in last year’s BBC Young Folk Awards, the Derby duo sound to be like the epitome of the quintessential folk club act. They play sprightly tunes that invite audiences to tap feet, clap or sing along, they clearly enjoy what they do, mix together original and traditional numbers and, he on guitars and melodeon and she playing fiddle and viola, are both adept musicians. They also have appealing if not necessarily strikingly distinctive voices and their harmonies are spot on and, while Lucas’ voice is too airy and sweet to get to the darkness and pain in Gibb’s soulful arrangement of trad chestnut Blacksmith, the album is a real joy. Opening with a rousingly frisky version of Gary & Vera Aspey’s Man On The Road to set the tune of The Road To California, they include sprightly treatments of trad numbers Jerusalem Cuckoo and Sam Hall as well as WWI trenches favourite (They Were Only Playing) Leapfrog, as featured in Oh What A Lovely War, sung a capella.
Other than rural lament Goodbye To The Plough Horse by Belper club singer Linda Woodruffe, the rest of the numbers are self-penned. Perfectly embodying the duo’s unpretentious approach, Uncle Joe’s a whimsical folk ditty based on a poem found in a charity shop book, the anti-war themed My Boy Jack was inspired by the Hornblower TV series, a predominantly guitar and fiddle instrumental, Over The Fire lifts its marriage ritual description from Terry Pratchett and, with a chorus line of ‘hey ho, we’ll have pockets of gold, the more we love money the more we’ll grow old’, Three Magpies is a tale of modern greed.
The best of their own numbers though is the closing title track where Gibb takes the old nursery rhyme commemorating the street cry of 18th and 19th century street bottomers and adds his own tale of a Derby tradesman saving to get married.
You could never imagine them being taken up by Mumford and Sons or Noah and the Whale audiences and they might be a little lightweight for followers of Rusby or Dillon, but they’ll always be a solid club support act and, if the album gets the right exposure, a fair few invitations to headline in their own right too.
Mike Davies March 2012
A leading standard bearer for cosmic Americana, this is the Southern California trio’s first all-acoustic album, recorded live around three microphones with fiddle, banjo, accordion and drums accompanying their guitars and dobro on assorted numbers.
It’s a reflective affair steeped in songs of loss, be that of relationships or death itself, the latter hovering of the approaching mortality of the darkly humoured fiddle backed two step Spirit Of Death, a tribute to the late Amy Farris, and the equally uptempo Big Old Hypodermic Needle where ‘two sweet sisters’ choose to overdose together for one last ‘memory of the sunset turning gold’ while the frisky Bill Monroe styled bluegrass Hunger Mountain Breakdown has the narrator planning an upbeat suicide.
On the ‘I couldn’t live without you’ themed Your Love Is Going To Kill Me the lyrics reference Terrapin Station but there’s an ever more upfront homage to Jerry Garcia and the boys on I Fell in Love with the Grateful Dead, a nostalgic tale of 1972, hippie carefree melodies, draft dodgers and the singer and his sister sneaking out to see the Dead play at the Hollywood Palladium that comes complete with time signature shifting bridge and guitars inspired by the band.
That reflective contemplation of happier, more innocent times also feeds into Younger But Wiser and Mary Austin Sky, the album’s most Neil Young influenced numbers, while the Burritos sounding Dear Flash takes its inspiration from counterculture novel Divine Right's Trip about a hippie stoner’s awakening and Highland Park Serenade gently laments the gentrification of downtown L.A.
Journeys frame the album, opening with Bohemian Highway’s memories of old friends and road travelled and closing with If You Lead I Will Follow which, with its folk-hymnal chorus, references the emigrant wagon trains bound for Oregon or California and Independence Rock, the landmark they had to reach by July 4 to avoid the mountain snows. Reflecting on life, they sing ‘this whole long trip is just one big test and damned if I’m going to fail’. On the evidence here they pass with flying colours.
Mike Davies March 2012
Punch Brothers continue to pull the rug from out under our feet with this latest opus, which follows up a pair of band albums that were not only entirely different in nature but were also temporally separated by various members’ equally disparate solo projects. The band’s debut Punch centred round a four-movement suite composed by Chris, whereas Antifogmatic presented a set of ten tracks that was closer to art-rock than bluegrass in its espousal of complex structures and experimental arrangements.
Who’s Feeling Young Now? pulls back from the frontiers a little, for it possibly feels more comfortable in that the band – and Chris especially, it seems – is feeling altogether more confident in both the material and its presentation. That said, it isn’t quite as immediate an album to get into, perhaps – although on second play a hell of a lot clicks into place (trust me!). It opens with the dashing Movement And Location, on which the relentless energy of mandolin and guitar provides a restless, edgy counterpoint for Chris’s fragile yet soaring vocal acrobatics. Its lyric is – like the majority of the tracks – a band composition, while Josh Ritter has co-penned the lyrics for two of the songs, New York City and Hundred Dollars.
As the album continues, there’s a twist round every corner, as the unique musical adventure of each song takes liberties with structure and development that often move way beyond anticipation and accepted norm; for instance, the title track starts out as a funky indie-style slice of youth philosophy, then almost casually introduces strange and violent shifts in tempo and rhythm alongside deliberate and tightly-coordinated switchback discords. Then there’s an almost devil-may-care cabaret tone to the relatively orthodox bar-count of Patchwork Girlfriend, whereas a conscious swing influence permeates sections of songs like Don’t Get Married Without Me and This Girl, where Beach Boys vocal harmonies will also suddenly appear out of nowhere bestriding the frenetic strumming and riffing of the combined stringed virtuosity on display from the five players.
A pensive moment comes on one of the disc’s highlights, the tender and beautiful Soon Or Never (which is almost classifiable as a traditional country-bluegrass song in comparison with the rest on the disc). And earlier, No Concern Of Yours has its own kind of more leisurely momentum, but it still contains a high degree of restlessness, and even the still-epicentre episodes of the central instrumental Flippen (adapted from an original by the Swedish group Väsen) just can’t keep the fingers from twitching and ticking over in the background just like a timebomb waiting to detonate at any moment. The disc’s second instrumental cut is an arguably even more unexpected inclusion: an inspired (if suitably idiosyncratic) treatment of the title track of Radiohead’s landmark y2k opus Kid A which, while chock full of virtuoso instrumental dexterity, nevertheless retains a keen ongoing sense of musicality.
In a way, this nervous, jittery arrangement typifies the challenging nature of Punch Brothers’ music, and its invigorating effect on the listener is not to be underestimated.
David Kidman March 2012
This release is as welcome as it is likely to be unexpected. Its booklet note describes it as “an impassioned collaboration/conversation between mandolin virtuoso Chris Thile and guitarist Michael Daves in which the subject is bluegrass, specifically how this upstart duo can acknowledge history and tradition while exuberantly defying convention.
Taking time out from his membership of the iconoclastic nouveau-bluegrassers Punch Brothers, Chris has gone back to those bluegrass roots with Michael, informing these roots with a healthy degree of what the press release terms Lower East Side punk energy. (And I’d say a good dose of prime acoustic Led Zepp too…) Well, the end result is just awesome. The visceral force of the performances on this, their debut duo album, just has to be heard to be believed, not just in the universally fiery instrumental playing but also in the extraordinary brother-duet-style vocals, where the harmony lines fairly shout out of the speakers and pierce right into your soul. With just a mandolin, a guitar and two superbly-coordinated male voices, the whole thing was recorded live-to-tape in what must have been a white-heat mere four days at Jack White’s studio in Nashville, and it sure sounds spontaneous and raw, with bundles of delinquent spirit and defiantly proud panache.
The material the boys cover is a cross-section of classic bluegrass/old-time standards from the grab-bags of genre legends like Monroe Brothers, Louvin Brothers, Flatt & Scruggs and Jimmy Martin: mostly vocal numbers, sure, these spreading the net all ways from the plaintive Bury Me Beneath The Willow to uptempo hollers (Rabbit In The Log) with harmonies and picking to die for (I mean that!), from the gloriously high ’n’ lonesome Cry, Cry Darling to bittersweet honky-tonkers like You’re Running Wild. And tucked right in the middle there’s what’s arguably one of the best ever versions of the traditional Rain And Snow.
Alongside the idiomatic chugging and finely tailored intricacies of the duo’s instrumental and vocal interplay, you just can’t ignore the totally breathtaking virtuoso playing that takes no prisoners whatsoever (whoa, those jaw-droppingly Hot solos on Roll In My Sweet Baby’s Arms f’rinstance!). These guys are so at ease with each other’s talents and now of course they’ve absolutely nothing to prove (and no need to play the roles of self-indulgent swaggering showoffs), so these displays of bravura just occur entirely naturally, as if there were no other way to play this music. Inevitably the disc also contains a modest sprinkling of instrumentals (tho’ surprisingly perhaps, that means only four out of the sixteen tracks); these effortlessly prove the boys’ chops (as if proof were needed!) on a massive variety of moods and tempos. There’s straight-down-the-line high-octane excitement on Tennessee Blues and the western-swing-style Billy In The Lowground, while Ookpik Waltz provides a heart-stoppingly tasty four minutes of delicate, quiet, playing and low-intensity shading and Mississippi Waltz is a veritable masterclass in sensitive fills.
So to the disc’s title: Sleep With One Eye Open… Ha! – sleep? no way! No sleep for the wicked – let alone the righteous! For this record is fearless, tremendous, and quite possibly the best (and most varied) modern bluegrass-covers album I’ve heard for some time!
www.christhile.com
www.michaeldaves.com
David Kidman March 2012
Wisconsin singer-songwriter Jeffrey’s proving a hard man to keep up with – for I’ve only just come across Cold Satellite, which turns out to be his sixth solo record (possibly because it’s only recently been made available here in the UK on the CSC label (before which, I believe you could only get it through Jeffrey’s website).
Shoot The Moon Right Between The Eyes, its predecessor, was a fine set of covers of John Prine songs, and Cold Satellite turns out to be another collaborative enterprise, if one of a rather different – and more hands-on – kind. Basically, what happened on this latest occasion was that Jeffrey’s friend, the poet Lisa Olstein, gave him a pile of unpublished poems or fragments which he was encouraged to mine for ideas. After an initial attempt at In Our Own Country (which was demoed in 2006 but rejected for the Ghost Repeater album), the ideas were laid aside for almost a year while Jeffrey thought harder about how best to cast the “lapidary” language of Lisa’s writings into song.
The Cold Satellite of the album title reflects the method of composition Jeffrey adopted – i.e. remote working; but Jeffrey is clearly very much in sympathy with Lisa’s way of working with language and her telling of first-hand experiences within layers of consciousness and intention rather than as conventional narrative. His adaptations and limited additions thus enable Lisa’s original fragments to increasingly work as the basis for musical setting. Not easy to explain, but songs like Geese Fly By and Voices Talking probably furnish the most assimilable examples of this process. The musical climate is harder-edged than much of Jeffrey’s previous work, with a rocking-Americana vibe very akin to Crazy Horse pervading much of the album.
It’s on the burnished gentility of the disc’s more intimate acoustic moments, however (There I Go, Late Season), that Jeffrey’s special poetic gifts come to the fore. Even so, the support Jeffrey commands from his fellow-musicians is first-rate: “Goody” David Goodrich (who as it happens is Lisa’s husband), along with “Mose” (Jeremy Moses Curtis), Alex McCollough and Morphine’s Billy Conway here supply the most distinctive of backdrops with fairly minimal resources. I’ve read somewhere that Jeffrey intends Cold Satellite to be an ongoing project to which he intends to return with the same crew: that should prove interesting…
David Kidman March 2012
If ever an album emphatically should not languish unheard even by many of his fans, in the wilfully deliberate obscurity of a limited-edition release.! The initial "escape" of Tales From The Barrel House, Seth's sixth solo record, was to my mind one of the most brainless marketing gambits imaginable; being released exclusively via his website, causing it to crash immediately, was only the start of the frustrating experience that genuine fans had to endure in trying to access the music - let alone us humble writers who were eager to give Seth's new creation the coverage it clearly deserved. But now, at long, long last, and (allegedly) "to meet demand" (self-evidently artificially stimulated, I cynically wonder) from the legions of fans who missed out on the original release that had sold out way before Christmas, the album has been granted a fully-fledged national release, preceded by a short UK tour which may well be mostly over by the time you get to read this (simply because nobody had bothered to inform me of the impending release).
But believe me, I wouldn't even bother to recount all the above unfortunate discographical history if the product itself were not so outstanding; it's almost certainly the finest to come from Seth thus far. Imagine what might have happened if Seth's performing style had developed not pell-mell along the path of overly frenetic youthful thrash that had since and hitherto (albeit unjustly) labelled him as something of an attention-seeking enfant-terrible, but instead along the more individual path that he had been beginning to define by his landmark 2004 solo record Kitty Jay. That album was recorded on a virtual shoestring, in his brother's kitchen, and oozed the genuine spirit of resolute, gritty and confident independence, with Seth's own gripping folk tales reflected in the revealingly primitive settings.
In many ways, Tales From The Barrel House could be regarded as Kitty Jay's natural, and naturally mature, successor: the deeply empathic folk-legend strand of his writing has never sounded more convincing, while the scoring is raw and pared-down and the production is starkly atmospheric (one track was recorded down a disused copper mine, the remainder in the Morwellham Quay barrelhouse that gives the album its title) and is given a special kind of unity by Seth playing all the instruments (fiddle, banjo, viola, mandolin, tenor guitar and an array of unusual percussion implements) and producing the album himself.
Half of the album's songs were penned by Seth with a modicum of help from Dan Goddard (aka DBG), and a further two by Seth alone; the remaining three come from traditional sources arranged by Seth. But it's a strong and wholly consistent set: each individual song is stunningly evocative, with a keen sense of history and a powerful aura of place. Standout songs such as Blacksmith's Prayer, The Watchmaker's Rhyme and The Artisan take the form of telling portrayals of local characters, the craftspeople who once populated the region; and Seth's rough-hewn vocal work is both distinctive and charismatic without overdoing the expressive demands of the material. Echoes of industrial rhythms permeate Hard Road and the chain-gang of Higher Walls, while the lyrics of More Than Money (concerning the breakers, who were piece-work granite miners) are clearly heavily inspired by the folk standard A Miner's Life (Keep your hand upon the hammer, And your eye upon the scale). Salt In Our Veins is a lusty yet realistic trawlerman's reflection, while in contrast The Sender is one of those tender lovers' ballads that Seth conjures so well, its emotional import kept in check and balance by a sensitive reading.
Yes, there have been moments in the past when I've lost a little patience with Seth's delivery, becoming mildly weary of his insistence on loud driving relentlessness, but the abundantly well-considered Tales From The Barrel House redeems everything at a stroke and represents a proud artistic statement that continually satisfies on repeated play.
David Kidman March 2012
The Wilderness is the conclusion of the ambitious, genuinely epic four-volume series of albums that the band has released over the past 18 months, which comes as the band approaches its quarter-century with energy and inspiration undiminished. During all of this time the band has remained utterly true to its unswerving artistic vision, invariably producing a distinctive musical signature that, uniquely, majors on introspective quiet intensity while drawing meaningfully on strands of blues, country, folk and psychedelic rock to cloak lyrics that powerfully convey their thematic preoccupations. Here in The Wilderness, these typically concern fragility, emptiness, loss, loneliness and desperation, tempered with beauty and driven by chance.
The band's guitarist Michael Timmins has explained that this batch of songs has its origins in late 2007/early 2008, during the months before his family's Chinese trip (which, as you'll recall, inspired the music on Renmin Park, volume 1 of the Nomad series). He admits he was unable to gain an overall perspective on the seemingly disparate collection of material until time and distance had worked their magic several years later in conjunction with the viewing of the painting that was eventually to grace the album cover for Volume 4; not so disparate after all, when it emerged that all of the songs were in some way about the individual being dwarfed by, and lost in, some kind of wilderness, whether physically or metaphorically - a wilderness of age, parenthood, or trying to find truth and meaning in everyday life. Familiar concepts, but so powerfully realised in the lyrics and their rendition.
For CJs' vocalist Margo Timmins excels herself in depicting these melancholy reflections and experiences, while the wondrously minimalist backings employ deft guitar strokes resounding in spaces that are at once wide-open and claustrophobic. Guitarist Michael Timmins and regular companions Alan Anton (bass) and Peter Timmins (drums) are augmented - mostly very gently indeed - by special guests Jeff Bird (mandolins), Miranda Mulholland (violin), Michael Davidson (vibraphone), Jesse O'Brien (keyboards) and multi-instrumentalist Joby Baker, while Matt Bailey delivers a nifty, grinding lead electric guitar line on two key tracks towards the close of the disc.
Even on first playthrough, several songs on this new set earmark themselves as candidates for instant replay: for instance Fairytale, with its delicate mando embellishments that counterpoint the weaving vocal line, Angels In The Wilderness, and I Let Him In. Having said that, some of the other songs also come back to haunt you rather soon, almost as if they've been hanging around the peripheries of earlier albums - and surely wouldn't have seemed out of place if they'd cropped up at almost any point in the band's career. Maybe it's those subtle new touches in the settings, those colourings in the instrumentation, that give these new songs their peculiar, softly edgy flavour.
The Wilderness is pretty much a defining moment for the band, at one and the same time quintessential CJ and marking a continuing stage of development in their passionately individual brand of Americana.
David Kidman March 2012
Nashville-based West Texas gal Amanda started out as a fiddle player when she graced the ranks of the Thrift Store Cowboys, but as a singer-songwriter she really only started to make waves on the roots music scene after her 2008 collaboration with Rod Picott, but it was her West Cross Timbers album a year later that pushed her right into the limelight of Americana front-runners. This was a slightly eccentric record, but what impressed most was Amanda’s haunting singing, which cohered magically with the atmospheric musical backdrops. Carrying Lightning continues much in the same vein, but if anything has an even more potent appeal.
Co-produced by Picott and David Henry, the album has an elusive kind of sound-world, characterised by gently shifting, often heavily twangsome alt-country-style textures, with due prominence given to guitars, steel and fiddle but then not exactly in a standard Nashville kind of setting. Hard to explain, but the sound-picture is subliminally evocative rather than providing heart-on-sleeve bold colourings – and this quality matches Amanda’s charismatic lyrics, which (sometimes quite cryptically) generally form a personal take on the basic theme of “get wrecked in love – and be loved”.
There’s no question that Amanda’s emotions are deeply felt, and her breathy yet disquieting delivery conveys the queasy uncertainty of relationships, the angst of what invariably feels like true romance, the intensity of primal carnal feelings and the pitfalls of commitment (in whatever sense). Her emotional gamut ranges as widely as her theme, with the almost matter-of-fact resignation of When You Need A Train It Never Comes balancing the quiversome aching longing of Love Be A Bird, the almost-too-good-to-trust contentment depicted in Sloe Gin countermanding the runaway motivations of the mysterious Ghostbird, the lustfully seductive desires of Shake The Walls contrasting with the more wistful, uke-backed fantasy of Lovesick I Remain. At her finest, Amanda comes close to Emmylou in effect.
But for all that Amanda’s music can be woozily mesmerising and yet captivatingly focused (as on standout cuts like Love Be A Bird), there are also moments of cloying, almost sickly texture (eg the over-arranged strings of Kudzu and Bees In The Shed, and the coy whistling of Swimmer) which tend to take the edge away from the disc’s more cutting musical experiences or the uneasy, eerie delicacy of some of its earlier moments. And the album’s one cover (Barbara Keith’s Detroit Or Buffalo), though capably managed by Amanda and the team, doesn’t seem to quite fit with the rest of the material. For those reasons, it’s hard to give the album as a whole an unqualified recommendation, though its best is both satisfyingly disquieting and strangely cathartic. Amanda will be touring the UK and Ireland from mid-April.
David Kidman March 2012
Gina's an established New Orleans singer-songwriter, but her output isn't exactly prolific, so when she does get to release a record she certainly comes up with the goods. Her debut album for Waterbug, You Are Here, came out just over ten years ago, and I'd almost given up on ever hearing more of this intriguing artist when along came this followup. And it's no disappointment in any respect.
Gina tells us in the liner note to this new record that the project started out as a phone conversation that went something like "Ten or fifteen years from now, America will be something that you won't even recognise…" Thus, Gina's lyrics for the album's 13 original songs concentrate on the disparity between old and new America, the initial idealism and today's scary and frustrating reality, its values and expectations; she's seen what's already happened and from that perspective she's able to peddle truths rather than postulate fiction or prediction. Quite naturally, then, her outlook and world-view turn out to be disapproving, for realistically she is unable to promise any solutions, but her music's so strong and thought-provoking rather than defeatist, so much so that you're won over at once.
The album opens stylishly with the simple but powerful Promised Land, which is one of those songs that invite instant replay before proceeding along the track of the rest of the disc. It was a masterstroke to follow this with the acappella Lord Have Mercy, whereas 4th Of July (a potent ode to the lost art of personal communication) is another classic that takes quite an effort to get past replaying. But that effort sure is worth it, for the rest of the disc contains plenty more excellent writing, much of it musically informed by Gina's New Orleans roots: the yearning fiddle-backed Sparrow (which could almost be a traditional cajun waltz), Christmas In China (whose light-touch cajun-flavour belies its message, the nifty shuffle-beat of What I Did On Mardi Gras Day (a critique of her local music industry), the funky Copper Rooster… While even the most wistful of Gina's observations tend to be laced with her own special brand of caustic humour (take 11 Days, a well-aimed commentary on the cost of healthcare). Gina's trademark laconic edge is prevented from being overstated or overcooked simply by virtue of the intelligence with which she controls and manages the expression of those entirely honest conclusions. She also has a keen conversational sense of wordplay that takes an unashamed delight in taking a well-aimed swipe at contemporary values.
In terms of performance style, Gina's pretty distinctive, although there were also times when I was reminded of Kristina Olsen, particularly on the earthy, grittier delivery of songs like Just Like Eddie and 4th Of July. Gina keeps her vocal power in check, though you might feel she overdoes the irony a touch with some rather mannered accentuation of the lazy drawl on her tongue-in-cheek would-be-anthem to the Sweet And Sunny South (where she was born). Gina's a significantly expert instrumentalist too on both fiddle and guitar, as you can hear variously on tracks like Sparrow, Elegy and the album's one non-original, Belle, which is a traditional number sourced from the Alan Lomax recordings. Arguably the album's most powerful statement, though, is the penultimate song, Just For Tonight, which pleads with us to act. The concept of the album then comes full circle to embrace the heavily-traditional-sounding closer We Will be Reborn. Yes, Promised Land has turned out a refreshingly original singer-songwriter album, one of proud individuality and true passion.
David Kidman March 2012
Believe it – this is Cosy's tenth album, and it celebrates her quarter-century in the business! Over the years, since winning the songwriting contests at Kerrville and Telluride back in 1992, her profile has risen steadily, and she's produced some attractively thought-provoking records.
And this latest is a very fine example of her musical attributes, with ten new compositions that provide perfect examples of her craft. That said, it falls short of being her most essential CD, not least because it's over before you know it (clocking in at barely half an hour). At first, it seems an unduly disparate collection, with the tone fluctuating between the two poles of kooky-upbeat-outright-satirical and deeper-thoughtful. But don't give it up that fast…
The first three tracks are all in the former category: the first pair comprise essential commentaries on the seemingly unavoidable silliness of financial matters, and Air Guitar is a priceless little Doc-Watson-style ditty incidentally featuring a blissful lead guitar part from guest David Surette). After this, things settle into a firmer and more pensive groove for a while, with the title track's delicate lament inspired (Cosy says) by listening to Niamh Parsons and Dolores Keane followed by Icarus's folk-rock (with its power-chorus to die for!), the quiet contemplation of The Angels In Rome and the gentle reassurance of the old-fashioned-country-flavoured Don't Walk Away From Love (which contains a nice harmony duet vocal that's not individually credited). There's then a reversion to the kooky upbeat mode for a couple of songs before the finale, a delicious cittern-flecked cover of Be Outside, an appealingly encouraging little song (penned not by Cosy but by Belinda Bowler) that complements the tracks before the last hiatus.
There's some really lovely individual songs here, and on the whole the collection forms a persuasive introduction to Cosy's writing.
David Kidman March 2012
As the title lets you know, this is deeply rooted in the Bakersfield sound of Buck Owens, one that’s served countless practitioners - most notably Dwight Yoakam - pretty well over the years. Omaha born Austin’s a new name on the recording scene, but he’s been around the live circuit in assorted bar bands for a good while, playing covers by heroes like Owens and Haggard, until he was prompted by Dave Alvin and Tom T Hall to focus on his own songs. Assembling musicians that included pedal steel guitarist Marty Rifkin who’s also done duty for Springsteen, this debut album’s the end result.
Opening number Best Ex I Ever Had pretty much sums up what’s on offer, a cocktail of catchy tunes, frequently playful lyrics and twangy guitar. Likewise, Dance With No Pants boogies along like a freight train on an amusing redneck narrative with lines about inbred relatives and ‘bouncing like an out of state cheque’ while Back To Bakersfield pays tribute to the blue collar townsfolk and, borrowing its intro from Buckaroo, The Day Buck Owens Died speaks for itself.
Not that his songs don’t have darker sides. Referencing Gram (the melody deliberatly evoking Streets of Baltimore), Charlie Parker and Jerry Garcia, behind its keening steel, Heroes And Heroin addresses the way drugs have taken so many shining stars while the bluesy Kansas Ain’t In Kansas Anymore concerns Wichita’s methamphetamine problems and Fat Kid is about how anyone different from the crowd is always the target for bullying and abuse. In the tradition of Johnny Cash, there’s also a prison song, The Cage although this one comes from Austin picking up a hitchhiker who turned out to have just been released after serving 40 years for beating the guy who propositioned his wife to death.
A banjo backed over of Baby’s In Black feel awkwardly out of place and Bad Dog, a duet with his one year old grandson about a puppy piddling on the floor really should have stayed in the basement where it was recorded, but otherwise, while it’s not going to set the world alight, it’ll be welcome on any of those bar room jukeboxes where he paid his dues.
Mike Davies March 2012
‘I’m a whiskey farmer trying to grow champagne’ sings Oregon born Low on the opening track of his debut album, a vaguely conceptual affair that documents the travails of the titular metaphorical character over eight songs. He certainly seems to have a rough time of it. On the honky tonk swayer The Stars Don’t Care he finds only swamp, pipelines and barren land in his family tree and whores and jokers who play him for a fool in the city and disillusion and disappointment hover over most of the album. On the stalled hope of the slow, aching Thinking California he notes how his girlfriend sleeps with a shotgun by the bed and shell beneath the pillow while all he can do is say things’ll get better, in the uptempo boogie Sleeping It Off he’s getting drunk to escape the lonely emptiness of watching his life ‘go swimming by’ and on the Gram-like lost love Words he numbs the pain with whiskey and pedal steel.
Low has a likeable, slightly dusty nasal twang that sits well with the Texas country feel of the melodies, finely etched by Dave Camp’s guitars and while he may not be the go to guy if you’re looking for upbeat, life affirming lyrics, numbers like Medicine Show ensure you can tap your feet and swill your beer to the misery.
Mike Davies March 2012
Hailing from Barnsley, Rooke apparently got turned on to folk music at a church hall ceilidh (mom being the church organist), prompting him to borrow a banjo mandolin and learn polkas, hornpipes and assorted bluegrasss tunes. Along came his teenage years and folk got put aside in favour of 60s power trios before the Riverdance craze reawakened his interest in traditional music, juggling university years with gigs by his band The Lynch Mob playing anything from O’Neills bars to weddings.
When the O’Neills name went into mothballs so did the band, Rooke turning to a solo career and releasing a couple of EPs while taking up a day job teaching guitar to schools in East Riding.
Which brings us to this, his debut album, one which reflects the paths he’s trod along the way. You won’t hear many Cream or Hendrix influences, but you will find plenty of solid acoustic guitar fingerpicking (notably on Graceland) and strums coloured with perky fiddle breaks (courtesy of Paul Blackburn) that hark to Irish, Yorkshire and American roots music.
Although there’s trad and bluegrass colours in the fiddle, banjo, tin whistle and mandolin elements of the tunes (where an early love of The Chieftains and Jack Tottle come into play), Rooke’s music is very much of the contemporary troubadour persuasion, balancing his uptempo numbers more wistful balladry.
He has an attractive, slightly dusty vocal, one that, like many of his songs, sounds immediately familiar even if you’re hearing for the first time and numbers like Surely I’ve Atoned For My Sins, Scarborough Road, the touching Elizabeth and Settle Down Sleepy’s jaunty lullaby song for his young son show him a songsmith of some note with a keen eye for a striking image.
Several of the songs have a melancholic bent, but he can be playful too, Oh My Lord (from whence the title comes) managing to reference songs by Otis Redding, Chuck Berry, Neil Diamond, and Dylan while Roller Disco conjures up 1985 and listening to Dexys Midnight Runners.
With its melody line and soaring chorus, opening number Big Sky (which segues into fiddle reel Betty Murphy’s) is probably the most immediate and radio friendly track, but while it may be the one that gets your attention, nothing that follows will lose it either.
Mike Davies March 2012
For those already devotees of Miracle Mile's Trevor Jones, this is, disappointingly, not a new album in the sense following up Hopeland and Keepers. Rather it's a compilation of songs from both of them.
When originally released, each featured spoken word poetry between the musical numbers, delivered by Jones with a tender world-weariness. However, looking to explain why sales were so disappointing, he came to the conclusion that for those not familiar with his other work - and indeed for some who were - the spoken word elements were a barrier to making an audience connection.
And yet both albums feature some truly wonderful songs that he rightly felt deserved to be heard. So, he decided to come up with what is, in effect, a sampler, a selection of songs that he felt worked together to create a sustained mood, sharing what he described as a 'warm, yet woozy feel'. The sort of songs you slip into of an evening when you're looking to unwind or perhaps wallow in reverie a little. As such, he was reluctantly obliged to leave off several personal favourites because they didn't suit the sonic 'balm' for which he was aiming. Nevertheless, the result both as good a Best Of as a fan might wish for and an irresistible introduction for the uninitiated.
Hopeland yields the first six tracks, opening with the aching beauty of its title number, one of several that conjure a vocal mix of Cat Stevens and Martyn Joseph, and proceeding dreamily through the pastoral shades of Homeward, Girl On A Bridge, Bluer Skies Than This, the lovely piano ballad To Tell You The Truth and Something Resembling Love.
An album that saw him dealing with a loss that had cast a dark cloud over his reborn optimism, Keepers provides the final four numbers, five if you get the Linn remastered 24 bit version which adds Fatherless Son as a bonus.
The bluesy acoustic I Deny starts the final stretch, followed by the sad but forgiving farewell of Folding Sheets, My Last And Latest Chance (to be honest, I'd have gone with Nothing Between Us But Air) and the hymnal, piano accompanied I Showed You The River with its line about 'a darkening deep inside me' and a melody line that echoes Candle In The Wind.
When he started the compilation he thought he was weaving together melancholy, but on listening back found he was actually shaping romanticism. Listen to his ghosts and they will haunt your heart forever.
Mike Davies March 2012
Few probably noticed when the Salisbury folkie released an EP in January last year, but the arrival of her crisply self-produced debut album should certainly have people sitting up and paying attention.
Classically trained with a choral singing background, she prefers to describe her work as acoustic music rather than folk, but, at times recalling the early recordings of Judy Collins and Joan Baez, her pure soprano and delivery (beautifully illustrated on Born To Wander) is of the classic persuasion too and as the inclusion of her interpretations of Lowlands of Holland, Salley Gardens and William Taylor show, she’s clearly steeped in the tradition.
As well as talented acoustic guitarist (listen to her fingerpicking on opening number World Weary) and cellist (featured on both the former and Salley Gardens), she’s also a clearly accomplished pianist and her arrangements of both William Taylor and Thomas Hardy’s Without Ceremony, both set to her own melodies, are particularly striking.
She writes her own material too, the reflective self-penned numbers less traditionally inclined but still rooted in the old school of folk and, like Little Robin Redbreast inspired by running in he New Forest, drawn from her rural existence and experiences. Traversing an emotional arc from the opening track’s melancholy to the serenity of Peaceful (a song that sounds to have hymnal influences) and the closing piano accompanied Omnia Tempvs Habent, her choral singing reading of ‘to everything there is a season’ from Ecclesiastes, it’s an intoxicating listen.
With lyrics about robins in woods, she may not find favour with the audiences of Mumford, Lakeman and their like, but a younger generation looking to find their own Shirley Collins, Anne Briggs or Vikki Clayton will find bountiful rewards.
Mike Davies March 2012
A stalwart of the Birmingham singer-songwriter scene, I seem to have missed previous release The Broken Family DaySaver, but this is the official debut album with his ‘new’ band, comprising Hannah Lawson on violin, Dave McCabe on bass and Carlo Solazzo on drums.
They travel down several different pathways, leaning to traditional rustic flavours on the cello backed Paperbox, Winter suggesting the early Incredible String Band, and the strings backed Where The Wind Blows harking to formative John Martyn while the rolling rhythms of Popstar Sits Alone At Home Crying Eating Hobnobs (a retreat from suicidal feels that references Andre and Price) is a folky Morrissey, the jaunty Valpolicella Girl a kindred carnival spirit to Maxwell’s Silver Hammer, Stromboli Dixon and The August Clown both recall the drama soaked songs of The Strawbs and Meet Me ‘Mongst The Leaves is reminiscent of Nick Drake and Syd Barrett.
I’m not hugely taken by the final number, bluesy drums and piano led boogie Landing On My Feet Again, but otherwise the combination of Calvert’s melancholic voice (very often sounding like the young Roy Harper) and the band’s lush orchestration imparts a warm, late summer/early autumn feel, most effectively captured on the title track with what sounds like woozy Northern brass despite no mention in the musician credits. May the road go on forever.
Mike Davies March 2012
Having left One Little Indian for her own label, despite all the inherent problems that entails there’s a carefree air to the breathily voiced singer’s third studio album (mostly recorded, like her debut, in her garden shed), undoubtedly influenced by the fact that, while her previous release carried the weight of miscarriages, she embarked on this as a mother of two.
Not surprising then to find images of birth and new beginnings sprinkled through the songs; the arrival of Spring in the breezy sway of Blood-Red Coat with its line about shedding the old skin, the reference to a house as a womb on Hallelujah where an angel (a dove, I’d assume) coos from the roof, and the fairly self-explanatory Wedding Day. Where the last album was full of murder, domestic violence and political strife here you get the domestic contentment of the keyboard accompanied Lynch Pin (featuring Erin McKeown on backing vocals) with talk of fumbling for the alarm clock and bathing the kids.
But there’s a flip side too because many of the songs are full of an awareness of mortality and how things can slip away. With contributions from Adem and Harry Harris, Last Week Me may be a fiddle bouncy skipalong, handclappy little tune but within it lurk lyrics about time slipping by and people gone before you get to say goodbye while slow swaying ballad Most Of It talks of how right now is all we have and Take Me Home, the second wedding number on the album, complete with backing choir, follows the same carpe diem theme.
Slow swelling ballad Don’t Ask Me opens with the line "are you saying I’ve got to sit here and watch all your lights turn cold?’ before proceeding to talk about life as a tsunami with every day a different danger while darker yet, the bitterly titled All Is Well takes place at a funeral ("your new bed sinks into the ground") as she sings about how he’ll miss his son and daughter growing up.
And yet, throughout, she steers a note of optimism and fortitude. The same song has an image of the deceased watching over his bereaved family, the self-admonishing Story Of My Life has her parent? lover? God? tagging along in spite of everything while the sparsely arranged Two Houses is built on an image of steadfastness in the face of changeable weather and on piano ballad Ocean she sings ‘I’ll be your rock, just hang on and don’t let go’.
Some may regret the absence of the more biting observations (and literary references) of the previous albums, but even they must surely be swept up by the sheer sense of joy this carries with it.
Mike Davies March 2012
A New Hampshire native Carey spent her early years in the Alaskan Bush, absorbing the Yupik language and its song before taking up a scholarship in Cape Breton to study traditional Gaelic and Cape Breton fiddle styles. From there, the songs already gestating, she travelled to the Isle of Skye, studying under study of traditional Scottish singer Christine Primrose to learn the pronunciation and tone of traditional Gaelic song as well as tracing the roots of Appalachian music.
All of which feeds into her debut album, both musically and in the subjects of the songs themselves. Accompanied by fiddle, banjo and mandolin, she opens with the title track, a song set in the present but inspired by Louise McNeill’s poem about the 1907 mining disaster on West Virginia’s Monongahela River, the poet also providing the inspiration for the equally Appalachian styled Devil At Your Back’s catalogue of bad luck symbols.
Indeed, Carey’s album comes with a strong literary bedrock veined with American history. Island, a short story by Cape Breton author Alistair MacLeod, provides the basis for The Star Above Rankin’s Point’s poignant memories of a lighthouse keeper’s son while the jauntily fingerpicked bluegrass Resurrection takes its cue from Nikki Giovanni’s poem about the creation from a female perspective to note that nobody died to redeem the fire in women’s veins.
Adopting a similar approach, the fiddle scraped John Hardy’s Wife takes the old trad song and considers how his other half felt about being married to a ramblin’ gamblin’ failed outlaw while, harking to another trad evergreen, dreamy reverie Orange Blossom has its narrator seeing the train as an escape back to the carefree days of her childhood.
If she’s not drawing on stories written by others, she’s weaving her own. The gently dappled Virginia may echo The Help in its tale of coloured maids employed by wealthy southerners to raise their kids, but here, sung in the voice of a young boy, it would appear the nurturing had a considerable element of sexual awakening to it.She should probably consider a sideline in publishing short stories herself if Adenine is anything to go by, an allegory about the illusion of faith and the lie of glory as spun through the Southern gothic tale of a Rattlesnake Baptist preacher’s son, sold as a revival tent attraction ‘with the venom in his veins’ after his father dies of snakebite. It’s so good, she sings it twice, the second version separated from the first by a mournful fiddle solo and featuring a different melody, simple guitar and fiddle arrangement and guitarist Neil Fitzgibbon providing harmonies.
And, just in case you’re wondering where all that Gaelic comes in, Let Them Be All is a double tracked acapella rework of a gospel ballad given a Scottish and Irish flavour and, with sprightly fiddle and banjo, Gaol ise Gaol I is a refrain based love song in Scottish Gaelic, though since the sleeve notes are too I’ve not the faintest idea what it’s about.
Recorded in Ireland and produced by Donogh Hennessy with musicians that include Aoife Clancy from Cherish the Ladies on harmonies, Cape Breton fiddler Rosie MacKenzie and Lunasa’s Trevor Hutchinson on double bass providing masterful support behind her pure, soothing voice, Carey calls her marriage of Celtic and Appalachian, Gaelic-Americana. She may not have actually invented the genre, but she’s certainly one of its finest exponents.
Mike Davies March 2012
In May, LA based Wolverhampton singer Carina Round will be releasing a new solo album, her first in five years. Not that she’s been twiddling her thumbs in the time between. A digital EP, Things You Should Know appeared in 2009 followed by a 10th anniversary vinyl reissue of her debut, The First Blood Mystery, while last year she not only heavily featured on the new Pucifer album but also became part of the live band. She also sang on The Twilight Singers Dynamite Steps album and co-wrote a number for the Valentine’s Day soundtrack with John Debney and Glen Ballard.
However, the most exciting development has been this alt-country side project with outstanding Canadian singer-songwriter Justin Rutledge, multi-instrumentalist Zac Rae and producer/musician Dan Burns. Blossoming from an informal writing session, they began to lay down tracks although individual touring and recording commitments meant having to complete their contributions from different locations around the world.
Not that you’d think it from the finished album where they gel perfectly with an easy organic feel to the sound, Round and Rutledge sharing lead vocals, harmonising and duetting. Those familiar with her own albums will know she can make Patti Smith sound like Julie Andrews, but here she’s exploring the softer side of her range, drawing on the country influences to which she’s been exposed in recent years while (its melody line slightly reminiscent of Husbands And Wives) piano ballad waltz Count Me In harks to vintage Brill Building days.
Taking lead on summery pop opening track, Tough Love, she sounds a little like Nina Persson from the Cardigans crossed with Patsy Cline but, listening to the strummed One Time In Your Life with its anthemic chorus you’re put in mind of Fleetwood Mac at their Rumours peak. Indeed, when she harmonises with Rutledge on the jangly, harmonica blowing folk rock Light Of Day or the chugging pop Paper Aeroplanes it’s hard to resist tagging them the new Buckingham/Nicks although Spanish Burn’s rustic romantic reverie and the dreamy shimmer of People And Places might also prompt She And Him comparisons. I’d have to say they’re better than both.
Rutledge’s Early Widows was one of 2010’s finest albums and his turns in the vocal spotlight with the gently scuffed shuffle Is This What You Had In Mind and the dustily melancholic despair of Heaven Help Us are of equal calibre while their shared verses on the twangy mid-tempo regret veined What Kind Of King will make the hairs on your neck tingle.
The brief rowdy let your hair down bluesy jam Only Goodbye (the lyrics consisting of a repeated ‘it’s only goodbye if you go’) is a misstep, but, accompanied by a simple guitar figure and a soulful organ break, they close up on another harmonising high note with heartbreaking ‘no regrets’ folk-country ballad The Sweater.
Currently available by mail order (CD or vinyl) from the website with a fuller release due later in the year, it’s already guaranteed a place in my annual Top 10. I don't think I’ll be the only one.
Mike Davies March 2012
A Bedfordshire singer-songwriter of Anglo-Indian heritage and a dusty, slightly smoky vocal, this may be his debut album but he’s already garnered heavyweight support from such names as Mary Gauthier, Slaid Cleaves and Joan Armatrading, the latter of whom invited him to be opening act on her European tour.
It’s easy to see why their ears were turned. Drawing influences from sources like Ben Okri and Marc Chagall as well as such musical names as Dylan, Bap Kennedy, Chris Rea and Van Morrison, he plays reflective, soulful folk-roots (the mood enhanced by such instruments as tin whistle, mandolin and fiddle) and writes nostalgic, yearning songs about home and heart, themes that bubble through such titles as 40 Miles, On We Go, Home, Again, Rivertown, Can’t Go Back with its kora accompaniment and the Celtic soul of Dark Side of The Road.
The sprightly Irish jig styled Cool Dark Night with its fiddle and snare drum beat and No-One Shed A Tear’s Dylanesque tale of a rich man’s robbery with its accordion and BJ Cole’s pedal steel show his uptempo side, but it’s the quieter, sadder moments that really shine.
He needs to expand his themes a little more next time round, but this is an auspicious debut from a name worth keeping an eye on.
Mike Davies March 2012
Blueflint’s a four-piece folk-bluegrass outfit from Edinburgh that’s centred around the considerable talents of Deborah Arnott and Clare Neilson, both of whom write songs and play banjo, and Roddy Neilson, who writes songs and plays fiddle; the fourth group member is double bass player Hugh Kelly. Theirs is an inspired and imaginative take on Appalachian-style bluegrass that lyric-wise wittily references contemporary life experiences, never afraid to cheekily brand-namecheck or make commentary where appropriate – after all, when you come across song titles like P45 and Bottlebank you kinda expect nothing less!… The vagaries and complications of romance are explored playfully and with at times almost indecent gusto on Missed The Boat and the delightfully acerbic P45 (I just lurve that line about “I’ll be the p in your P45, the dog shit on your shoes”!) – but bouncy tongue-in-cheek irony ain’t the band’s only strength, for they also show compassion for the plight of the modern-day city-office-slave (Light In The Window). Importantly, they also display a very keen feel for the time-honoured murder ballad tradition.
Several of the album’s songs exhibit an authentically old-timey-Appalachian feel – standouts being the droning High Country and the lonesome-fiddle-backed close-harmony beauty of I Climbed A Mountain (those gals sure have superb singing voices), while the sparse title song is a powerfully dark little ballad built around the age-old concept of the hanging-tree. Mr Lovealie paints a cautionary picture of romantic expectation and Last Waltz is an aching reminiscence with heavy overtones of the Tennessee-Waltz-school of barroom country. Least typical track is probably the finale, Barren Lands, which due to the presence of guest musicians on wheezy trombone, harmonium and beating drum approximates nothing less than a rumbling New-Orleans-death-march with a curious waltzing gait.
Songwriting credits aren’t quite evenly apportioned; Deborah gets six and Clare four, whereas Roddy ends up with just two – Mary and Bottlebank – on which he naturally takes the lead vocal role, his Scottish burr being quite distinctive in an Alasdair Roberts-kind of way (I’d have liked the album to’ve been longer, to give Roddy more exposure). All of which adds up to a triumphantly individual group-collective take on the twin traditions of old-timey folk and knowingly contemporary Scottish country music, a set that as a sizeable bonus boasts some magnificent instrumental and vocal chops to support the strength of the songwriting.
Blueflint are a real discovery, and the evidence of Maudy Tree (and their fine previous album High Bright Morning too, by the way) I’m sure they’re gonna be sticking around for a while – I do hope so, for their quirkily inventive songs sure have both character and staying-power in spades. And even after only a relatively short acquaintance, this modest new release is feeling set to become one of my albums of the year. (Distributed by Proper.) Blueflint are doing a very limited number of UK dates spread thru April, May and late June.
David Kidman March 2012
The well-appointed press release and fulsome, glossy accompanying booklet augurs well for this record, which would seem to mark the debut on disc for this accomplished young singer-songwriter from Shannonbridge, Co. Offaly. But it’s kindof touted as her “coming-of-age album” so it’s hard to believe it’s a debut, since to a large extent Louise’s reputation precedes her, at least in Ireland, for she first caught the public’s eye with weekly appearances on RTF’s You’re A Star show as long ago as 2005, since when she has chalked up two prestigious songwriting contest victories.
Well yes, on the evidence of this 32-minute offering, Louise definitely has a talent for songwriting – and it’s songwriting of the upfront, refreshingly candid and laid-bare and often daringly no-holds-barred variety, which can be notoriously difficult to bring off but which Louise by and large manages with a generous helping of quirky wit.
But the problem with Brilliant Tease is that I can’t in all honesty endorse the extravagant claims made for Louise – the music doesn’t exactly “make you sit up and listen”, and her performing style, while suitably melodic and pleasingly sung, rather skates over the power of the lyrics, underplaying their import to an often infuriating degree. It’s all too bright and breezy, even on the heart-rending Not Yours and the would-be-touching power ballad Everywhere Out There.
The basic demeanour and character of Louise’s music, as a kind of love-child of folk and pop, harks back to the late-60s Denny & Strawbs (Ease Up On Me Dear), Judy Dyble (Coalmines) or the deceptively easygoing early-70s s/s like James Taylor (This Love). It’s all seriously radio-friendly, entirely likeable and listenable, but the companionable arrangements (modest gentle electric and acoustic guitars, organ, piano, soft rhythm section), though impossible to fault, seem altogether too tasteful (even polite) for the intended cutting-edge of Louise’s lyrics.
So, is it all too brilliant a tease, then? Very probably; while certainly the discrepancies in running-order and track content between lyric booklet and disc don’t help, and neither does the fact that the press release also promises an eleventh track which is absent from the disc itself.
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David Kidman March 2012
Where were you in 1961? Were you even born? If you were young back then, I’d bet money that you’d religiously buy Record Mirror every week to see what was in the charts and tuned in to the BBC Light Programme on Sundays to hear David Jacobs and, from September, Alan Freeman present Pick Of The Pops with the new Top 20.
Giving my age away, I was only 10 but I was glued to the radio to which of my favourite tunes had entered or climbed the chart and, most excitingly of all, what was at No 1. So the release of these two 6 disc box sets (Vol 10 in an ongoing series of British hit singles) brought it all flooding back. With Part 1 covering January -May and Part 2 June-December, compiled by Stuart Coleman and drawing on the Record Retailer Top 50, Melody Maker, Record Mirror and New Musical Express charts, they feature, every recording that made its debut on that year’s charts while the booklet provides a guide to both hits and headlines.
1961 saw The Avengers debut on TV with Patrick McNee and Ian Hendry, the launch of Reprise Records, the first Cavern Club gig by The Beatles, the arrival of new TV pop show Thank Your Lucky Stars, the closing of the border between East and West Germany, new dance craze The Twist and the first stirrings of Mersey Beat mania.
Unlike today, the charts were incredibly musically diverse, embracing everything from rock n roll with Elvis and Jerry Lee Lewis to easy listening 50s survivors like Joan Regan and Teddy Johnson & Pearl Carr, the piano tunes of Russ Conway and Mrs Mills, and comedy records by such names as Tommy Cooper, Benny Hill and Peter Sellers. Instrumentals were in vogue with relative veterans Bert Weedon, The Shadows and Duane Eddy being joined by long forgotten newcomers such as Nero & The Gladiators and The Packabeats.
One week you could be jumping the broomstick with Brenda Lee or sympathising with Charlie Drake over his non returning boomerang and the next marching to the sound of 76 Trombones with The King Brothers or doing the Wheels Cha Cha with Joe Loss. And if rock n roll was really taking hold, there was still room for trad jazz musicians like Kenny Ball, Terry Lightfoot and Acker Bilk whose recording of Stranger On The Shore spend an incredible 55 weeks in the charts. There were even five different hit versions of the Latin dance swayer Sucu Sucu.
Many of the hits of the day have become golden oldies, Sam Cooke’s Cupid, Ricky Nelson’s Hello Mary Lou, Dave Brubeck’s Take Five, Walk Right Back by the Everlys and Elvis’ Are You Lonesome Tonight?. But while it’s always good to hear familiar tunes, it’s even more interesting to recall artists who have vanished into obscurity like Linda Scott (Don’t Bet Money Honey), Eddie Hodges (I’m Gonna Knock On Your Door), Troy Shondell (This Time), Tommy Zang (Hey Good Lookin’) and Adam Wade (Take Good Care Of Her).
Notching up 5 chart entries that year, Cliff’s still going strong and although many of the other names on this collection are no longer with us, their music remains immortal. And, with the inclusion of Geoff Love’s Coronation Street theme and football novelty number The Spurs Song by The Totnamites, 1961 doesn’t seem so long ago after all.
Mike Davies February 2012
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