Gretchen Peters - Hello Cruel World (Scarlet Letter)
Kathleen Edwards - Voyageur (Rounder)
Mary Black - Stories From The Steeples (3ú)
Ani Di Franco - ¿Which Side Are You On? (Righteous Babe)
Jordan Reyne - Children Of A Factory Nation (Chezz Music)
The Gift Band - Live On Tour (Union Chapel November 2010) (Scarlet Records - DVD & CD)
Various Artists - One Night For Norma (Scarlet Records)
Mick Rhodes : 'Til I Am Dust (Hot Tramp Records)
Vonda Shepard - Solo (Panshot)
Emily Hurd - Long Lost Ghosts (Own Label)
Rebecca De Winter -...And Other Tales (Brother Sister)
Niall Kelly - Hand In Fire (Own Label)
Pharis & Jason Romero - A Passing Glimpse (Lula)
The V-Roys - Sooner Or Later (F.A.Y)
Mary Hampton - Folly (Teaspoon Records)
Bellowhead - Hedonism Live (DVD) (Proper Films/Navigator)
Ry Cooder - Pull Up Some Dust And Sit Down (Nonesuch/Perro Verde)
Black/Scarr - North & South (Own Label)
Timothy J Simpson - You'd Be Alright In Florida (Concentration City)
Jackie Oates - Saturnine (ECC Records)
Rapunzel & Sedayne - Songs From The Barley Temple (Folk Police Recordings)
Foghorn Trio - Sud De La Louisiane (Own Label)
Jeff Warner - Long Time Travelling (WildGoose Studios)
Miranda Sykes & Rex Preston - Miranda Sykes & Rex Preston (Hands On Music)
Various Artists - Cecil Sharp Project 2011 (Shrewsbury Folk Festival)
The Woodbine & Ivy Band - The Woodbine & Ivy Band (Folk Police Recordings)
Cyril Tawney - In Port (Talking Elephant)
Madison Violet - The Good in Goodbye (True North)
Various Artists - Long Gone: Utah Remembers Bruce "Utah" Philips (Waterbug)
Dan Milner, David Coffin & Jeff Davis - Civil War Naval Songs (Smithsonian Folkways)
Cordelia's Dad - Double Live (Own Label)
Andrew Calhoun - Grapevine (Waterbug)
Christy Moore - Folk Tale (Sony)
Iarla Ó Lionáird - Foxlight (Real World)
James McCandless - One (St. Christopher)
Hugh Blumenfeld - Dad (Waterbug)
Tom Glazer - Treasury Of Civil War Songs (Smithsonian Folkways)
Rose Laughlin - House Of Memory (Ramblin' Rose Records)
Hat Check Girl - Six Bucks Shy (Gallway Bay)
Jerry Leger - Traveling Grey (Golden Rocket)
Carus Thompson - Caravan (Valve)
The Deadly Gentlemen - Carry Me To Home (Own Label)
Pavlov's Cat - At The Races (AcoustiCity)
Phillip Henry & Hannah Martin - Singing The Bones (Dragonfly Music)
Farrell Spence - Song For The Sea (Own Label)
Joseph Parsons - Hope For Centuries (Meer Music)
Emily O'Halloran - Morphine and Cupcake (Tear Stained)
Rita Hosking - Burn (Own Label)
Rebecca Pronsky - Viewfinder (Nine Mile)
Kieran Halpin - The Devil And His Dealing (SOS Records)
Bag Of Rats - Ever After Nothing (Rocking Rodent Records)
2010 was a turbulent year of highs and lows for Peters. The Gulf of Mexico oil-spill happened on her Florida cottage doorstep, a long time friend committed suicide, her adopted hometown of Nashville had its worst ever flood, she finally married partner and pianist Barry Walsh and her son revealed he was transgender. All of which fed into what, spurred by a fearless need to confront life and its raw truths, is her most personal and finest album to date.
It opens with the slurred cello, viola and violin backed title track, a dark, bluesy survivor’s anthem about not just rolling with the punches but realising that whatever the pain it means you’re still out there . It’s followed by another test of faith through ordeal number with the yearningly beautiful St. Francis, a number which, co-penned by Tom Russell, musically recalls John Prine’s Hello In There and features Kim Richey on heavenly backing vocals.
"Who are we without the thrill," she asks on The Matador, a Townes Van Zandt-like ballad which, the narrator drawn to both fighter and the bull, again underscores the prevalent theme of how a life without risk is no life at all and how that which doesn’t kill you (here, faithless women, alcohol, abusive father) makes you stronger.
She reworks the idea to even stronger effect on the uptempo barroom country rock of Woman On The Wheel where, switching the scene from bullring to circus, she takes the image of a knife-throwing act and the potential for ‘a real bad day at the amusement park’ to reinforce the risks life throws at us, or. she puts it, "you wouldn’t wanna be me but you need me just the same, to remind you what you stand to lose and what you stand to gain."
But the song’s also a metaphor about relationships, "another highwire act gone wrong", a theme also addressed on the slow swaying Natural Disaster where she parallels environmental and relationship catastrophes ("we tore through each other like an avalanche") and Camille, a number co-written with Matraca Berg and Suzy Bogguss, which to a late night jazzy piano, brushed drums and mournful trumpet accompaniment, details a life sunk into one night stands and empty affairs ("like last night’s mascara") where "you feel like a drink and you drink so you don’t have to feel".
There’s a line here about daughters paying for the sins of the father, and the achingly sad Five Minutes also hinges on history repeating itself in the finely detailed story of a working single mother wary of entering into another relationship while her heart’s still owned by her ex and whose teenage daughter’s making the same mistakes.
Most moving, however, is Idlewild, where, reminiscent of Janis Ian, she takes a childhood memory of the night of Kennedy’s assassination, sitting in the back seat of the car and overhearing the cracks in her parents’ unravelling marriage and moves on to reflect on America’s loss of innocence in the late 60s ("we shoot our presidents, we shoot the commies and the niggers and the Viet Cong"), concluding "we think we’re walking on the moon but we are dancing in the dark".
Elsewhere, string section groudning the mood again, Paradise Found is slow funky blues about, well, sex actually with such erotic imagery as ‘nectar’s in the blossom and the bee’s in the hive’ while reflective closing track Little World does at least find a little solace in the ‘big and lonely world’, taking refuge and finding earthly comforts in the domestic contentment of ‘two spoons in a kitchen drawer, a dance on a hardwood floor.’
However, to these ears at least, the stand out track has to be Dark Angel, the most ‘country’ number in the set and, featuring Will Kimbrough on resonator guitar, a classic Emmylou and Gram style anthemic duet with Rodney Crowell (who also officiated at the wedding) where they sing ‘and if there is no hereafter and there is only here, life is still a beautiful disaster" and "if it’s all for show let the show begin." The standing ovation starts here.
Mike Davies February 2012
Having skirted the borders of breakout recognition since the release of debut release Failer back in 2003, the Ottowa born singer-songwriter’s fourth album seems likely to be the one that gets her name noticed by a wider audience. It would be pity, however, if that were to be more for the circumstances surrounding it than the music itself.
It’s co-produced by Justin Vernon, better known as the guiding light of Bon Iver, with whom Edwards has formed a romantic as well as musical relationship following her divorce from erstwhile long-time collaborator Collin Cripps. Also featuring on the album, alongside guest appearances by Norah Jones and Stornoway, his name has inevitably attracted the sort of attention she might not ordinarily have received. Yet, while his involvement has brought a warm glow to the sound, the songs and the music would deserve fulsome praise regardless.
There’s inevitably introspective material harking to her failed marriage, most notably so on the sad wedding day piano ballad confessional Pink Champagne and the wistfully melancholic (and Bon Iver sounding) House Full of Empty Rooms where she sings ‘I used to make you happy, but I don't know you the way I thought I did’. But, as the title suggests, this is about moving out on a journey, and while (metaphorically) relocating to America may, as the opening upbeat number says, be an Empty Threat, she’s certainly embraced other changes.
Not least opening herself to more collaborative work, her co-writing with John Roderick paying dividends on the hushed loveliness of piano accompanied Vernon duet A Soft Place To Land while organ backed smoky seven minute closer For The Record both features backing vocals by Jones and draws upon her late night mellow blues influences. Mind you, lines like ‘hang me up on your cross. For the record, I only wanted to sing songs.’ do rather open her to charges of ‘poor me’ lyrics.
Self-pity, though isn’t a major seam to the work. ‘I don't need a punch line’, she declares on Neil Young like textures to Chameleon/Comedian while the numbers that most leap out are musically upbeat, the bring in the new themed Change The Sheets, Sidecar’s tumbling FM pop and the vintage Sheryl Crow rock swagger to Mint complete with a sha la la la chorus.
"I just hide behind the songs I write," she sings. Perhaps so, but as this album demonstrates, she certainly doesn’t need to hide behind better known names, boyfriends or not.
Mike Davies January 2012
Title taken from the studios where it was recorded, the first album of new material in seven years by the Irish country-roots singer is a welcome return but not without a few reservations. Time has worked its passage on her voice, bringing a frail, husky edge to what was once crystal purity and putting some strain on the higher notes. It gives a seasoned note to the reflective ballads, but may well explain why uptempo numbers are few this time around, with those that are included, The Night Is On Our Side (which features three of her children) and, the Imelda May guesting Mountains To The Sea, the weaker tracks.
Not a songwriter herself, Black’s always been a canny interpreter of others’ material, which why it seems strange that she should open the album with Ricky Lynch’s Marguerite And The Gambler, a tale of a rich man having his daughter’s lover murdered and she dying of a broken heart that stands up musically with its violin and mix of Irish folk and Americana but is a lyrically clumsy and undernourished affair.
Thankfully, the good outweighs the lesser moments, the album hitting its acoustic stride with The Night Was Dark And Deep, Paul Kelly’s childhood memory of overhearing a conversation, his mother crying and his father’s consoling words during a car journey, the arrangement and atmosphere conjuring clear, star freckled skies.
The second of its highlights comes with her cover of While and Matthews’ beautiful Steady Breathing. It doesn’t carry the same emotional heft as the original version, written for While’s sister when she was diagnosed with cancer, but it earns its place on a future best of collection.
I can’t say the same for her breathy duet with Finbar Furey on his banjo rambling Walking With My Love or bonus number Fifi The Flea, a cabaret chanson interpretation of the old Hollies song, but it would be hard not to be touched by her handling of son Danny O’Reilly’s world weary and vulnerable, piano and strings accompanied Wizard Of Oz.
I don’t think Ry Cavanaugh’s Lighthouse Light is a particularly strong song with its simple lyric about shining out to the one he adores, but the scuffed rootsy shuffling track itself is a joy to hear, bringing together as it does the voices of Black and Janis Ian, who, incidentally has written an as yet unrecorded song in celebration of her friend.
However, without question the album’s centrepiece has to be her understated reading of Eric Bogle’s still resonant anti-war number All The Fine Young Men, the simple power of its words complemented by piano, acoustic guitar, accordion and double bass accompaniment.
At the end of the day, I don’t think it’s up there with such classic early albums as Babes In The Wood, The Holy Ground, and Speaking With The Angel, but after a far too lengthy a silence it sets a solid benchmark for what follows in the autumnal phase of her career.
Mike Davies January 2012
Whether for her politically fuelled lyrics, her vocal agility or her explorations into music’s outer frontiers, DiFranco has always been an interesting and individual artist, although one who’s gathered a loyal cult rather than a wider, mainstream following.
This, her first in over three years, isn’t about to breach the dam and see popular acclaim flooding around her, but for those who hold her idiosyncrasy dear it’s going to number among their favourites.
With guests that include Norah Jones’ guitarist Adam Levy, currently cool and cred avant saxophonist Skerik, Anais Mitchell, Ivan and Cyril Neville and a whole bunch of New Orleans horns players, you’ll not be surprised to learn there’s jazz and soul vibes attached to the folk foundations.
Listen to the rhythms of Unworry and you’ll be put in mind of Joni circa Hissing Of Summer Lawns, Mitchell’s influence also bubbling through the cool acoustic breeze of Mariachi (which, just to be perverse, doesn’t have a horn in sight), while If Yr Not lurches through the Tom Waits junkyard, Splinter sashays around a calypso groove with DiFranco sounding a sweetly coy as Zoe Deschanel and J rides a five minute dub reggae beat while a guitar sounds to be improvising in the background.
Now a married mother, there’s a reflective tenderness evident here. Singing about ageing gravefully, on If Yr Not she says ‘if yr not getting happier as you get older then yr fuckin’ up’, while Hearse romantically declares ‘I will always be your lover even after our atoms are dispersed, we’ll be pushing up daisies as my crush will just be getting worse’ and the noodlingly sparse, moody Albacore offers an unalloyed affirmation of love and marriage.
However, as noted, political anger has always been one of her most sharply honed tools, and its wielded potently here. J takes a swipe at both Obama and pharmaceutical companies, the spare bluesy Amendment with its nervy guitar addresses abortion and civil rights for women, a choppy almost poppy Vega-ish Promiscuity flies the flag for female sexual empowerment and, flecked by distorted, throaty guitar, opening track Life Boat’s a post economic meltdown lament about living on the streets.
And, of course, there’s the title track, Florence Reece’s stirring 30s union anthem made famous by Pete Seeger. The man himself provides the banjo opening, but after that it’s a whole new ball game as brass band, kids chorus, marching beat drums and funky guitar take over for a six minute rewrite as a timely Occupy The Streets rallying cry for feminist consciousness and common interest against corrupt corporations and patriarchy.
It probably won’t wind up in the CD collection of Goldman Sachs or HBOS bosses, but it deserves a place on any liberal thinking folkie’s jukebox.
Mike Davies January 2012
Born in New Zealand and now resident in London, Reyne has been championed by the steampunk and darkwave movements for her striking fusion of the folk and industrial genres, marrying Celtic ballad flavours with historical narratives (part Dickens, part Grimms, part Blake) set around the Industrial Revolution, sound found samples, and influences that range from Dead Can Dance to Steeleye Span and Nine inch Nails. It’s a heady brew and one that bubbles potently through this self-release.
A concept album, it took on life while she was doing some genealogical research and came across a Welsh family from the late 1800s, opening track Johnny & The Sea, a hypnotic slow march folk blues about disillusion and suicide, inspired by the discovery that the husband, Johnathan, a sailor, drowned in the sea near his home.
Imagining their fates from the few known facts, it follows the family and the effect of changing economic and working conditions over three generations from the 1860s through eldest daughter Molly’s move to factory work in London and (with A Healer’s Folly) the eventual death of her child, Wynne, in 1961.
Thus, connected by almost flamenco style handclaps, the opener gives way to the equally sparse and gloomy A Woman Scorned about widow Mary’s grief while church bells, street vendors’ cries and horses hooves pave the way for Molly (or possibly brother Thomas) busking for change in the slow gathering tribal swell of A Hard Game and (drawing on Pink Floyd’s The Wall) a clanking metal beating rhythm bedrocks Factory Nation’s industrial work song of the daily grind.
If this sounds somewhat forbidding, it’s actually a far from difficult listen as Reyne demonstrates a commanding mastery of melody and lyric to turn what is frequently dark subject matter into mesmerising and memorable songs like the tribal rhythmed Heavenly Creatures (a title shared with Peter Jackson’s 1994 New Zealand set true life thriller), the anthemic Wait (I Run Too Fast) with its skirling bagpipes and the heartbreaking The Arsonist with its cascading, shimmering chorus.
Comparisons to PJ Harvey and Sinead O’Connor have been trotted out, but you’re more likely to hear echoes of Marianne Faithful while the drone intro to Hard Times has shades of June Tabor and London, a conflation of trad songs Bedlam Boys and Silver Dagger set to a metronomic beat and backing moan, suggests the dank undergrowth of Sandy Denny’s Matty Groves. However, the most striking comparison to these ears is the underrated Shona Laing, a fellow New Zealander and one time singer with Manfred Mann’s Earth Band.
This is her fourth release and, from what I’ve heard so far, its predecessors, Birds Of Prey (a free download on her website), Passenger and How The Dead Live, all sound equally stunning and mark her as an artist deserving of a much higher profile. Released to little fanfare last October, it’s getting repromoted to tie in with her debut UK tour. Had I heard it back then, it would have been one of my Top 10. It will be this year.
Mike Davies January 2012
Gift, the mid-2010 joint studio album from Norma Waterson and Eliza Carthy, was one of my own personal favourite discs of the entire year, and it was a matter of deep regret that I never managed to catch any dates on the ensuing Gift Band tour, one reason for which was the unavoidable truncation of that very tour when Norma herself became seriously ill. So now, I'm overjoyed to see the release on, both CD and DVD, of one of those concert dates in all its glory - and entirety.
It's a wonderfully intimate and uplifting experience, enhanced by the venue itself and its unique ambience, but given extra resonance by the subsequent tragic events. Of course, we can now be thankful that after a particularly anxious eight months, Norma's now back on the slow road to recovery, but this wonderful DVD is a supremely treasurable memento of mother and daughter singing together, enjoying every moment and communing with their audience with relaxed anecdotes and informative banter.
Their intensely supportive "band" - comprising Martin Carthy (guitar, banjo), Aidan Curran (guitar, mandolin), Phil Alexander (accordion, piano) and David Donnelly (double bass) - just couldn't be bettered, providing the finest possible foil for Eliza and Norma and their unerringly apt choice of songs. Here, within the allotted span of a little over two hours, they perform all but three of the songs from the actual Gift album, but - even more valuably - they also treat us to a healthy selection of songs drawn from Norma's own solo back-catalogue, virtually none of which they've ever before performed live.
Norma's dictum of "it's hard to stick to just one kind of music" is well demonstrated on this superb "evening of two halves", which flows effortlessly and naturally from traditional song (The Chaps Of Cockaigny, Go And Leave Me) to swinging novelty numbers (Ukulele Lady) and the very best of contemporary song (Dreaming, which Loudon Wainwright had penned specifically for Norma, Clive Gregson's Fred Astaire, and no fewer than three classic Richard Thompson compositions, Al Bowlly's In Heaven, God Loves A Drunk and Joseph Locke) and back again (Bunch Of Thyme, The Rose And The Lily), all coming to a beautifully coordinated official close (as on the album, indeed) with the slow shanty Shallow Brown. After which, the sentimentality of the planned-unplanned non-encore (Over The Rainbow) is transformed by the performers into something quite magical (guaranteed to send us all home happy as bluebirds!).
The evening's first half is predictably satisfying, with definitive high points coming on Dreaming and the set closer The Nightingale; even so, I'd say the second half is even more spine-tingly excellent, with especially show-stopping moments occurring on Joseph Locke, Prairie Lullaby and Rose And The Lily. But the whole performance is magnificent on all counts, and there's an extremely potent sense of occasion.
Whether you already have the original Gift studio album or not, this DVD and CD are an essential purchase. I'm not altogether sure you'll necessarily need both, for the tracklisting is identical, the CDs reproduce the exact sequence of the gig (between-song anecdotes and all), and the DVD contains no bonus material; but the visual record of the occasion is admirably rendered, undistractingly filmed and brilliantly engineered, while the CD booklet's useful supporting material, like the DVD package, comprises two pieces from The Guardian newspaper (a live review and a contemporary interview) and a handful of photographs taken at the gig itself (and a lovely one of proud Norma and Eliza with "new arrival", taken barely weeks after the concert).
Logistics-wise, I do need to point out that there's a small difficulty with the banding arrangement on the CD issue, whereby on each of the two discs the whole of the first track is taken up with the introduction to just its first song, and thus the music of the first song itself begins at track 2. and so the remainder of the items on the disc are all "one band adrift".
www.scarletmusicservices.co.uk
David Kidman January 2012
When Norma fell seriously ill before she could complete the Gift Band tour last year, folks from right across the scene rallied round immediately to raise funds, and all over the country special tribute concerts were staged, invariably featuring a lineup of prominent performers from the UK folk scene. One Night For Norma presents for posterity a recording of one such event; and it is entirely fitting, therefore, that all profits from the sale of this release will be going straight to Norma herself.
The concert enshrined on this two-disc set took place at The Sage, Gateshead on 1st June this year, and involved an impressive cast-list that represented much of the cream of the crop as regards performers from the north-east of this country: long-standing well-established front-runners (Vin Garbutt, Jez Lowe), equally well-established movers and shakers (Alistair Anderson, Sandra Kerr), top-flight performers from a younger generation (Emily Portman, Bella Hardy, Andy May) and in-demand local musicians Margaret and Andy Watchorn.
The majority of the artists perform songs or tunes from their own stock-in-trade: for instance, Jez brings to the stage London Danny and Jack Common's Anthem, Alistair two evocative tunes from his own pen, and Vin heartfelt performances of If I Had A Son and England My England - the latter pair unfortunately misplaced and transposed in the tracklisting, by the way). Emily's Mossycoat weaves particular magic, and Sandra's contributions bring some keen audience participation, while appreciative silence greets Andy's set of tunes played on the Northumbrian pipes. Some other choices, however, either feature combinations of artists that are unique to the occasion (eg. Sandra comes together with Emily and her trio for a spirited rendition of There Ain't No Sweet Man That's Worth The Salt Of My Tears, a song much associated with Norma), or material performed specifically in tribute to Norma (Emily and Trio making a good fist of Lal's Some Old Salty, and Bella Hardy tackling - less convincingly, I feel - the Garcia-Hunter classic Black Muddy Water that Norma has made so much her own). Additionally, the entire company joins forces for the concert's bookends, Country Life and Three Score And Ten, both key items from the early Waterson Family repertoire. The whole concert is MC-d by Linda Thompson - and not entirely successfully, for she displays an unexpected degree of ignorance of the music of some of the participants (ho hum!).
The recorded sound is very good, although the continuity - and some of the atmosphere of - the occasion is compromised by some swift fades along the way. The accompanying booklet contains a host of photos from the event, together with full credits and a whole page of honest and lovingly affectionate tributes to Norma written by the participants. From a practicality point of view, however, I'm puzzled at the decision to make this a double-disc set, when its respective 33 and 41 minutes would have easily fitted onto one disc. Otherwise, the aforementioned track transposition error aside, this is a most desirable release, by the purchase of which you will be unquestionably supporting a very very good cause indeed.
www.scarletmusicservices.co.uk
David Kidman January 2012
There’s nothing like a blast of jangling guitar to blow away the cobwebs and get a new year into gear. Hailing from California, Rhodes and his Hard Eight band emerged from LA’s punk, roots and rock scenes and might seem pretty much a journeyman bar band until you hear the CD. Opening track, Back To The 909 immediately conjures the early spirit of Tom Petty, an acoustic intro giving way to chiming electric guitar, keyboards, power chords and chorus hook with Rhodes adopting that Pettyish talk-sing delivery.
It’s a great introduction and what follows extends the welcome. It’s Too Late’s a relaxed shuffling bar room Southern country boogie that wouldn’t disgrace a Drive By Truckers album, Sapulpa throws in a touch of driving Neil Young, Vital Love reminds me a little of Dylan’s Lay Lady Lay period while the lurching rhythm Kiss Me Twice is Bob in his bluesier mood, Rainbows is a two minute roots punk surge, Brown And Blue brings in fiddle for some Celtic colour and the title track goes toe to toe with Jason & The Scorchers for rip it up rocking country punk.
There’s a couple of moments that don’t quite come off, Harder Now’s acoustic ballad just too sluggish and All Right an off the shelf rocking filler, but otherwise this is a solid accompaniment to a rowdy night down the honky tonk with a supply of cold beers lined up on the bar, topped off with a closing cover of The Replacements’ Waitress In The Sky that makes you want them to delay calling last orders for as long as possible.
www.myspace.com/mickrhodesmusic
Mike Davies January 2012
Between 1997-2002, Shepard was the musical voice on TV’s Ally McBeal series, performing a song on each episode of its five year run as well as producing some 500 for guest artists such as Barry Manilow, Jon Bon Jovi and Gladys Knight. She won a Billboard award for selling the most TV soundtrack records in history.
But she’s much more than a footnote to a defunct TV show. As well as the three soundtracks, she’s released five solo studio recordings (two prior to McBeal) and sold over 12 million albums. This is her sixth, the fifth collaboration with producer Mitchell Froom and, as the title says, it’s a one woman project, just Shepard and her piano on several of her old songs as well as covers of two personal favourites.
Maybe, after five years constant exposure, she was fed up of it, but the show’s title song, Searching My Soul, isn’t amongst them, However, she does revisit former singles, 1989’s Don’t Cry Ilene and 1999’s Baby Don’t You Break My Heart Slow which, stripped down to their core remind you why she’s been deservedly compared to Carole King, both as writer and performer.
Of the other original material here, highlights would have to include opener Maryland from It’s Good Eve (and the first Aly McBeal album), The Sunset Marquis off Chinatown and Another January from her previous studio release, From The Sun. The covers are classics in their own right, a lovely wistful version of the evergreen You Belong To Me and an emotional reading of Walk Away Renee.
She may no longer enjoy the same sort of profile as in the McBeal days, but this is a welcome reminder that she’s still up there with the very best of the female singer-songwriters.
Mike Davies January 2012
Despite now being on her eighth album, I’d bet the Chicago based Illinois born singer-songwriter’s an almost total unknown quantity on these shores. Indeed I’d be surprised if she was much known beyond the Midwest Which is a considerable shame because, on the evidence here, she should certainly appeal to anyone with albums by Nanci Griffith, Shawn Colvin or early Joni and Lucinda in their collection.
Having started out playing piano at the age of 7, she numbers such diverse names as Kris Kristofferson, Hoagie Carmichael, Django Reinhardt, Etta James, and Big Bill Broonzy among her influences, so as you might surmise she’s a little bit country, a little bit soul, little bit folk and a little bit blues.
It’s folk-country that sets the album in motion with the title track, an acoustic rolling rhythm ride home on a Greyhound bus for the boy left behind, Maria McCullough’s fiddle keeping the wheels turning and a catchy chorus in the tank. She’s poppier in A Lot Like You and the stride-along, 60s coloured piano driven My Favourite Part while I Love You Too leans towards Dolly Parton bluegrass.
By contrast, Brand New delves into gospel tinted piano blues and Irreparably Yours moves from a soulful solo piano arrangement to blossom into a yearning folk fiddle midsection before its dying fall. I’m not sure she has the necessary earthiness to pull off the funkier blues approach of Skipping Stones but the upbeat celebratory vibe to I Won’t Tell A Soul (another number given a kick by McCullough’s fiddle) is guaranteed to leave you feeling a lot brighter than before you slipped the disc into your player.
Mike Davies January 2012
Named after the character in the Daphne Du Maurier novel (there’s a Welsh painter of the same name, so it’s not completely unlikely) and with a fey sleeve photograph that put me in mind of Lily Cole and Bonnie Langford, I confess I was expecting something kooky and self-indulgent. If not irritating.
There’s certainly indulgence and kookiness, but several listens have left me rather enjoying this debut album of folk inflected pop, even if I remain unpersuaded by the biog’s comparisons to Ryan Adams, Ben Folds and Kate Bush.
While not exactly Alison Moyet, her voice isn’t as mousy as I’d anticipated from the image, and if you’ve succumbed to the charms of, for example, Pixie Lott or Eliza Doolittle then the Bedford based singer-songwriter will slip down nicely. She might even remind you of Toni Basil. If you can judge an artist by the company they keep, then the fact she’s supported Amy Wadge, Rod Picott, Diana Jones and The Leisure Society should also serve as recommendation.
Catchy melodies and chorus hooks are the order of the day, and if the lyrics aren’t going to earn any Novello awards in the near future, she makes the words work for the music. Which, to get to the point, bounces cheerfully from the Latin flavours of My Lover and My Faceless Nameless Son’s handclappy doo wop to the country pop of Heartbreaking Fall and the jaunty folk fibres that bind Brother/Sister.
There’s plenty going on behind her, with string arrangements and, on Gone Gone Gone, even a flute solo but it’s arguably the stripped back uncluttered piano ballad Joy that shows her - and her slightly acrobatic vocal - to best effect while Shy Bride, a homage to the novel for which she’s named, tinkles along like a sleigh ride to underline her prowess at writing infectious pop tunes. I’m not entirely sure she’s Netrhythms material, but I’m certainly intrigued enough to want to keep my options open.
www.myspace.com/rebeccadewintermusic
Mike Davies January 2012
Taking time out from fronting the London based Niall Kelly Blues and Roots Band, the warbling voiced Derry born singer makes his solo debut with an album of original material that’s been coming to boil over the past ten years.
It’s a misleading start though. Opening track Lady Dancer suggests he’s been nursing a copy of Nashville Skyline while the second number, Working For Your Pardon hangs around the same catinas as The Mavericks. It’s not until you reach the laid back bluesy folk of Lamps that he reveals his default style is the same Celtic soul folk of early Van Morrison.
As such the slow burn Little Room, the fiddle laced, percussion rippled Colliers Folk and the melancholically wistful County Down with its organ and piano interplay provide solid anchors while Tank introduces south of the border acoustic guitar over the brushed snares for a hint of Chris Isaak.
Quite where the title track’s psych-out blues with its Screamin’ Jay Hawkins shouts and surf guitar fits into the package I’m not sure, and is certainly at stylistic odds with everything that’s gone before, sounding much more like a live showcase than an album number.
It’s not going to bring him fame and fortune, but it should certainly help tempt new audiences to his live shows.
Mike Davies January 2012
When not building in demand banjos at their log cabin in the British Columbia woods, the pair can often be found singing and playing old time country music. Now they’ve finally put some of that down on record with this fine, pure and simple sounding collection of songs, either sourced from old obscure recordings or self-penned.
The album kicks off with Forsaken Love, the first number they wrote together, though it could easily have been plucked from the same public domain from when comes Where Is The Gamblin’ Man?, My Flowers, My Companions, And Me and a low reading of perennial banjo instrumental favourite, Cumberland Gap.
The call and response title track’s one of their own too, another downbeat ditty about cheating spouses and lost youth, as are the deceptively catchy Guthrie-esque farmer’s struggle tale Dad’s Song, Only Gold’s timeless depression lament for the working man and, Pharis again on lead, the lovely Lay Down In Sorrow.
Thankfully, they choose to avoid well trodden ground in their choice of non original material. Jason does lead duties on Uncle Dave Macon’s lovelorn Hillbilly Blues, Leadbelly’s Out On The Western Plains gets a lively workout while the pair harmonise beautifully on Dottie Rambo’s lyrically playful gospel country It’s Me Again Lord.
Although not done to death, the remaining three ‘covers’ may be better known; I’m Just Here To Get My Baby Out Of Jail, 19th century broadside ballad Wait Till The Clouds Roll By, and, because there had to be at least one, the Carter Family’s Engine 143.
Inevitably, Welch and Rawlings comparisons loom large but the Romeros are no clones and their take on the genre is as equally individual and valid. On top of which, if we’re talking homespun authenticity, Jason actually builds the banjos he plays!
Mike Davies December 2011
Formed in Knoxville in 1994, fronted by Scott Miller, the band were the first signings to Steve Earle’s E-Squared label, releasing two alt country rock studio albums, Just Add Ice and All About Town, and one live recording before splitting up at, quite literally, the end of the century.
They’ve reformed for a one off repeat of their last farewell on New Year’s Eve 2011, and to leave behind this compilation of 13 remastered tracks from the two albums alongside five previously unreleased outtakes from those sessions.
They don’t seem to have been so keen on the sophomore album, with only four cuts making it to this collection, Mary, Amy 88, Fade Away and the rowdy Over The Mountain, whereas the debut has eight of the original 12 tracks. Indeed opening with Guess I Know I’m Right, save for the omission of What She’s Found, the first seven even replicate the running order. And with Around You and Kick Me Around deservedly absent, that album’s acoustic rough and ready closer, Cold Beer Hello, serves the same function here.
So, what about the unheard material? Both stemming from the About Town sessions, the harmonica wailing alt-country rocker Hotel Room and the moodier (and slightly dull), mid-tempo ringing guitar Someone To Push Around are the only unreleased original songs, while the first album yields three covers, a bouncy power pop country take on Neil Young’s Burned, a workmanlike Tom T Hall’s How I Got To Memphis and a dose of bar band r&b with Lieber & Stoller’s Smokey Joe’s Cafe.
To be honest, none of the newly unearthed material is that exciting and, while the band’s stature has grown since their demise (one paper named them the best Knoxville band ever), listening back now it all sounds a little dated and unadventurous. But, as fans will tell you, while their career may have been short lived the four piece would prove a big influence on a generation of upcoming alt-country outfits. One for the fans and music historians, then.
Mike Davies December 2011
Folly is Brighton-based Mary's second full-length album, and comes none too fast on the heels of 2008's fabulously dark My Mother's Children. But this extraordinary, and most unusual, new record could still not have come from anyone else, so distinctive is Mary's musical voice. One key to this uniqueness is Mary's intriguingly different singing style, during which the sung melodies often don't go anywhere near where you expect and are actually all the better for it. Her inherent tonal fragility, tremulous almost to a fault, hides a depth of response that's as disquieting as the boldly surreal imagery that she conjures from admirably few words.
This latest opus comes after a period of intense creative doubt, and examines the concept of idealism from Mary's own highly personal, and refracted, cultural viewpoint (whilst noting that architecturally speaking, of course, a folly is a physical manifestation of private idealism). The listener's own relationship with the concept is built from, and can just as easily be distorted by, Mary's desolate sensuality, which embodies a slightly unreachable quality (kindof mirroring Lal Waterson and the ISB, but sounding like neither). However, this quality invariably draws us into her private deliberations, with an intensity of focus that allows us to eavesdrop without shame on an emotional landscape that's at the same time other-worldly and very much of this world.
The opening track, The Man Behind The Rhododendron, represents a peculiarly English variety of expressionism, in which Mary explores age-old, almost timeless eccentricity in conjuring up the steamy chaise-longue and the white elephant trophies that adorn the drawing-room, the very folly of the folly, indeed; this is achieved through a clever musical gambit, the childish tango of the decadent privileged, played to the tune of old instruments that've been dug out of the garden shed or else found by serendipity in the attic, and fingered with an almost devil-may-care attitude to what they might sound like.
Throughout the album in fact, for all Mary's pointedly careful placing of words and phrases within keenly balanced sounds and textures, at the same time her musical adventures can sound almost improvised. Despite this, however, Mary never allows her fellow-musicians' strange backdrop to interfere with her vision, instead positively inviting them to share in it and help take it across the divide into the ears and mind of the listener. Her little band Cotillion consists of Seth Bennett (bass), Jo Burke (fiddle), Alice Eldridge (cello) and Alistair Strachan (brass). Everybody concerned also chips in with sundry percussion sounds (including what the booklet lists as "chandelier, pins, shoes and walls"), which, along with curious warblings from occasional sampled birdsong and other "found sounds" peeping through the aural cracks, give a disturbingly exotic character to Mary's original treatments of the traditional Benjamin Bowmaneer and the old gospel number Honey In The Rock. There are many contradictions at work here, not least in the confounding and challenging of our expectations as listeners.
Textures that sound warm and reedy are also strangely chilling, as exemplified by the ISB-like conjoining of harmonium and keening whistles that bookends Forget-Me-Not, a song of piquant, almost Emily-Dickinson-like, economy of expression that almost eclipses Mary's setting of Emily's poem No. 32 later on the disc. This in turn sports an uncharacteristically lavish string arrangement of a density that escapes being stifling through its emotional restraint, a quality that reflects the lyric's elliptical near-deathwish. Hoax And Benison inhabits the decadent sound-world of salon-room jazz, complete with some striking imagery that recalls vintage W.H. Auden as it casually succeeds an almost waggish opening line ("The old folks cut their toenails by the light of a cartoon") with an altogether more ominous couplet "The cornices are changing as they gather in the sky, And I am just a stranger who moves across your eye". Again, Mary's deliberate economy of expression often leaves a lingering feeling of much more that's not being said, worlds of experience on the periphery of our vision that are only fractionally hinted at.
And how often do you encounter the words "iconoclast" and "smithereens" in a lullaby?. Lullaby For The Beleaguered contains them both. While Kiss V, inspired by the art of Roy Lichtenstein, pits its disturbingly graphic lyric against Mary's own restless, rippling guitar and deadly twanging strokes from another, more rusty-sounding instrument. Managing to convey antiquity without precious contrivance, every note and sound within the texture is carefully placed and naturally and precisely imaged. As throughout the album, where every subsequent playthrough reveals more and more beauty in the juxtaposition of sparse textures and waywardly contoured decorative melodies.
This disc is another brilliantly, defiantly unclassifiable, intimate yet profoundly demonstrative masterpiece from a literally - and literately - unique performer.
David Kidman January 2012
With each successive year, Bellowhead have grown in stature from a sprawling behemoth of what was described (a touch unkindly) as a glorified Spiers & Boden backing band to an organic and Massively Alive yet highly disciplined entity; each successive release has both accurately chronicled the development of the Phenomenon and ever more faithfully has managed to capture the essence, power and presence of the eleven-piece unit, that overwhelming quality of exuberance-and-expertise-deluxe, through accurate (yet never over-clinical) portrayal of the key integration of its component parts.
This latest Bellowhead release, a DVD of the live show that accompanied and promoted the band’s most recent album (Hedonism), is much more than a straight record and memento of a live retread of that album; its well-drilled two hours’ worth (that’s 23 musical items, plus intros and essential crowd responses) is – seriously – the most vivid home-movie rendition of the ultra-exciting live experience that could be imagined – and then some! I don’t think I’ve ever known an audio-visual artefact succeed so fantastically well on all counts, not least in producing a repeat-watch-able memento that both reproduces (and surpasses) the sound quality of the live gig and definitively enhances our appreciation of the various strands and details of the performance through vital and comparably expertly choreographed camerawork from a crack production team who really know their subject. Of course, if each member of the band wasn’t a totally brilliant musician, then the whole thing wouldn’t come off anyway. It’s the combination of well-oiled action and spontaneous combustion in the interplay between these musicians, that edgy feeling of “everything’s in its place except when it all goes horribly wrong, then it all falls into a different, but equally valid place” – to kindof paraphrase something Jon Boden says at one point in the proceedings!
The DVD was recorded at the O2 Academy in Bournemouth on 2nd May 2011, capturing a rapturously received show which presented the Hedonism album in its entirety together with a number of items from previous records interspersed at key points. The musical gamut of the show takes in everything including the kitchen sink (that’s the percussion section!), stylistically embracing folk, jazz, funk, big-band, chanson, burlesque, carnival, chamber-classical, shanty, balladry… yes, it’s all here, as natural as it comes, and how Mr Boden and his merry chums manage to work it all in is both mighty miraculous and mighty clever. From the raucous revelry of Whiskey Is The Life Of Man and generous dissonance within tune-sets like Cross-Eyed And Chinless to the sublime beauty of individual episodes in classic folk ballads like Broomfield Hill, from the incorrigibly wacky theatrics of Cholera Camp to the full-ahead discordance and punk shouting of Little Sally Racket, from the seedy, momentarily monochrome cabaret of Amsterdam to the cinematic soundscapes of Cold Blows The Wind and Across The Line – each one sporting creativity and a panoply of intriguing effects (and not just in the collection of obscure hardware to which everyone onstage seems to have free access!).
The frenetic yet tightly controlled camerawork, too, is a total fit for the synchronised flappery of the hyperactive band performance, its attentive flitting-about mirrors the plethora of incidental detail within the intensely lively overall picture while still allowing frequent pullbacks to a wide-angle overview as and when required or enabling focusing on moments of stillness or repose when needing to settle on a specific episode or passage or on minutiae within the musical structure. It also serves to emphasise that quality that each of the performers shares: a living, breathing musicianship that unassumingly rejoices in its own professionalism and still has enormous fun in doing so. Witness the no-messing virtuoso way that instruments and roles are swapped about during the course of a typical number (it would be insidious to namecheck individuals, cos every one’s a star!) – and the exceptional clarity of the sound picture ensures that each instrumental line (from mandolin to melodeon, from oboe and cello to bagpipe and trombone, from string trio to wah-wah bouzouki, from helicon to strange-little-scrapey-shakey-thing) can be heard (and spotlit where necessary).
Under the all-encompassing ringmastership of the authoritative Showman Boden, we experience the total commitment to the party; the sheer force of energy that never lets up (and, commendably, refuses to give way to an orgy of tuning!); the flash, the dash, the panache; the glorious sense of joy in entertaining; the all-singing, all-dancing, all-playing extravaganza that constitutes a hedonistic Bellowhead rave – it’s all here. OK, although no DVD can ever be a full substitute for being there, this one comes the closest imaginable to that cathartic experience that you simply must undergo at least once in your life (and then you can guarantee it won’t be the last time!).
David Kidman January 2012
One might say that on this latest offering, Ry Cooder seems to be coming full circle, not least in his kinda taking on the mantle of a modern-day equivalent of Woody Guthrie, in spirit the voice of the common man meaningfully chronicling America’s life and times with acuity of perception and lashings of musical savvy. In the early part of his career, of course, Ry’s repertoire habitually contained a considerable quotient of songs of political and social import (including, of course, some of Guthrie’s own creations) which had provided key inspiration in his formative years; he was instrumental in bringing many of these songs to our consciousness, and many of which have since become benchmark interpretations.
Since then, and increasingly on his last three or four records, he’s been very much concerning himself with timely contemporary issues, bemoaning the wholesale destruction of the America he prided and treasured, and peddling his own right-on political observations for our delectation and (often) air-punching assent. He may espouse the well-familiar topics of depression life, warmongering, commerce, corruption and crooked politicians (ie. so much for a New Deal!), but his wittily barbed (yet sometimes also unexpectedly affectionate) missiles are unerring in striking their targets full-on in the bull’s-eye. And the icing on the cake is Ry’s supreme skill in expressing these sentiments in a musical language that resides in America’s heritage, the indigenous idioms of which he has the deepest life-long understanding and which have become part of the fabric of his very being. Take John Lee Hooker For President, for instance, which naturally references the late blues legend’s finest works, and No Hard Feelings, which directly tracks from the starting-point of the credo of This Land Is Your Land into a pleading and sensitive ballad-cum-lament.
There’s heaps of musical continuity with the first half-dozen or so of Ry’s illustrious and perennially classic early solo albums in this new collection, a meaty and fulfilling whistle-stop tour that takes in deep country-blues, rough’n’dirty swamp pop, talking blues, chunky norteño and tex-mex, jittery reggae, gospel and virtually everything else you might expect in his travel-bag. Rejoice, too, for three tracks feature the trademark chicken-skin accordion of Flaco Jimenez, and at least one of these, El Corrido De Jesse James, which postulates the outlaw’s return (through a time-warp, y’ reckon?!) to exert vengeance on today’s banks, is a clear album standout and contains some absolutely glorious brass ensemble work that blowsily straddles the tight-rope between mardi gras and 40s/50s western soundtracks.
Other highlights include the cheekily jaunty opener No Bankers Left Behind, with its abundantly vibrant mando rhythms, the cheery, superficially upbeat anti-war number Christmas Time This Year and the catchy Creedence-meets-Springsteen vibe of Quick Sand, while the string-bedecked Dirty Chateau scores high in the soulful-ballad stakes and the snarling boogie of I Want My Crown brings echoes of Ry’s early membership of the Good Captain’s Magic Band. But my favourite track just has to be the intense, tremendously atmospheric Baby Joined The Army, a bluesy commentary of masterly, admirably sparse scoring (just Ry himself, treating us to some of the most extraordinarily expressive guitar work I’ve ever heard from the man); that track and El Corrido De Jesse James are worth the price of admission alone. Ry’s instrumental talents are already legendary, of course, but I do think he’s surpassed even his own high standards on this album, and he’s more than ably supported by (among others) son Joachim (drums), Rene Camancho (bass), Arturo Gallardo (alto sax), with a wonderfully resonant three-piece vocal chorus on a handful of cuts. Aside from some slightly misplaced sentimentality in a couple of the songs towards the end of the album, this new record from Ry Cooder is solid gold all the way. It boasts authentically gutsy sound too, immediate and expertly registered. I’d be surprised if this disc isn’t soon counted among his best.
www.nonesuch.com/artists/ry-cooder
David Kidman January 2012
Reissued every Christmas, Fairytale of New York has, deservedly, become a modern classic, but if you ever wondered what happened to the mismatched lovers after they got out of the drunk tank, this debut album by East London duo Johnny Black and Emma Scarr, joined by Chris Jinx on banjo, uke and dobro, surely holds the answer.
A Geordie raised on a Nuneaton council estate and known as Alan Hammonds in an earlier aspirant pop identity, Black’s CV includes work as a model (he’s appeared on record sleeves for The Scorpions and Ian Dury), newspaper columnist, TV personality (he was in acclaimed 1992 Channel 4 reality doc The Sex Hunters and wrote and starred in 1996 mockumentary Bouncers) and his own website where he performs satirical songs about current events and celebs.
Hailing from Leytonestone, Scarr’s not had quite the same colourful life but, raised on a musical diet of Earle, Emmylou, Kristofferson, Fairport, The Dubliners and Welch, she learned guitar, 5 string banjo and fiddle, joining trad outfit The Northern Celts back in 2000, as well as releasing fine alt-country solo, Angel Way, in 2008.
That had her likened to Mary Gauthier, but she also sounds a lot like Kirsty MacColl, albeit with a frisky fiddle in her hand and, while Black may not mirror MacGowan’s slur, Irish filtered, verse-trading One More Drink sounds like the sequel that never was while Scarr’s sardonic slow waltzing Happy Anniversary and (sounding not unlike Costello) Black’s swayalong Love’s Just A Dirty Word could be each character’s solo romantic lament.
But there’s a lot more to this than a coincidental echo of The Pogues finest moment. There’s great affection here for classic old school country, wonderfully expressed on Scarr’s I’ll Make Do With Him Forever, a love that can never be number that wouldn’t be out of place on a vintage Loretta Lynn or Kitty Wells collection while, rippling with banjo backing, Black’s wonderful hymn to his spiritual home, Angel Of The North, shares a honky tonk soul with Hank Williams, even if it does feature English bagpipes.
Drawing on Scarr’s bluegrass influences, opening track Walking Down The Line, hayride hoe down Walking Back To You, My Sister Has A Gun and sprightly sparring duet Hornbeam Cafe (an organic volunteer run eaterie in Walthamstow since you ask) all call to mind the briefly glorious days of 80s London cowpunk bluegrass folk of The Boothill Foot-Tappers.
But while they may name-check Guy Clark on Together, this remains very much rooted on English soil. As well as the Gateshead guardian, Black references the north-east again on the train rhythm closing time chorus friendly singalong Blackhall Rocks, where he asks for his ashes to be spread "when I run out of time and the good Lord stops the clock’ while the wistful folk waltzing lost love of Already Gone has Scarr journey around Kings Cross, Westminster, Brixton Hill and the Thames Estuary.
Getting known outside their regular gigging circuit might not be easy, but once the word starts to reach appreciative ears, then it could well find a spot on several best of lists next time Fairytale In New York comes into season. The ball starts rolling here.
Mike Davies January 2012
When I reviewed the Nottingham singer-songwriter’s 2009 debut album, Our Glorious Hero Battles The Man, I suggested his acoustic strum mix of love songs and social comment was gearing itself towards the Frank Turner and Jamie T audiences.
However, his sophomore release is clearly looking to different paths, introducing electronics into the picture and extending influences to embrace the American blues of The Bunker Song and, to judge by the opening You’ll Never Get, Marc Bolan in his Tyrannosaurus Rex days.
He’s not forsaken his old sound entirely. That Girl’s Bigger is one of those songs designed to be heard on rainy British afternoons as thoughts turn to Nick Drake and the lazily loping And Just Like That features just his soft breathy vocals and a simple acoustic guitar.
But they’re at a remove from Dressing Up with its steady drum beat, throbbing bass and fuzzed guitar freak outs that marries the sort of 60s psych-blues and r&b grooves of bands like The Graham Bond Organisation and Savoy Brown, Groby Road with its mingling of electro beat, reggae and soft folk, Meat’s infectious rhythmic folding together of beatnik jazz, jugband shuffle and calypso and the jittery, skittering rhythm of Two Viewpoints of the Working Week with its acoustic blues guitar and Simpson’s almost stream of consciousness delivery punctuated by a rap section.
It takes a while to get into, and the meandering seven minute Soft And Slow is particularly resistant, but, lyrical edge as sharp as before, you’ll finally find yourself succumbing to the progressions and changes he’s going through. He’s currently working with a live band, so it’ll be interesting to hear how that informs the approach next time he goes into the studio..
Mike Davies January 2012
Jackie’s latest solo album follows closely on her appearance on two other key releases: she was a participant in the Cecil Sharp Project (songwriting house) and (as a member of Imagined Village etc.) on Lush Cosmetics’ Fresh Handmade Sound discs. As with her previous solo records, it results from what Jackie terms “a frenzy of current fascinations”, in this case the sounds of viols, hand bells and eccentric percussion, and other matters as diverse as the Saturn return, Joseph Cornell and Alphonse Mucha.
Actually, you’d be hard pressed to discover much in the way of reference to the specifically non-musical associations, unless you’re previously acquainted with the work of either Mucha or Cornell, which turns out to have heavily inspired David Owen’s album artwork, with its highly emblematic nature and the slightly disconnected aura of an array of objets-trouvés of west-country folk-art, for aha, therein actually lies the connecting thread with the music within, which possesses its own sonic signature, consistently carefully crafted, perhaps surprisingly even-textured (sometimes almost to a fault), and seriously lovely, gently luscious in tone.
Distinctive chamber-folk timbres which might on their own seem mildly austere (Jackie’s violin and five-string viola, Mike Cosgrave’s piano) are embellished by bouzouki and mandolin (Neil Davey) and accordion (Karen Tweed, Mike C), with occasional interjections of viola da gamba and cello (Barney Morse-Brown), guitar (Tristan Seume), hurdy gurdy (Steve Tyler), double bass (James Budden, Miranda Sykes), English border pipes (Katie Tyler), piano (Belinda O’Hooley) and percussion (Ged Lynch), then (on two songs) further sweetened by the presence of hand bells (Ross & Melanie Henrywood). Nine of the album’s dozen tracks are drawn directly from traditional sources, and many of the selections have strong west-country connections (several of the versions used here originate in, or were collected in, Devon or Cornwall). An especially potent device is the interpolation within The Trees They Are So High of the recitation by Elizabeth Stewart of a poem in the Cornish language specially written by Tim Saunders, which eerily counterpoints the bare-bones, Lied-like voice-and-piano setting of the ballad.
Elsewhere, Jackie turns in thoroughly likeable personal reinterpretations of other quite familiar fare – The Sweet Nightingale, Brigg Fair, Marrow Bones and Four Pence A Day; the two last-named fairly breeze along, with lusty chorus support from that excellent male vocal quartet The Claque, from one of whose members, Barry Lister, Jackie also learnt the altogether darker ballad Poor Murdered Woman. This song, which we learn was originally destined for Jackie’s previous collection Hyperboreans, is here a definite disc highlight; it boasts some other-worldly scoring that embraces viola, shruti box, harmonium, plucked piano strings and hand bells and also prominently features the impressive talents of Jim Moray.
The album’s second really dark ballad, Young Johnson (Child 88), although bravely characterised, might here be thought a touch too prettily countenanced in Jackie’s tripping rendition. I guess that some listeners might level the criticism that a similar impression could be felt to prevail on any song visited by Jackie’s tender (and yes, sweet and dulcet) tones… Having said that, Jackie’s singing is persuasive, genuinely charming and pleasing, while also replete with hidden depths of expression that may escape the less attentive listener; moreover, her command of phrasing is noticeably increasingly confident with each successive album. And her choice of material, while sometimes a touch quirky (the current album’s “wild-card” is a rather fine and not-all-that-widely-known Paul Metsers song, IOU), is almost always ideally suited to her voice and approach.
Finally, the disc also contains two sprightly, lively instrumental tracks; one a sequence of two Cornish five-steps composed by Neil, the other a medley of three tunes penned by Mike, all heavily inspired by Finnish tango music. No quibbles with the bright, characterful recording either, so you need feel no shame about indulging yourself in this gently sumptuous yet thoughtful aural feast. You can’t fail to be drawn in.
David Kidman January 2012
In my book, any record with a liner note that describes (and uncannily accurately too, I might add) its opening track as “our old time field holler in the Javanese Pelog mode, inspired by the North American Tree Porcupines in Blackpool Zoo” just has to be heard straightaway, for you just know you’re in for an unusual (and most likely also unique) musical experience. For so it proves… time and time again during the course of this gloriously lengthy (close on an hour and a quarter) disc that never seems too long or overly drawn-out, such is the seriously magical spell cast by this tremendously symbiotic partnership.
The wilfully enigmatic handles conceal Fleetwood-based Rachel McCarron and Sean Breadin, who have been purveying their own very special (if at times quite idiosyncratic) interpretations of deepest tradition for many years now through a series of privately-released - and highly treasurable - recordings, also contributing to albums by other artists and most recently feeding into the acclaimed John Barleycorn Reborn project (as Venereum Arvum) and Folk Police’s Oak, Ash, Thorn collection. Both are incredibly talented musicians and superb singers, with an unrivalled passion for their heritage in all its guises and an alchemist’s knack for making something precious and original out of base materials.
The press release’s description of their music as “skewed, otherworldly traditional folk” is only half the story, for this fulsome calling-card also contains some haunting original songs. Closely observing the dictum of recording almost exclusively live in the studio, with merest minimal afterdubbing, the duo gives us a feast of raw, immediate performances, accompanying their richly seasoned solo vocals and telepathic harmonies with instrumentation that’s both immensely varied (instruments played: kemence, violin, crwth, flute, five-string banjo, harmonium, frame-drum, drones and kaossilator!) and entirely stripped-down, almost primordial in its impact. Some of the album’s 14 tracks recall some of the weird simplicity – or simply weird – early ISB: not quite as ululatory, but equally riveting. Others (Handsome Molly, Silver Dagger) mirror the intrinsic simplicity of authentic Appalachian tradition, while Blackwaterside pays affectionate homage to Sandy Denny and the iconic Owd Grye Song is now blessed with a ghostly, shimmering new coat.
Elsewhere, there’s two closely related “robin” songs: an early-music-inflected rendition of the Scots Robin Redbreast’s Treatment and a fresh reworking of Robin Sick And Weary. The disc’s centrepiece is an epic melding of House Carpenter with the contemporary I Curse The Day, a true masterpiece in atmosphere-building. Rapunzel’s other originals give further disc highlights, especially beguiling being Riverdance, a lament for an Irish ferry which foundered off Cleveleys some years back. And finally, in an inspired piece of symmetry, the disc returns us to its beginning with a backporch fiddle-and-banjo-backed reprise of the opening number.
Songs From The Barley Temple is an extraordinary disc of extraordinary presence – literally tangible storytelling in music and words that’s uniquely inspiring in its essence and vibrancy, conveying that feral and spontaneous yet almost ceremonial sense of communing with the environment that’s key to their understanding of their sources. It’s a disc you simply must hear, and let seep into your soul, many times and at length.
David Kidman January 2012
Fresh from the thriving old-time music scene of Portland, Oregon, two of the founder members of the celebrated Foghorn String Band Stephen “Sammy” Lind (fiddle, guitar, banjo) and Caleb Klauder (mandolin, fiddle, guitar) have now teamed up with Quebec-born Nadine Landry (guitar, bass) to form the Foghorn Trio. Together they’ve produced an abnormally fine album that presents authentic vintage old-time roots-bluegrass-country exactly as it should be performed: with energy, commitment and deep respect for the various traditions.
They use the raw, unison, clustered-round-a-single-mic approach, and on the evidence of this record they just can’t put a foot wrong, whether they’re tackling a traditional breakdown like Liza Jane, a Carter Family cover (Let’s Be Lovers Again), the Kitty Wells honky-tonk of I Don’t Claim To Be An Angel, a Doc Watson classic (I’m Troubled) or a fresh original composition in the manner of the masters (Caleb’s lonesome-swing-with-a-kick number Just A Little). The playing throughout is superbly animated, exact without being metrical, and virtuosic without shouting or note-spinning, with all the vocal work brilliantly idiomatic into the bargain (all three trio members sing).
And now here’s an interesting fact: the production credit is down to cajun supremo Joel Savoy, and yet this is in no way a cajun album – although there’s more than a soupçon of cajun on the Alex Broussard-penned title number, naturally, which is so persuasively sung by Nadine (she also does a great job on the aforementioned Kitty Wells number, which comes complete with a stunningly sensitive mandolin break too by the way).
This is a very exciting record, well balanced in every respect, replete with fabulously classy (and admirably unshowy) yet totally highly energised playing that smacks of long hours satisfying a dance-floor crowd, along with some beauteously edgy vocal harmonies; and what’s more, it proves without a doubt that old-time music still has plenty of mileage and relevance in this cynical day and age. Is this record joyfully feelgood? – hey, you bet!
David Kidman January 2012
Jeff’s one of the most welcome of the fairly frequent visitors to these shores from the US, and his gigs are always eagerly awaited and supported by those in the know. Quite simply, he’s one of the most charismatic, enthusiastic and genuinely versatile performers on the whole scene, with a warm and approachable personality to match his encyclopaedic knowledge of traditional song – a knowledge he’s always keen to share at every opportunity (I’ve been party to many a post-gig conversation that’s lasted well beyond closing-time!). In live performance, Jeff never presents the same set twice (although inevitably there will be cherishable repeats of some oft-requested favourites from across the years), while he can always be relied upon to unveil some fabulous new discovery from within his exhaustive repertoire – a repertoire developed through continuous long time travelling and collecting, as well as from his parents Anne and Frank, themselves noted song collectors as you know.
Jeff himself is noted for his thoughtful, respectful approach to his source material and his knack of choosing exactly the right type, and degree, of accompaniment to communicate the song without distraction. Another speciality of Jeff’s is his ability to surprise and delight his audience by coming up with songs we thought we knew well in different variants and fresh guises and with copious illuminating supporting background information regarding his sources. And so it proves on this, the latest addition to Jeff’s (not exactly prolific) discography, where a good half of the songs will be at least partially familiar (often maddeningly so), even though at first their titles might deceive. Into this category I’d straightaway place Young But Daily Growing (a variant of The Trees They Do Grow High), Wild Hog In The Woods (an American version of the ancient British ballad Sir Lionel), Bold Harpooner (a relative of Bonny Ship The Diamond), the adapted-shanties Old Moke Picking On The Banjo and Ho Boys Ho, the roustabout song Been All Around This Whole Round World, and By The Hush (aka Paddy’s Lamentation). The latter receives a particularly fine, nay benchmark, rendition here, with some sumptuous vocal harmonies from Carolyn Robson, whereas two other songs receive a haunting nyckelharpa backing courtesy of Vicki Swan. Indeed, in the vast majority of cases, in truth you’d be hard pressed to find better recorded versions on the market! And by dint of his well-researched liner notes, he often convinces you, too, often against all the odds, that these are the preferred versions (did you know of the lumber camp origins of Juberju, for instance?)!
Jeff’s excellent, fully idiomatic singing is supported throughout by his own entirely unassuming instrumental virtuosity on banjo, English concertina and guitar (and not forgetting bones, spoons and jew’s harp!), but on this recording he’s also called upon long-time collaborator Barbara Benn for vocal support on a handful of tracks, and Keith Kendrick’s vibrant Anglo concertina or Pete Sutherland’s lively fiddle on a handful more apiece, while Jonny Dyer, Dave Surrette and Keith Murphy also put in brief yet entirely apt cameo appearances. Finally, spending time in Jeff’s company here will enable you to renew acquaintance with lovely pieces such as Her Bright Smile Haunts Me Still (another disc highlight) as well as introducing you to some extremely worthwhile songs you didn’t already know – and there are at least half a dozen of those on this new record, including a splendid gospel rouser I Done Done.
Not only is this disc one of the finest recordings in WildGoose’s illustrious and entirely trustworthy catalogue, but it continues the label’s tradition of acutely attractive accompanying artwork and design that perfectly encapsulates the personality of the musicians and singers and the repertoire contained within – in this case, a front-cover line-drawing of a man joyously holding aloft a concertina, having stepped out of a frontier painting. The old adage “if you only buy one traditional song album this year, make it this one” will be hard to displace from its application to this magnificent disc!
David Kidman January 2012
For a long time now, Miranda’s been highly regarded on the scene for her exceptional double bass playing, and increasingly also for her involving and versatile singing; she released an acclaimed solo album (Bliss) back in 2006. Her most recent assignment, however, has been a well-received stint as “third member of Show Of Hands”, but her copiously-stacked CV additionally encompasses extensive touring and recording with several other artists (Robb Johnson, Kirsty McGee, Steafan Hannigan and Reg Meuross, to name but a few) and membership of Pressgang and Firebrand.
Latterly, Miranda has also guested with celtic-bluegrass band The Scoville Units, and she got on so well with that outfit’s mandolin player Rex Preston that they began working together as a duo, the first recorded fruit of which is this eponymous disc. Rex is an absolutely outstanding mando maestro, with an intensely accomplished playing style that so very intelligently combines those desirable qualities of niftiness and sensitivity – one can marvel open-mouthed at his virtuosity and easy musicianship, while admiring his gift of knowing just when to pull back and rein in his own talent and give due prominence to the vocal line and the lyrics of the song he and Miranda are accompanying. Miranda’s double bass, whether plucked or bowed, invariably weaves the most inventive of bedrocks, but is so much more than that, and is never reduced to anything approaching a mere plodding rhythmic counterpoint.
So together, Miranda and Rex make a hell of a team, and the musical and personal rapport between them is tangible. They clearly also share the same musical sensibilities, for this album presents a proudly eclectic mix of material, one that’s been described as genre-hopping. Nine out of the dozen tracks are compositions by contemporary songsmiths, many of these working in the genre loosely termed Americana. Although not all are especially well-known, the quality of the writing is assured and the pair of Peter Bradley Adams love songs is a discovery I’m glad to have made. Miranda gives well-judged accounts of Patty Griffin’s Rain and Slaid Cleaves’ One Good Year, while Imogen heap’s sensuous Between Sheets makes for a less expected choice that turns out one of the standout interpretations on this set.
Trouble, from the pen of Over The Rhine’s Karen Bergquist, proves another of the album’s triumphs, while the lighter side of the duo’s repertoire is exemplified by a segued brace of older standards (Sweet Pea and Mean To Me). Kate Rusby’s Old Man Time opens the disc: a generous and entirely apt selection given that Joe Rusby has utilised his studio and considerable production and engineering skills to give the album its thoroughly professional sound.
Finally, Rex has himself contributed the disc’s one instrumental number (4 a.m.), as well as a nice arrangement of the traditional song A Kiss In The Morning Early – this is one of two tracks on which he proves he has a persuasive singing voice too (a talent only recently discovered, we learn!). Aside from an occasional hint of the “one-trick pony” in the limited instrumental palette, it’s obvious that Miranda and Rex are making the most of their talents on this new venture, and it’ll be interesting to see how it develops. Meanwhile, Miranda and Rex will be on tour through January and February 2012.
David Kidman January 2012
You’ll remember the Darwin Song Project a couple of years ago, which brought together a number of renowned folk performers for the creation of a series of original songs on a commemorative theme. Well, this is a kind of sequel, in that it’s a celebration, in homage to the life and work of an important figure, and in that the methodology is also broadly similar.
In this case, for seven days back in March, eight folk artists (singers, musicians and songwriters) gathered together in a Shropshire farmhouse with a brief to create new compositions having a resonance and relevance to the important and legendary song collector Cecil Sharp, in particular his Appalachian song-collecting trip between 1915 and 1918. The results were performed at three special concerts – two in London (at Cecil Sharp House) and one at Shrewsbury’s Theatre Severn – and this CD and companion DVD together present a professionally recorded and mixed collation of these performances that can now be sampled at your leisure.
It’s not entirely clear from the supporting documentation whence the audio CD’s various recordings originate, but producer Stu Hanna gives them all a sonic unity through his clarity of purpose and execution. The DVD, which is a direct and complete recording of the Shrewsbury concert which took place in late March, inevitably gives a better overall flavour of the coming-together and gelling of the various performers; along the way, it also includes two extra items which have a purely visual impact – Leonard gives the audience an impromptu hambone workshop near the close of the first half, and all eight of the performers treat us to a display of dance (morris, then Appalachian step) just before the end of the show.
The roll-call of participants comprises some well-known folk luminaries (Steve Knightley, Andy Cutting, Kathryn Roberts and siblings Jackie Oates and Jim Moray), and lesser-known names (singer-songwriter Caroline Herring, Breabach’s fiddler and singer Patsy Reid and The Duhks’ leader Leonard Podolak). But to the music: it’s a compelling mix of original compositions inspired by Sharp and his collecting activities and ingenious arrangements of songs collected by Sharp, on which the spirit of collaboration is both intense and convivially relaxed.
The majority of the items are highlights in their own way, but I’d single out Caroline’s really special, and especially well-sung, contributions Black Mountain Lullaby and Beautiful Maud, closely followed by Meadows Of Dan; Jackie’s intriguing collation of two versions (from opposite sides of the Atlantic) of The Lover’s Lament; Kathryn’s juxtaposition of Child’s Song with Barbara Allen; Jim’s exemplary and strongly individual yet respectful treatment of Earl Brand; and Steve’s trio of outstanding originals ranging from the introductory Mining For Songs and the electro-thrash Aunt Maria to the tear-inducing (if perhaps slightly stagey) opus The Ghost Of Song. A couple of the items do seem a touch forced: the parlour-bawdy Maud And Cecil, which closes the sequence with a trifle awkward embarrassment, and possibly the Cecil’s Greatest Hits Volume 1 medley, on which Kathryn strings together excerpts from three of the songs he collected (tho’ her genuine affection for the material is still very apparent in her performance, however).
The accompanying booklet presents complete lyrics as well as introductory notes, but doesn’t stretch to instrumental and vocal performance credits for the individual items (but at least you can observe this by watching the DVD!). This still amounts to a landmark release – all credit to the masterminds behind it, Neil Pearson and Alan Surtees in particular – and now, even better, the project will be touring for six performances across Britain during late January (2012).
David Kidman January 2012
This can be viewed as a mildly cryptic release in terms of its overall sound and identity, although the genesis and composition of the performing ensemble in question is potentially less confusing. The Woodbine & Ivy Band is a collective of nine Manchester musicians who came together under the direction of guitarist Peter Philipson and bass player Michael Doward to arrange and perform a clutch of traditional songs. Included among their ranks we find keyboardist John Ellis, harpist Rachael Gladwin, trumpet/flugelhorn player Luke Das-Gupta and pedal steel merchant Alan Cook – hardly household names, but fine musicians all.
Yet it’s their group method, however, that might be thought a touch unorthodox, in that (with the avowed aim of achieving the effective portrayal of the narrative dramas) they invited a different singer to perform the lead vocal on each of the ten songs. An interesting gambit, and one which works remarkably well (and, pace the mission statement, still somehow enables the backing band to forge something of an identity of its own). We’re told that the singers were originally asked to perform the songs acapella, renditions which the band was then to use as a guide to the instrumentation and mood of the eventual arrangements for their intentionally free-ranging sessions.
Although not all of the musicians can boast a folk background, the general musical climate here is that of expansive folk-rock-with-a-dash-of-country-and-psych, marked out by inventively layered colourings of pedal steel, Hammond organ and jangling electric guitars, with splashes of harp, trumpet and synth. This lineup provides a backcloth of startling diversity for the singers’ individual interpretations; for instance, there’s a reassuringly warm, burnished brassy-steel Rotherham cast to Spencer The Rover (persuasively sung by Fay Hield, who’s joined by a twelve-strong vocal chorus), contrasting greatly with the punkabilly charge given to the witchy tale of Alison Gross by the forthright (almost sacred-harp style) delivery of Rapunzel and Sedayne.
On Poor Murdered Woman, Olivia Chaney supplies beautifully gentle shadings to the hauntingly dark tale, whereas Jim Causley strides boldly as a tough, proud redneck on the deep-twang extravaganza Out With My Gun In The Morning. Jenny McCormick’s delicate yet expansive version of Gently Johnny is akin to a classic Trees treatment, while Elle Osborne turns in a tremulously eerie take on Under The Leaves; Jackie Oates’ visit to Derry Gaol is unexpectedly beguiling too, with rippling harp tones adding to the eastern mystique of the fulsome drone backing. Maybe the electronic noodlings on James Raynard’s exuberant rendition of The Roaming Journeyman do outstay their welcome against the more solid-state virtues of the track’s driving anthemic pulse, but in the main the settings are very well judged, and turn out repeatedly (and repeatably) satisfying for the listener.
This is a stimulating and highly spirited record, and I’d be keen to hear a second batch of traditional songs being accorded the Woodbine & Ivy Band treatment in due course.
David Kidman January 2012
This is the third of Cyril Tawney's Argo-label LPs to be reissued on CD by Talking Elephant. First released in 1972, it presents 15 of Cyril's classic compositions: though these are mainly Royal-Navy-related, he also includes a few landlocked ones for good measure. The liner notes, Cyril’s own, are reproduced in full, and make for entertaining and supremely informative reading beyond the call of duty and transcending mere anecdotal interest in their degree of insight regarding the genesis of the songs.
The tracklisting embraces a goodly number of Tawney compositions that are now rightly regarded as evergreens, several of which were written around the same time (1958/59) and others half-a-dozen years earlier. The disc kicks off with the “full-blooded holler” of Sally Free and Easy, with Cyril’s trademark nylon-strung guitar providing a “non-accompaniment” based on the throbbing of a submarine’s diesel engines.
The ensuing procession of great songs includes The Ballad of Sammy's Bar, Cheering the Queen, The Grey Funnel Line, On A Monday Morning and Chicken on a Raft, plus the less well-known Six Feet Of Mud and New Names For Old, the poignant but underrated In the Sidings and the pithy nonsense of My Mother Came from Norway (a piece Cyril tended to use when a very short encore was required!).
On four of the songs, Cyril is sensitively accompanied by Dennis McCallum (accordion), and on a further six – including the slightly dubious mock-rustic ditty Five Foot Flirt – by The Yetties (at a time when they were still considered a vibrant “character” act); and by the way, it’s interesting to compare these stirring group-backed renditions with Cyril’s later recordings of the same songs.
Valuable though the earlier Cyril Tawney reissues have proved, it’s definitely In Port that will be most widely welcomed back aboard the shelves, for it’s a brilliant, and highly treasurable, collection that’s stood the test of time exceedingly well.
David Kidman January 2012
Small-town Canadians Brenley MacEachern and Lisa MacIsaac, after four years as Madviolet, renamed and relaunched themselves back in 2009, returning to the congenial musical climate of soft-tinged backwoods-folk-country for their third album No Fool For Trying, which turned out to be their breakthrough disc, receiving deserved acclaim from Bob Harris and the country music press (and leading to several nominations including one for 2010’s JUNO Award). That record’s unassuming radio-friendliness, along with its air of gentle understatement, added to the attraction of its interweaving vocal parts and exquisitely contoured backdrops, and if anything that record’s followup is even more persuasive in those respects.
Indeed, the new disc provides another admirably consistent set, with all songs bar one being penned by Brenley and Lisa themselves (for the most part jointly). Together, the songs furnish the listener with what’s described as “an open diary of the girls’ personal and professional experiences together as friends and musicians”, an experience which is both highly inclusive and warmly welcoming. Production is once again by the girls’ good friend Les Cooper, who’s also personally responsible for much of the tasty instrumental playing; other contributions come from Chris Quinn (banjo), Robbie Grunwald (rhodes), Adrian Lawryshyn and Mark McIntyre (bass) and Joel Stouffer (drums). Les has clearly got the measure of the girls’ special brand of togetherness as well as the seemingly unerring ability to furnish each song with exactly the right kind of accompaniment, from the delicate mandolin-led Emily, the melodious yearning of Stuck In A Love and the rolling steel-and-banjo-soaked Falling By The Wayside to the simpler bluegrass rootsiness of the title track and the soulful electric guitar, harmonica and rhythm-section of the seductive Come As You Are and the tender slow-drag of Colour In Grey and the more complex Home which builds from a rippling beginning into a reassuringly fulsome arrangement.
One curious thing, though, is that rather in the manner of its predecessor this album’s opening and closing stages don’t quite work: opener If I Could Love You is deceptively lightweight, even pop-inflected, whereas the final pair of tracks – comprising the disc’s one non-original (a rousing fiddle’n’banjo romp through the old-time trad number Cindy Cindy that also features Ruth Moody on backing vocals) and Brenley’s tribute to the inspiration of the record’s dedicatee Christy Ellen Francis – don’t quite hang together at that point.
But taken as a whole this new collection will more than satisfy thankyou, and it contains more than enough haunting songs to ensure frequent replay. Madison Violet are on tour in the UK during late January and early February, including an appearance at Celtic Connections.
David Kidman January 2012
An affectionate and entirely sincere tribute album masterminded by Duncan, son of the legend who was dubbed the “Golden Voice Of The Great South-West”: Bruce “Utah” Phillips, folk singer, songwriter, storyteller, poet and labour organiser, who died nearly four years ago in May 2008. (I guess it’s the nomenclature that will always confound – so I’ll best use “Utah” when referring to Bruce – if you see what I mean…).
The disc is described as “simply a collective effort of good friends remembering another good friend”, and it consists of 18 tracks (17 songs plus one spoken reminiscence) on which a number of present-day artists from in and around the state of Utah perform songs that were written in or about the region. These artists encompass former music students and bandmates of “Utah”’s, and others who have been influenced by his work (writings, performances, teachings and activities) – the majority of whom, although well-established in their field, will still doubtless be all but unknown to most of us (the record’s producer Kate Macleod, who contributes a heartfelt rendition of Nevada Jane, being likely the best-known). All but two of the songs performed here are “Utah”’s own compositions, and have been carefully and meaningfully chosen in order to invoke the spirit of “Utah” by exploring all facets of his generous personality and talent.
So there’s the tender romance of If I Could Be The Rain (Polly Stewart) and I Think Of You (Brent Bradford), and tales of people and places from Utah’s industrial heritage on Scofield Mine Disaster (Mike & Shauna Iverson) and the powerful Miner’s Lullaby (here sung by Anke Summerhill – not quite eclipsing the Stecher/Brislin recording, but darned fine nevertheless). These are complemented by the tongue-in-cheek humour of NPR Talking Blues (performed by Ken Shaw), a modern-day road song, The Telling Takes Me Home (Dave Eskelsen) and a pair of telling depictions of the hobo lifestyle and rootlessness, Goin’ Away (sung by Gigi Love) and Room For The Poor (Hal Cannon); “Utah”’s rousing community anthem Ship’s Gonna Sail then provides the best possible finale for the disc (well, in the absence of Singing Through The Hard Times, that is!), being an irresistible all-join-in number here performed by a group chorus comprising fifteen of the participants. This disc is also valuable for its concentration not only on the breadth of “Utah”’s songwriting but also for choosing to omit much of his better-known material (but then again, with a corpus of songs of such a uniformly high calibre it always would’ve been a hell of a choice to make!). Tom Shults also makes an appearance performing Harry McClintock’s Hallelujah I’m A Bum, while the disc’s centrepiece, inevitably, is its poignant and entirely apposite title song, written and performed by Duncan himself. Throughout, accompaniments are kept homespun and admirably simple, and for those involving a guitar part the actual instrument played is “Utah”’s own golden Guild (his trusty touring guitar), which is said to contain Joe Hill’s ashes within. Aside from the featured solo singers, other musicians include Kate Macleod (violin), Rex Flinner (mandolin), Margaret Lewis (cello), Stephen Keen (piano) and Brad Wheeler (harmonica).
The emphasis of course is on the songs themselves, and their collected sense of community is very strong indeed, together giving us a keen flavour of the man whose memory and influence they’re celebrating – the next best thing to being in his presence, one might say (and that’s a signal for you to go seek out recordings of the man himself, of course!). All tremendously enhanced by the individual reminiscences-cum-essays on the digipack, at the close of which nothing could be more appropriate than for Duncan to quote from “Utah” himself this nugget of the man’s big-hearted philosophy: In a modern day mass marketing economy, a revolutionary song is any song that you chose to sing yourself – welcome to the revolution.” Hear hear!
David Kidman January 2012
Released to commemorate the 150th anniversary of the beginning of the American Civil War, this spirited collection, subtitled Period Ballads From The Union And Confederate Navies And The Home Front, presents us with thirteen authentic maritime songs (though not, apparently, including shanties as is claimed on the press release). Almost all of these will be little-known, even to devotees of this repertoire, but every item is impeccably performed in the tradition by acknowledged experts in the field of folklore who are well used to the discipline of musical and historical research and the resultant performance.
The three main performers are Irish traditional singer Dan Milner (American-raised son of an Irish mother and English father); singer, concertina player and period-instrument virtuoso David Coffin (Education Director of the Boston Early Music Festival); and that excellent singer, banjo, fiddle and dulcimer player Jeff Davis, who’s widely regarded as one of the country’s foremost interpreters of American folk music (his recent CD Some Fabulous Yonder is a much treasured item in my own collection). Six of the selections are solo performances (three apiece by Jeff and David), all but one of the remainder having limited instrumental backing involving a minimal but varying complement of guest musicians (on piano, banjo or concertina, or, in one case, clarinet, piccolo, trombone and drum).
Dan’s stirring acapella rendition of the rather Copper-like broken-token broadside A Yankee Man-Of-War (done to a melody collected by George Gardiner in Hampshire, it turns out) boasts chorus vocals from Johnson Girls Deirdre Murtha and Bonnie Milner (who also swell the vocal ranks on a couple of other tracks). The disc is magnificently packaged, with an extensive 36-page booklet containing James Bradford’s comprehensive 12-page chronicle of The American Civil War Afloat, full credits and bibliography, archive photos galore and brilliantly informative background notes on the individual songs by Dan Milner himself. The performances are authoritative and committed, with an intimate immediacy and gritty sense of atmosphere – highlights for me are Jeff’s marvellous vocal-and-fiddle treatment of The Florida’s Cruise, his old-timey-dulcimer-and-banjo-accompanied ballad The Bold Privateer, and David’s sturdy baritone-and-concertina rendition of The Old Virginia Lowlands, Low (possibly the most familiar of all the items on the disc).
I do, however, have a minor reservation concerning the items which use piano accompaniment, since in a few of the cases this renders them arguably too close to the parlour for their subject matter. This matters less with the pair of Irish-showband-style items Farragut’s Ball and The Monitor & Merrimac, but the wistful and slightly sentimental tone seems to go against the grain on The Alabama (despite it actually having been composed as a parlour-ballad) and the forecastle song The Jamestown Homeward Bound (with a melody somewhat reminiscent of the forebitter Old Maui), which to my mind receives a somehow more satisfying reading on a recent Richard Adrianowicz CD. But I’d not be without this fine disc, for its exemplary musicianship and erudition and its scholarly (but not dry) enlightenment, providing as it does a refreshing insight into the riches of a branch of folk music that tends to be unfairly neglected or at best undervalued.
David Kidman January 2012
I’ve always cherished fond memories of this band, not least for the seminal part they played in restoring my faith in the revival during those lean years of the early-to-mid-90s and onwards with their brilliantly gutsy, committed and genuinely invigorating reworkings of traditional material. And I loved their Jekyll’n’Hyde persona too, loud’n’proudly comprising both a thrusting full-ahead acoustic folk band and a thrusting full-ahead electric punk band, each playing the most inventive blend of Americana you could imagine with ancient ballads and sacred harp charging lustily through audience preconceptions and wooing new friends wherever they went. They were pioneers charting almost entirely unknown territory, genuinely ahead of their time, trend-setters before those trends were invented: as it turns out pre-echoing both the 90s post-punk boom and the early-2000s post-O-Brother American folk boom… And like true pioneers, they really did care about their sources, and had great respect for their heritage. Of course things moved on for band members, with Tim Eriksen forging a shadowy parallel solo career and Cath Oss departing the ranks to team up with Phil Tyler in the north-east of the UK.
But the band has since then continued to soldier on with a variable lineup; I’m not entirely sure how and when exactly, but here’s proof that it was still alive and kicking four years ago, for this double-disc package presents – for the first time in album form – a typical two-set concert, recorded at the Iron Horse Music Hall, Northampton, Massachusetts in late April 2007: one disc of acoustic artistry and the other of electric noise.
Of course, the latter probably won’t quite frighten the horses so much nowadays, but it still packs an almighty punch and IMHO nobody’s ever done it better than Cordelia’s Dad (and probably never will). The incarnation of the band “for this outing” comprises head honcho Tim Eriksen, Peter Irvine (drums, banjo), Eliza Cavanaugh (guitar, dulcimer), Laura Risk (fiddle) and Gerard Gualberto (bass) – and sure they still make a mighty sound, on both discs! My only regret is the imbalance between disc-lengths – the acoustic set weighs in at a mere 35 minutes, whereas the electric set reaches the dizzy height of 55 minutes.
Nevertheless, the sheer impact of the acoustic set is tangible, not least due to the full-force nature of the interpretations, performances that take full account of the true nature of the subject matter (murder, doom, death, obsession, madness, gloom, depression, supernatural occurrences, y’know the score!). Topics that are eternal of course, and fully reflected in the electric set too, just to draw a parallel. And the performances enshrined here sound as fresh and exciting as they would have done 15 years ago, I’d wager – just feel the spine tingle at Tim’s raw acapella ululations on Farewell To Old Bedford and the joyous and seriously uplifting group-singing on authentic shape-note hymns Wake Up and Return Again; revel in the stirring sound of Friendship with its spiky fiddle line and edgy vocal harmonies; rejoice in the gleeful double-entendres of Spencer Rifle; stomp your feet to the luxuriously raw twin-fiddle arrangement of Sandy Boys, and sing the cautionary chorus along with the narrator of Granite Mills… and these are only scratching the surface of the delights on offer; I only wish the set had been twice as long!
As for the electric set, well this is even finer – and even more inventive than I remember it could be. The throbbing grit and gristle of the grungey wall of guitar sound, power chords, fuzz, distortion and deafening feedback doesn’t merely thrash you into submission, but it’s actually in a peculiar sense rather musical, as you’ll perceive (if you tune your ears aright) on the Cordelia’s Dad treatments of everything from the crashing (Clash-ing?) Delia(‘s Gone) and Shallow Brown through to an encore medley that cannily splices the Ramones’ Commando into Johnny Has Gone For A Soldier and culminates in a one-off cover of the Psychotic Youth number Surrender. There’s Beefheartian jaggedness on Little Speckled Egg, and Jersey City arises like a battered, scarred phoenix out of the ashes of a pounding Damned riff.
The majority of the songs on the electric set are Tim’s own compositions, effectively marrying tradition and punk sensibilities with a powerhouse charge that transcends any potential accusation of artifice; Brother Judson is no less than a modern-day disturbing-mad-ballad with some coruscating guitar work you might associate with early Who/Pete Townshend. Tim’s latest adaptation of the traditional Her Bright Smile Haunts Me Still charges ahead like a manic Byrds retread, yet losing nothing of its majesty, and Will The Circle Be Unbroken brings the Carter Family circle in even closer to our time – it’s rather like watching a treasured garment spinning round in a tumbledrier, almost but not quite convinced it will emerge unscathed and cleansed – while even the comparative repose (well, less frantic tempo) of Leave Your Light On embodies a sinister brooding power that’s oppressive and hard to shake off. Tame? – no way! Matchless, even after all these years? – you bet! So hey, How Can You Sleep?, indeed ? For this is (still) tremendous stuff – my advice is to play it massively loud, and sod the neighbours… and then even if that does your head in just go back and play it all thru again, it really is worth it. MORE PLEEEZE!!!!!
David Kidman January 2012
Andrew’s the guiding force behind the wonderful Waterbug label, which has for around two decades championed the work of contemporary folk singer-songwriters while keeping an eye firmly on the American tradition. His own songwriting talent alone has produced a consistently impressive series of half-a-dozen or so CDs; his most recent release, however, was Bound To Go, an uplifting revival-style album of traditional folk songs and spirituals which he recorded in company with a bunch of friends Homeground. Grapevine, Andrew’s impeccably honest tribute to the folk tradition that helped shape his life, is if anything an even more retro-style release – I guess I mean old-fashioned, tho’ in the nicest possible sense of the term! Cos it has very much of the character of one of those classic late-50s albums by Burl Ives or one of the other American revivalists of that era. It’s perfectly simply recorded: just Andrew and his crisply fingerpicked guitar – straight and direct, with absolutely no embellishments or studio effects. Here he takes a relaxed trip down memory lane to perform a clutch of (largely traditional) songs that he (like many of us) heard during his childhood and formative years but since have either been forgotten or having passed so far into common folk currency that they’ve become devalued in the process.
Andrew adopts a kind of chronological approach, beginning with three songs remembered from the cradle – I Gave My Love A Cherry (his mother’s favourite lullaby), The Fox and The Gartan Mother’s Lullaby – before moving on eclectically through Irish and American traditions (The Little Beggarman, O Susanna – the latter complete with restored fourth verse!), spirituals (O Mary Don’t You Weep), whaling ballads (We’ll Rant And We’ll Roar), shanties (Shenandoah), American heritage (I Ride An Old Paint) and icons (John Henry, Casey Jones), finally bringing in two songs from very different latter-day writing traditions (Charles O’Neill’s Foggy Dew and Colum Sands’ Buskers) before ending with the folksinger’s credo, How Can I Keep From Singing? Andrew’s singing style is most attractive: fulsome, committed and entirely affectionate, unyieldingly consistent yet uniformly pleasing: there are no expressive revelations, but that’s not the point when you’re communicating such repertoire I guess, and Andrew’s personable charm and luxurious, appealingly resonant timbre will win you over before you know it. In his liner notes Andrew lists his sources and reveals some interesting incidental facts at the same time; he admits to having “cross-stitched and reworked” some of the songs from out of oral tradition (in some cases reflecting recent historical research), but he always comes up with sensible and reliable new performing versions that give the songs a fresh new dimension on their present revisit.
An unaffected, charming release which nevertheless exudes a potent feel of communal ancestry, Grapevine is all the more refreshing for its total unpretentiousness.
David Kidman January 2012
Christy’s latest album is a collection of revisits of 11 songs from his back-catalogue, albeit in brand new state-of-the-art studio recordings. The songs run a typical gamut from nostalgia to poetry, tragedy to humour, with Christy and his seemingly-eternal collaborator Declan Sinnott in perpetual musical harmony.
Indeed, it all sounds exactly as you would expect, and that’s intending no criticism whatsoever. Every note, every nuance is perfectly judged, with Christy’s distinctive voice right at the forefront of the sound-picture while cradled lovingly by Declan’s ever-inventive guitar embellishments. Over and above these fundamentals, Declan has engineered further selective enhancements courtesy of Gerry O’Connor, Tim Edey, Neil Martin and (on the title song) the West Ocean String Quartet.
Christy’s ongoing reinterpretation of these songs, honed finely through continuous live performance, clearly pays dividends, not least due to factors such as hindsight and career maturity; in this instance particular gains are accrued with the more reflective slant now given to Farmer Michael Hayes (a classic from the Planxty days) and Kevin Littlewood’s thoughtful On Morecambe Bay, while the simple humour of My Little Honda 50 is all the more telling (in a Colum Sands kind of way) for its slight understatement in this new recording. The cautious beauty of Haiti (co-written with John Spillane) is all the more poignant here too, as is Paula Meehan’s lovely poetry on the title track, while Christy’s measured delivery on the tender Seamus Ennis tribute Easter Snow, the hymn-like album closer God Woman and the gentle ode to Ballydine is just perfect. Only the semi-whispered ribaldry of Weekend In Amsterdam, though fun, perhaps doesn’t quite bear repetition in the way the rest of the songs here do (this may well be due to its melody so closely resembling The Craic Was Ninety In The Isle Of Man!), although the new arrangement’s sprung rhythms are quite deliciously handled by Declan and Gerry.
It might be argued that the more casual admirer of Christy’s talent may not need a second or third rendition of these songs in his/her collection just yet. Nevertheless, Folk Tale, with all its new insights and richness of ambience, is extremely unlikely to disappoint Christy’s diehard fans, except perhaps in terms of its relative brevity (just 38 minutes of music).
David Kidman January 2012
Though his speciality is traditional Irish sean-nos singing, Iarla’s most probably best known as Afro Celt Sound System’s principal vocalist, and his previous two solo records (Invisible Fields and The Seven Steps Of Mercy) have seen him pushing the boundaries of what might most readily be termed tradition-influenced folktronica in pursuit of his continually developing personal vision.
Use of that particular tag often signals an all-purpose lazy, hazy new-agey approach, which here could not be farther from the truth as it turns out. For Foxlight further creatively develops this aspect, especially in terms of its loving attention to detail, its caressing vocal tones and its gentle, sensitively layered textures (here mostly courtesy of Leafcutter John), the careful restraint and judgement of which is a key reflection of the inspiration Iarla has gained from his recent work outside of Afro Celt SS (perhaps most relevant stylistically, the collaborative project with composer Gavin Bryars). Iarla’s singing is every bit as hypnotic as ever, at times so enviably effortless as to seem like it just emanates from the ether, often taking the line of a melody instrument that complements those within the accompanying texture. Individual timbres therein, such as Caoimhín Ó Raghallaigh’s plaintive hardanger fiddle and Leo Abrahams’ electric guitar treatments, greatly complement and enhance the soothing ambience generated by Iarla’s even-toned yet internally passionate vocal lines.
Iarla’s own compositions form the bulk of the album’s raw material, and the record is also noteworthy in that it showcases Iarla’s first song in English, Glistening Fields, which is both radio-friendly and possessing significant pop-crossover sensibility. In the early stages of the album, however serene and beautiful this effect may be, notably on Iarla’s keening setting of Fainne Geal An Lae, there’s a suspicion thereafter of too much of a good thing, which may simply be because it’s not really until track 7 (The Goat Song, with its playful Highland Laddie interjections) that the tempo is allowed to pick up and rise much above andante or adagio non troppo. This development is undoubtedly welcome by then, although it’s but a temporary shift in mood (culminating in the busier milieu and quite luxurious string staccatos of Hand In Hand); the final three tracks revert to a more subliminal, even dream-like state, with Imeacht, Seven Suns and Stay together forming an especially persuasive sequence that sets the seal on all that’s gone before.
What I do find more than mildly surprising – and this applies to the whole album – is that, more so than with Iarla’s earlier records, the overall impact of Foxlight is sometimes quite remote; it also varies more with my own mood than I would have expected, and on some occasions I’ve emerged from parts of the listening experience (particularly the first and middle stages of the album) curiously uninvolved. I was also surprised to discover that track 5 is a version of O’Carolan’s Eleanor Plunkett – Iarla’s is a creative reworking, to be sure, but one where I felt a touch ill at ease with the transformation and the loss of the familiar contours despite the feeling of timelessness and calm it invokes.
As a considerable bonus, though, the attractive packaging, with its booklet containing complete lyrics (albeit not all of the relevant translations), enables one to better appreciate the predominantly contemplative music within.
David Kidman January 2012
Montana-born though latterly based in Chicago, James is one of those singer-songwriters who’s been making high-quality music rather quietly for a number of years without coming to the attention of many folks outside of a circle of dedicated cognoscenti. I originally came across his better-than-pleasing joint album with Julianne Macarus (Out West Somewhere) in the very early days of the estimable Waterbug label, since which time I appear to have missed out on at least two further album releases bearing James’ name, for he’s only since crossed my path once, a couple of years ago, with his charismatic western-themed collection Calamity James, a review of which (due to the usual pressures of available time) never made it beyond draft form but which was nevertheless a most worthwhile and accommodating record.
As indeed is One, which also just happens to be a good example of a disc that makes an exponential leap in listener appreciation between first and second playthrough, with the result that by third or fourth acquaintance you’re mighty hooked by the best of the tracks and at the very least well charmed by the remainder. At just ten tracks and 34 minutes’ playing-time, One may be counted only a short disc (and more’s the pity), but there’s no stinting in quality, for James again presents us with a persuasive mix of highly-crafted self-penned jewels of songs and a couple of beautifully registered and succinctly leisurely guitar-instrumental tracks, the latter (each consisting of a pair of traditional tunes) conveying the spell cast by James’ childhood experience of listening to his grandfather (a fiddle player par excellence).
James’ original songs benefit from his distinctive singing voice – a powerfully deep, rich growl that allows for considerable expressive variety – and individual style of delivery. James’s world-vision embodies what might be described an understated, intimate version of the wider-screen panorama of life’s experiences, directly conveyed with a laudably wry kind of observation that’s couched in language of surprisingly moving poetry. Standout songs here include The Boy (a darkly enigmatic first-person narrative strategically placed at the heart of the disc), the simple yet poignantly life-affirming character study Poor But Honest and the aromatic reminiscence The Fragrance Of Cold Water; but James also provides attractive and thought-provoking moments on the philosophical title track and the art-history-referential I Am Here. Humour and contrast come in the shape of the slightly obvious morning-after assessment of One Too Many.
The musical settings are both characterful and complementary, James being ably supported by the keen playing of Julianne Macarus (violin, viola), Victor Sanders (guitar), Meg Thomas (percussion) and Jimmy Moore (bass). The only setting that doesn’t entirely convince, perhaps, is the quasi-Caribbean treatment bestowed on the tale of The Tyger. But by and large this is a very fine collection, one that really does provoke the question of why James is not more widely acclaimed by connoisseurs of contemporary singer-songwriting. And very helpfully too, lyrics are provided in the accompanying booklet to assist in your appreciation of James’s talent.
David Kidman January 2012
Hugh’s a hardened veteran of the underground songwriting movement, known for his wide-ranging, literate and often edgy work. Having chalked up close on a quarter of a century’s loyal service there, including spending half of that time as a professional musician, it might seem an unusual next-step to go to medical school, become a practising GP and raise a family – but that’s exactly what he’s gone and did (or should I say dad?!). But hey, that ain’t to be taken as a sign that his writing has gone all soft, cosy and kiddiefied – although there are inevitably concessions to the new status as proud father in the form of the thematic preoccupations of his latest CD. But what sets this project entirely apart from the yukky, mawkish child-friendly tosh you might expect is the genuinely insightful nature of Hugh’s writing and his abject refusal to patronise his listeners; he writes from an entirely natural angle, from true experience, and it shows. He captures the essence and immediacy of those precious moments of child-rearing, from the child’s arrival on this planet (Welcome To The World) and the ensuing hubbub of the birthing ward (NICU At Nite), to a tender and beautiful song of reassurance (Daddy’s Got You Now) and a pair of contrasting celebrations of sleep (Till The Morning and Sleep Sarah Sleep). There’s a rollicking New Orleans-style travel-song (Rock You), a boogie-woogie ode to coffee, and some innocent but aware child’s-eye views of new experiences (Daddy I’m Awake and Wonder Wonder Why), then a whole series of lullabies of varying tone (the charming Sail On Little Sailor, the thought-provoking Sad Hard Dream, the reverse-psychology of Cry Little Guy) and, closing the disc, a simple expression of the devoted parent’s feelings when apart from the child (My Little Boy’s Moon).
But charming though all these songs be, special standouts for me were Cradle Song (in which a couple finally, after 20 years, has a reason to fetch the cradle they made for all their siblings’ children) and the brief but poignant Visitation (concerning a dream in which Hugh’s mother appeared to him).
This whole sequence of exceedingly well-crafted, witty and affectionate little songs both celebrates Hugh’s new-found status and provides ready empathy for anyone who’s been there (or been close to someone who has). It’s all most appealingly sung, and the tasteful instrumental embellishments brilliantly complement the writing (special mention for Mark Dann, Mark Ettinger, Tim Carbone, Jessie Reagan Mann and some particularly lovely harmony vocal work from Kate Ettinger, Diane Chodkowski and Rod MacDonald).
David Kidman January 2012
One of two discs recently released to commemorate the 150th anniversary of the beginning of the American Civil War in April 1861, this issue concentrates rather more familiar (maybe too much so for some listeners) material than its companion Civil War Naval Songs (also reviewed on this site). Perhaps for that very reason, it also seems less satisfying in comparison – or that reaction might just be due to Tom’s straightforwardly old-fashioned performing style, which betrays the fact that this collection had originally appeared on LP (on the CMS label) back in 1973. In that respect alone, you could almost imagine this record coming out in the late-1950s, for Tom’s clear-voiced and entirely unpretentious approach is virtually timeless. Remember, Tom made his first recording of war songs in 1943, so he came to be regarded as a veteran of this repertoire by the time of his death in 2003; he also penned some iconic songs of the 60s folk revival such as Because All Men Are Brothers, so his credentials are pretty sound).
At the same time, though, this reissue sports not only Tom’s original and clear-sighted early-70s-vintage song notes but also a useful bibliography and a series of illuminating mini-essays by University Of Maryland professor Patrick Warfield dealing with important matters of historical perspective such as the songs’ background and sources, perception and reception (all of which monographs reflect the latterly greater level of available scholarship on which we are nowadays able to draw), together with thoughts on the relationship between Tom himself and the songs he here chose to sing. While it’s true that songs with a good tune and rousing lyrics such as these both mirrored and inspired the events of the American Civil War, telling tales of battle, slavery, emancipation, victory and defeat, they also serve as a timely reminder of the lessons that should be learnt from the impact of war and as a reflection on such matters.
Thus, the 25 songs included on this collection are remarkable for their sheer variety; there are songs written for the minstrel stage and subsequently borrowed for rallying or morale-boosting (Dixie, Wait For The Wagon and The Yellow Rose Of Texas), and songs written specially for the parlour (Just Before The Battle, Mother); some songs like The Battle Hymn Of The Republic borrow their melodies from religious hymns, while others (Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, Marching Through Georgia and Tenting On The Old Camp Ground) were newly composed by professional tunesmiths such as George Frederick Root, Henry Clay Work and Walter Kittredge.
Some songs actively lament the war, while others goad the listener into participating; some deliberately make light of it (Goober Peas and When Johnny Comes Marching Home) and others still poke fun and lampoon it, often quite unceremoniously and acerbically (Upidee, General Patterson). The Bonnie Blue Flag (composed by comedian Harry McCarthy) uses a melody borrowed from an old Irish tune, while the version of Cumberland Gap recorded here by Tom (composed to a traditional fiddle tune) uses a text that combines local familiarity with military victory by describing the Yankees’ humiliating September retreat to the Ohio River.
The songs’ astounding (and perhaps unexpected) variety – and all the fascinating accompanying scholarship in the presentation – could be regarded as the principal virtues of this record, rather than any specifically ear-opening insights or impressive performance values (not that Tom and his fellow performers, who include Eileen, Tom and Patty Gibney and Kemp Harris, are ever less than idiomatic, if perhaps a touch polite-sounding for today’s tastes). It’s still a valuable disc to have in your folklore collection nevertheless.
David Kidman January 2012
Seattle-based Rose is here following her superb 2008 release The Chicago Sessions with a record that's virtually-entirely a whole album of covers (I say virtually, since the title track of House Of Memory is an exceptional original composition by Rose herself that displays a sensitive and compassionate response to the suffering of an acquaintance from dementia). But even the prospect of an album-full of covers from Rose is a mouth-watering one, for Rose is the possessor of one of the most extraordinary singing voices on the scene: it's at once distinctively earthy and succulent, caressing the meanings of words with power and grace and a keen control of ornamentation and decoration that stays way to the right side of that line into fussiness. She lives and experiences the songs, and has clearly spent years getting to know them before committing herself to recorded interpretations (in her wonderfully honest liner-note she freely admits that some of the songs have taken her years to fully understand). Each individual song is caressed by Rose's voice, lovingly and intelligently and with a strong conviction as to exactly where she's taking its story and where she wishes to transport the listener in order to communicate its essence and meaning. Compelling is a well-worn adjective in some reviewers' vocabularies, but I'd only use it if I meant it - and I sure do in Rose's case, for every song she tackles is compelling in its freshness of delivery and execution. And hell, Rose even converted me to the charms of Somewhere Over The Rainbow, a song I've absolutely hated for years (and here she's also blessed with a gorgeous hammer dulcimer backing from Kat herself!).
Rose is also really fortunate in being able to call on such sympathetic accompanists as Kat Eggleston and Kate Macleod (the album's joint producers) to help her realise her artistic and emotional response to the songs. Other musicians and singers helping her out variously on this beautiful CD are Michael Kirkpatrick, John Dally, Jim Malcolm, Mark Graham, Kevin Almeida, Mike Saunders, Eric Yerlinde and Patrick Christie.
As a song-carrier in the truest sense, Rose proves equally adept at understanding, and then so carefully (and accurately) conveying the meaning of, traditional song, latter-day folk classic and contemporary composition alike. For a start, she gives us very fine, supremely thoughtful accounts of Across The Blue Mountains and Black Is The Colour, then a tender and genuine rendition of Burns' Red Red Rose and a playful Shady Grove. Two of the disc's highlights are left till last: a heartfelt, brilliantly harmonised acappella Angel Band and a glorious Broom Of The Cowdenknowes (the latter sporting a wonderful Scottish small pipes contribution from John Dally). Then, on the non-traditional items, Rose brings a new dusty passion to Woody Guthrie's Pastures Of Plenty and turns in strikingly attentive interpretations of songs as intrinsically different as Leonard Cohen's Suzanne and Kate Wolf's iconic Across The Great Divide (bravely done back-to-back here), while earlier on the disc having introduced me to Kate Macleod's inspirational New Homeland.
To paraphrase Rose's own liner-note-concluding observation, this song, like all those she performs here on this very special disc, is destined to weave and spin its way into the tapestry of one's own life. one's house of memory.
David Kidman November 2011
Comprising Ann Arbor born singer-songwriter Annie Gallup, New York writer/producer Peter Gallway and veteran session drummer Jerry Marotta, this is the trio's second album and comes highly recommended to anyone who likes spooked American folk and has The Cowboy Junkies, Robbie Robertson, T Bone Burnett and Daniel Lanois albums in their collection.
The three of them collaborate on the writing while Gallop and Gallway take care of guitars, lap steel, bass and keyboards between them as well as sharing the vocals, either individually or as duets. Gallop gets the first spotlight with August Sin, speaking the illicit lovers lyrics in a late night sultry femme fatale whisper over a smoky blues ambience, an approach repeated with them both narrating character parts in the hypnotic Getaway Car 's noir tale of stolen jewellery and double-crosses.
The first to feature actual singing, Gallway steps up to the front for the title track, another brooding tale from the shadows involving murder and a debt due while Gallop shows she can croon as seductively as she can speak with Mercury, a softly swaying song about desire, addiction and desperation that, with the line 'we are mercury on a dark river', more than confirms their prowess as writers.
Although He Did What He Wanted adopts a slightly angular jazzed shuffle with brushed drums and Jake & The Five Plaids is a sprightly a capella tale about a doo wop outfit, the general musical tenor is slow, brooding and soulful and, like Echo Echo where Gallop adopts the voice of a woman remembering her and her lover's last night in WWII London before he shipped off overseas, the literate songs more like short stories with musical scores.
Although there's not a weak track here, other stand outs would have to include What Hemingway Said about creative inspiration, Cigarette Girl where Gallway talks us into a late night bar as a guy steps out of the rain and is beguiled by the smile of the girl nobody else notices, and, set movingly in New York. September 2001, Leave Most Of It Out's elegy for half-finished songs and the emotional weight of what's left unsaid.
Another of the year's best albums and if Carl Franklin's ever looking for someone to write a screenplay and provide the songs for his film noir comeback, he knows who to call.
Mike Davies November 2011
An upcoming singer-songwriter from Toronto, Leger sings about smalltown life and characters in a nasal voice and style that largely alternates between Dylan (Truth Is all Around You, John Lewis) and John Prine (East Coast Queen, Dreamer, Pretender) with perhaps a blend of Jimmie Dale Gilmore and Ely (Wrong Kind of Girl) here and there.
Nothing wrong with that, even if his vocal delivery sometimes sails a little too close to a Bob tribute act, and these are strong, melodic acoustic folk-country songs with sharp observations. It's just that his lyrics can sometimes let him down as lines like the poignant Isabella's 'let's drink to Isabella in a room full of repairs covering the bruises and scratches from the wild and restless years. By the time those glasses reach our lips she'll be wondering why we're here' are are undermined by such doggerel as 'and I won't mind the cold on my nose if I have someone to keep me warm' from the title track.
However, when his writing's fully focused then he can turn out songs that will tear you up such as the moodily wrenching John Lewis with its mournful fiddle or make you want to and sing along like border cantina swayer The Wrong Kind of Girl. He's probably one more album away from reaching a wider audience, but he's certainly heading in the right direction.
Mike Davies November 2011
Australian singer-songwriter Carus is probably best known in the UK for his stints of opening for Seth Lakeman on tour – twice so far, with another set of dates coming up in mid-December this year. And to coincide with those appearances both Carus and Seth are releasing new albums – although for some inexplicable reason Seth's own album, Tales From The Barrelhouse, is not being made available at all for review (how dumb is that!), so I'm sorry but you'll not be able to read about it here.
But thankfully Carus' latest, Caravan, has been sent to us. It both consolidates and expands his œuvre on 13 new songs (well actually 12, for Imperfect Circle was penned instead jointly by Christian Thompson with Kim McDonald). Carus explains that these were all written very much "against the wall", in that the process of throwing himself hard into touring provided just the emotional pressure he needed in order to be creative. Even a songwriter of some 20 years' standing needs that impetus, but on the other hand a dozen years of constant touring inevitably drains the songwriter's soul and there's a palpable undercurrent of desperation that drives this latest batch of songs. The situation of an independent artist "peering off a cliff's edge" and wondering whether to have to return to the full-time day-job – well that's a familiar one to any artist, and Carus expresses this and other associated pitfalls of the lifestyle in introspective yet conversational language and terms with which we can all readily identify.
His stance is persuasive, and it's easy to appreciate the thoughtful nature of his world-view on songs like You Can't Find Me, while on the other side of the coin, and despite that desperation, the simple honest optimism of Beauty Is Your Way is attractive too. Not all of the songs are specifically personal in subject-matter, either: for example, Bright Star is a powerful tribute to the bravery and integrity of track athlete Peter Norman and Fifteen chronicles a police shooting of a boy of that age. It's a pity, then, that on some of the songs the poetry of Carus' lyrics is not entirely matched - and can even be undersold - by their comparatively plain settings (the opener Red Sky is one that arguably deserves a better melody, for instance).
As for the sound of the album, well it's mainly punchy contemporary-acoustic with distinct rock leanings, and this is reflected in Carus' use of his live touring bands from both continents; one of the lineup permutations spotlights the feisty violin of Seth himself, with brother Sean on electric guitar, and it's a shame that they don't appear more often (especially with the withdrawal symptoms we're now getting from not being able to hear Seth's own album!). The most interesting (and satisfying) tracks tend to be those with the more stripped-down settings – the string-backed Whistleblower, the reflective, world-weary Luke's Song (just Carus and his acoustic guitar) and the title song's gently tolerant odyssey. Production and mixing duties are handled by Carus' trusty long-time team of Greg Arnold and Brad Jones, and overall it's an appealing and consistent set that will sound good on radio too. Plenty of units will no doubt also be shifted on those upcoming tour dates…
David Kidman November 2011
I reviewed this outfit's debut record The Bastard Masterpiece back in autumn 2008. It was a really strange hybrid of edgy rap and traditional bluegrass styling, and, while undeniably captivating, it rather left me wondering how they'd be able to progress. Now here's the answer… and the jury's out here. As you'll recall, the band was configured by Greg Liszt (of Crooked Still and Springsteen's Seeger Sessions etc), who'd gathered around him three then-18-year-old bluegrass wunderkind prodigies (Josh Pinkham, Mike Barnett and Sam Grisman, David's son) to help him realise the project.
Three years on, Greg's still at the helm, but Josh has departed and been replaced by guitarist Stash Wyslouch and mandolinist Dominick Leslie; the band dynamic may not appear to have changed overmuch, nor the timbral components of the sound, but the approach is now less experimental rap and more what they term "epic folk and grasscore". Instead of having a lead singer now, they use what they call "a nonstop orchestration of somewhat unconventional vocals, with everybody in the band doing everything they can". With the result that, at least vocally, it sounds more of a mish-mash of ideas and methods, with an unpredictable, almost scattergun (even somewhat Zappa-esque) admixture of babble and squeak.
The more experimental and weird, the better things tend to come off it seems – Sadie receives a rushed, breathless semi-spoken vocal treatment with harmony interjections that are all over the place, and an accompaniment that's described as acoustic death metal: extraordinary by any standards! Police and Bullet In My Shoulder both marry a whiplash delivery of lyrics to a high-speed breakdown-cum-hoedown, while the rockabilly-freight-train promise of The Road Is Rocky and its excellent instrumental work is muted by an inconsistent vocal treatment; World Of Pain, however, is a limp and forgettable soul-gospel number, and the title song is a would-be folk anthem that never quite takes off. 99 Days is an example of the tendency to interpolate awkward group-shouted phrases into the song structure, a device which can become wearing on repetition, as on the "Gonzo folk" of Bad Habit Blues. Moonshiner sounds like something the Canadian Tanglefoot would've brought out on an early album, with rugged group vocalising over a suitably rootsy backing.
All in all, and even though the album feels more consistent on successive plays, there's a feeling that the band's overwhelming desire to shift their game plan has resulted in a more uncertain blend of alt-bluegrass and not-quite-sure-where-to-take-it folksiness. It'll still be worth catching them live when they tour the UK late-November.
David Kidman November 2011
A vehicle for London based singer-songwriter James Hibbins, the line up varies from solo to quartet depending on requirements but mostly works as a duo with multi-instrumentalist Bernard Hoskins. Resurfacing on disc after a seven year gap, here he's also joined by co-producer David Booth on percussion and keyboards with Nick Anderson sitting in on bass (and providing the gatefold sleeve photo) for the relatively uptempo spiky love song You Won't Know.
For the most part the template is acoustic guitar dominated English pastoral folk that will inevitably recall the early days of Fairport and Matthews Southern Comfort rather more than, as the press release suggests, Band on the Run era Wings and Elliott Smith.
The songs are a mix of self-penned and traditional, although he does also expand or rewrite the latter, case in point being the opening Rambling Boys, an old folk number which, set to the tune of The Maids of Mourne Shore, inspired Yeats' Down By The Sally Gardens, and to which Hibbins brings an extra verse.
Likewise Death & The Lady for which, lyrics taken from the 1959 edition of Penguin Book Of English Folk Songs, he provides a new tune while Spencer is an updating of Spencer The Rover with a new airy melody and a lyric that now talks of politicians' 'prittle prattling stories' and refers to 9/11 with only the final verse retaining anything from the original.
Best known for Sandy Denny's recording on Liege and Lief, there's many variants of Matty Groves, the Child Ballad tale of a nobleman's wife seducing her husband' servant, but this is the first time I've ever found it so formally titled as Matthew Groves. Hibbert keeps the violin part but gives the tune a slight blues flavour with Booth on harpsichord and drone.
The bulk of the original material forms the middle of the album, although he happily admits that North Country Town is 'reclaimed' from Dylan by changing the tune and the words he didn't lift from the traditional song. Another (ghost story?) love song, albeit one that takes a defiant stand against spinners of swindles, wagers of false war, and sirens of profit, Old Dust & Patchouli has a similar uplifting feel while, suggesting Ralph McTell could also be an influence, the title track is a tender snapshot of two lovers meeting in a bus station cafe'.
The slow waltzing Valentine's Day enlists jazz greats Ray Charles, Louis Armstrong, Miles Davis, Ella Fitgerald, Billie Holiday and Charlie Parker for a reminiscence of past love, the line about 'characters changed, dates rearranged all in the cause of a better punchline' a sly acknowledgement of the storyteller's art of not letting facts get in the way of a good yarn.
The album ends with another trad tune, a multi-tracked if somewhat unnecessarily echoey a capella reading of Irish lament The Parting Glass, a fine send off for an album that grows on you the more you listen. Hopefully, it won't be another seven years before the next.
Mike Davies November 2011
This duo is fast becoming hot property on the folk and roots scene, and it's easy to hear why. Phillip's an inordinately fine slide guitarist and harmonica virtuoso, while Hannah a singer-songwriter with an acute sense of tradition who also happens to be an accomplished fiddler and banjo player. Though best known latterly for supporting Show Of Hands (notably Steve Knightley on his Live In Somerset album), they've appeared at numerous festivals in their own right and on BBC Radio 3's Late Junction. Their philosophy (and the album title) is summarised in the liner-note: the act of singing the bones requires that the singer breathe his/her soul over the collected fragments of traditional song, and in doing so they "hope to sing the ghosts of the past into the present". Even so, only two of the items on the disc (Courting Is A Pleasure and Death And The Lady) are purely traditional in origin; these are treated with respect and blessed with innovative arrangements (although the latter's beatbox intervention takes a little getting used to).
The remainder of the songs, though self-penned, are clearly inspired by traditional sources and might easily be taken for such: the keening Lulle Me Behind Thee and the ballad Queen Gwendolen both have the requisite air of antiquity, while Three Witches (concerning the 1682 Bideford Witch Trials) and The Painter (the story of Hannah's grandma's father) show Hannah's penchant for historical narrative.
But it's arguably the musical settings that really grab one's attention and set the duo apart; Phillip's slide work is quite simply astounding: his inspired dobro playing brings a timeless, distinctly eastern feel (he also uses the chatturangui, a Hindustani slide guitar, on one song), which eerily well complements Hannah's backporch-infused banjo and fiddle. Hannah does the majority of the singing, exhibiting a clear determination and strong sense of purpose and an intermittent yet telling use of decoration (although the close recording renders her attack, and timbre, a touch abrasive on occasion). Phillip's star vocal turn comes on the bonus track, a captivating live recording of Dan Tyminski's The Boy That Wouldn't Hoe Corn. Hannah and Phillip also demonstrate the potential of their quirky instrumental blend on a handful of pleasing instrumentals (with percussionist Jon Sterckx in tow); Phillip's soulful alap-like solo dobro adaptation of O'Carolan's Separation Of Soul And Body is all too brief though.
This is a haunting and intimate CD, which should satisfy a predictedly insatiable demand for take-home product from Phillip and Hannah when they go on tour supporting Steve Knightley again early next year.
www.philliphenryandhannahmartin.co.uk
David Kidman November 2011
Follow ups to well received debuts are always a testing time for artists, but we reviewers often approach them with trepidation too, hoping they live up to the praise initially bestowed but nervous that the promise might have been short-lived and you find yourself having to confess disappointment.
Three years ago, I was rather taken by the now Vancouver-based Canadian's debut album, A Town Called Hell. And I'm pleased to be able to say her sophomore release doesn't let either of us down. The core recording were done on a portable studio in a hotel room in Rome by just herself and guitarist Francesco Forni, fleshing things out in Vancouver with piano, ukulele, bass and clavinet but still retaining the sparse, organic quality.
Reviewing her debut, I variously likened her voice to Emmyou, Gillian Welch and Buffy Sainte Marie, but this time round, while often double-tracked, it's only the Harris hints that are in evidence, Spence's slightly breathy, occasionally tremulous tones now very much her own.
As before, she includes one of her mother Barbara's songs, the jazzily languorous, dreamy - and if I'm being honest slightly twee - Good Morning Bird with Simon Kendall on piano and tasteful acoustic guitar break from Johannes Grames. Two of the other non-originals are her arrangements of traditional tunes, a brooding Wayfaring Stranger (the most Emmylou like of all) with Forni weaving dark electric and acoustic guitar patterns, and an aching a capella lament reading of I Never Will Marry with Spence multi-tracking the chorus.
The fourth cover is Nick Lowe's The Beast In Me which, while not quite as soul-scouring as Johnny Cash's version, is impressive nonetheless. The remaining five numbers are self-penned, all, to some extent, revolving round a melancholic theme of life in transit or transition. The title track opener's the prize bloom of the collection, its slow dancing front porch melody swaying along to piano backing with accordion and guitar accompaniment as she sings about sailors and sirens, ramblers and dreamers, all looking for something but blind to what's in front of them.
The simple pleasure of dropping by on a friend and sharing concerns is at the heart of the fingerpicked Tian Put The Tay On with its evocative line 'we've been spending too much time watching pantomimes we didn't buy a ticket for' and there's an equal feeling of warmth and yearning to end of the party You Can Sleep On My Floor where she recalls the loneliness of vintage Janis Ian while beautiful lullaby Safe And Warm uses images of turbulent weather to acknowledge the inevitability of mortality but steadfastly adds 'in the meantime we'll weather the storm'.
Going Down The Riverside closes the album on a different musical note with the jaunty wash my blues away old school Oh Brother era folk swing, complete with whistling solo, spoons and, in the album's only nod to percussion, a final crash of cymbals. It's the sort of upbeat confidence that assures you that album number three is nothing to worry about at all.
Mike Davies November 2011
Frontman with US Rails and one half of Parsons Thibaud, Germany based Parsons has also carved an extensive solo career. This, his first studio recording since 2008's Heavens Above, also marks his debut for his own newly formed label, having left Blue Rose (to which he's still signed in his other guises) to find an audience beyond their specialist Americana base.
He doesn't seem to be looking too hard through since, while you can hear elements of blues and gospel creeping in, there's no great stylistic difference between the songs here and those on the previous album or Falling before it. Not that I'd have it any other way.
Working with his touring band, Sven Hansen (drums), Freddi Lubitz (bass), and Ross Bellenoit (electric guitars) he recorded it live, with no overdubs, in his old hometown of Philadelphia, giving it an organic all the time in the world feel and allowing the musicians to improvise if the song's mood inspired them. Part written in Paris and part during winter in a small cabin on the North Sea coast of North Germany, his songs of love and loss, hope and despair, again fuse personal experience and storytelling.
He has a warm, distinctive and comforting baritone with a slight husky catch that does emotional ache exceptionally well and again reminds me of early Bruce Cockburn but also of Glen Campbell, Warren Zevon and the young Neil Diamond. At the end of the day, though, his voice is strong enough not to need comparisons.
He opens with Harbinger that provides the album title and which, as does the second track, Runway, counts the cost of relationships and a life lived between airports. Their relaxed, fluid grooves set the prevailing rhythmic tone, but the band rocks it up too. Cruel Hard World drives along on a melody that conjures Dire Straits, Spiritual has an urgent blues boogie lope with train whistle guitar wails and Design For Life's a brooding instrumental with electric guitar storms buried deep in the background behind the sparse percussion.
There's not a weak track here, though soulful slow dancing tender love song More with its swelling crescendo, the 50s border country flavoured Color Of Love (I could imagine Conway Twitty having done this), and the soft shuffling Float with its musical echoes of Fields of Gold (this album's Don Williams moment) are certainly among the strongest.
The two most striking numbers, however, are also the rockiest. A ringing acoustic guitar meeting between Springsteen, Diamond and The Hooters, Roman & Michael relates the true story of a gay couple who were early victims of the AIDS epidemic and which calls the government to account for its lack of commitment to finding a cure. And, Parson's speaking the lines like a cross between Johnny Cash and Tom Russell against a desert moan melody that sounds not unlike Money For Nothing, Broken Vows takes its lyric from an anonymous Gaelic poem translated by Irish dramatist and W.B. Yeats associate, Lady Gregory which James Joyce devotees will recognise as featured in John Huston's film version of The Dead.
I'm not sure this is going to find the wider audience he's seeking, but anyone with even the slightest interest in roots rock really should have a copy in their collection.
Mike Davies November 2011
Sounding like a narcotic cross between Margo Timmins and Marianne Faithful (Sister Morphine and Cupcakes perhaps?), O'Halloran was born in Northern Australia from where, age 14, she left her hippie commune home to hitchhike across the continent, her bohemian lifestyle taking her to Tasmania and on to New York where she recited poetry in Greenwich Village before finally settling in LA.
With all that travelling, it's hardly surprising her debut album has a languid, sleepy, unhurried feel, O' Halloran singing in hushed, yearning tones while the musicians (among them Daryl Johnson, Don Heffington and Doug Pettibone) pick out a mix of desert country, soul and blues.
Leaning on the shoulder of Knockin' On Heaven's Door, the late night sway of Kindness gets the album rolling, setting the prevalent musical mood and underscoring Dylan influences that make themselves plainly manifest with her cover of Billy from the Pat Garrett and Billy The Kid soundtrack.
At seven and a half minutes it's almost twice as long as the original and while much is down to the almost funereal pace she adopts, that's pretty much the running time norm with only the Hammond backed gospel country Gate Opener and a bluesily soulful Hallelujah clocking in at five minutes or under. Most tip the scales at over six minutes with the simple piano and organ accompanied Glory and Gunpowder drawing out her search for salvation narrative ("she never knew the difference between morning and a loaded gun") to eight and a half.
Not that there's any objection to spending so much time in her company, whether it's on the open heart country soul Crying When It Hurts, Free Man's unexpected muscularity with its distorted reverb guitar or the Neil Young meets Daniel Lanois desert landscape of Sorry.
Her submerged smoky baritone does sometimes make it hard to catch the lyrics and several are opaque when you do, however she spins some resonant tales about searching for love, whatever bruises it brings and, whether autobiographical or not, the pedal steel weeping Nashville hits hard when she sings about looking to " find me a Dave Rawlings like Gillian did" and winding up a double attempted suicide ("cut my wrists not once but twice") mistress to a guy who doesn't care.
It's probably not an album to listen to while operating machinery or driving a deserted highway at 3am in the morning, but, as the title suggests, it creates a sweet numbness.
Mike Davies November 2011
Rita's upbringing, in the mountains of Shasta County, Northern California, clearly informs her personal - and highly personable - brand of country-folk as much as the recording venue (Austin, Texas) for Burn, which is her fourth album; in this respect it's consistent with Come Sunrise, her third album, which impressed me when it appeared out of nowhere less than a couple of years ago.
Rita, who's just completed a UK tour supporting Michael Chapman, impresses pretty much immediately. First, she's a strong singer, with an enviable toughness and fiercely passionate delivery offsetting sometimes surprisingly delicate expression of desperation. There are times (as on Crash And Burn) when her tone and attack recalls Iris DeMent, at others (The Coyote) she comes across like a more forthright version of Gillian Welch.
Her vocal intensity mirrors that of the experiences she portrays in the album's eleven songs; all self-penned, these mostly tell of the soul of working America, through the eyes of a disillusioned shrimper (Ballad For The Gulf Of Mexico); a miner's daughter (When Miners Sang); a professional dishwasher (Dishes) - and so on. there's also the kinda-linked pair of songs that help vouch for the album's title: Crash And Burn is the tale of a barrel-racing woman whose guy's a demolition-derby fanatic, while My Demolition Man turns out to have more than a metaphor of his day-job for his personal life. And the album closes tellingly with an octogenarian's heartfelt plea for peace in the world (Song For Claire). Fine though these character portraits all are, however, one of the disc's standout numbers is its opening track, Something You Got, a tender love-song written by Rita for her husband Sean Feder (who plays dobro, banjo and percussion on the record). And towards the centre of the disc, another pair of highlights - the sinister, brooding pain of How Many Fires and the enigmatic Indian Giver.
For Burn, Rita's once again been lucky to be able to call on guitarist Rich Brotherton's production skills, as well as the reliable musicianship of Glenn Fukunaga (upright bass), along with, this time round, Andy Lentz (fiddle), Marty Muse (lap and pedal steel guitars) and Tom Van Schaik (drums); when the whole gang kicks in, it makes a mighty noise, getting positively incendiary when it bursts out of How Many Fires around midway thru in one of those moments you'll never forget. But talking of mighty noise, I could've done without the over-half-a-minute overkill of effects track introducing My Demolition Man, which rather spoils the atmosphere so carefully built in the songs and careful instrumentation.
That little misjudgement aside, Burn is a really excellent calling-card for Rita and her powerful musical personality.
David Kidman November 2011
The promo blurb flags up the engineer, the guy who mixed it and even the studio at which it was recorded. If those are the strongest promotional hooks (and the fact there's a Lucy Wainwright Roche cover), then you have to be a bit concerned.
However, I'm immediately drawn in by the twangy Ghost Riders style guitar opening bars of Hard Times and Pronsky's dusty vibrato as she sings about what could apply to both an economic or a relationship collapse. Day Of The Dead, again with rich twang and echoey drums, those lived in nasally vocals and a melody that recalls Neil Young's Hurricane, hits the spot. The Roche cover, Mercury News, is a catchy country chugger and I really like both the closing number, Good Life, an ambling under the stars slow dancer with a lyric that consists of just two lines, and Fragile World, with its jazz flavoured guitar and slight samba rhythm as she reflects on the trail of silent sadness left behind by two lovers.
Hailing from Brooklyn, her voice is jazz trained and her pop noir country has been praised for its literate wry lyrics. However, while I've not real criticisms of her often lovely lilting airy melodies or her singing, other stand outs would include Anything But Good and the Stevie Nicks-like Special, I have to say I find the reliance on some rather predictable and insistent rhyming couplets tends to detract from the pleasures. She's much better when she employs narrative rather than rhyme, but that shouldn't stop you from getting her in your sights.
Mike Davies March 2011
(Note: Touring January 2012)
I probably say this every time Kieran releases a new album, but his latest offering (his 19th studio album!) is invariably perfectly consistent in quality with all that's gone before in his long career: Kieran's singing voice is immediately recognisable, as are the distinctive traits of his personal expression and musical idiom. It's not an easy trick to pull off time and again when it could easily become so predictable, but Kieran always manages to ring the changes and keep the listener's interest even when exploring familiar themes in his songwriting.
This time round, the devil's even more in the detail, so to speak: for this set of brand new songs has a well-defined sound, contemporary acoustic with a strong electric contingent that enhances rather than swamps essential elements. As ever, Kieran is adept at surrounding himself with a crack backing crew – here headed by the amazing guitarist Jimmy Smith (playing both nylon-strung and electric models), with long-term collaborator percussionist Yogi Jockusch, with Percy Pursglove (double bass), Manfred Leuchter (accordion) and Marion Fleetwood (backing vocals) in tow.
The songs themselves radiate Kieran's typically assured demeanour, his solid, unflinching and yet supremely sensitive stance; inevitably there's still a hefty measure of anger and aggression (largely at the state of the world) that's to be worked through, and the opening pair of songs kinda gets it out of the system, by railing against the lack of viable alternatives (the title track) and an anthemic expression of our understandable lack of faith (God Has No Plan). Kieran so often voices one's own innermost feelings in language that's so simple we wonder why we've not written the songs ourselves, but it's Kieran's skill as a songwriter that makes something special out of these reactions, beliefs and experiences. This applies whether Kieran's examining political issues or helping us to come to terms with romance, relationships and "real life", and he's almost always able to derive a measure of comfort from adversity.
Several songs are air-punching homilies that make optimum use of devices such as repetition, staccato rhythms and smart rhymes to get their messages across. Then, on the other side of Kieran's songwriting coin, we find the powerful, world-weary rueful remembrances of October Moon and New Year's Day and the tender entreaties of Year After Year. It's All Up To You is another confidence-builder much in the vein of (I May Not Have) All The Answers, contrasting with the helpless acceptance of an unexplainable turnround situation that produces a Persona Non Grata. Finally, the enigmatic pairing of Long Lost Friends (distant cousin of that Angel Of Paradise?) with an uncredited hidden bonus track closes the disc stylishly.
Yes, sometimes it can feel like it's always Closing Time In Paradise, and there are still occasions where a series of thoughts and ideas is left hanging in the ether after two verses and (you feel) might usefully be developed more, but invariably Kieran's songs still make you think and leave you thinking, which is never a bad thing. Long may Kieran keep coming up with provocative new songs to make you think again and over again.
David Kidman November 2011
Bag Of Rats is a five-piece folk-rock band based in the Somerset/Dorset area, who released this, their second album, back in April – but it took a while to percolate up to this part of the country! I'd been meaning to investigate the band since hearing of their deliciously punningly titled debut (Abbey Rodent!) – but somehow I never managed to get sent a copy, so I can't comment on how much Ever After Nothing represents a development from that debut. But taken on its own terms, it's a disc with lots to offer, and on this evidence Bag Of Rats is a band seriously worth getting to know. Formed back in 2005, BoR released the abovementioned debut CD in 2007, then proceeded to enthral festival crowds from Glastonbury to Priddy for four summer seasons before re-launching the verminous ship with this proud new album in April, in good time for this year's round of bookings.
It's no bad thing, but I get the feeling at times that the guys are trying hard to be an aural representation of the mean'n'dirty scrapyard cats posing on the inner sleeve – sorta MTCH or Oysterband image-wise – and sure their music has plenty of thrust, attitude and confidence, altho' with some unexpectedly light touches along the way too. The sound they make is a brilliantly full-toned plugged-in-acoustic racket (I use that word as a definite compliment!), with the feisty rockin' melodeon of Mary Gilmour well to the forefront, further boosting principal vocalist Mike Hall's alternately string-busting and deliquescent guitar or mandola with an intelligent rhythm section (Ian Olliver's strongly characterised, often bowed double bass and John Archer's jumping, teeming percussion), all of these elements wildly embellished and keenly interwoven with Simon Hester's "cider-fuelled" madcap, distinctively psychedelic violin (which, creatively, is played through guitar effects boxes) while John will occasionally cast his diabolic darabuka aside to contribute jazzy flute or wailing whistle or harmonica lines. A truly joyous racket then, typified by the opening ragbag (or should that be ratbag?!) medley on which a tune of Mary's (Badger In The Bread Oven) is sandwiched between two trad-arr tunes (Spancil Hill and Major Malley's).
The album's tour-de-force (and for me, its most persuasive highpoint) is The Rooky Wood, a workout-cum-mini-extravaganza that entwines itself out of a stormalongly-different version of Richard Thompson's Poor Ditching Boy. There's also a suitably power-punching retread of The Begging Song, and a full-on-oi in-yer-face rendition of Billy Bragg's There Is Power In A Union. Mike's own compositions (mostly songs, along with a couple of instrumentals) comprise around half of the disc's items, and some of these, while employing a more powered-down musical arrangement of the "thoughtful contemporary acoustic" variety and providing a contrast with the band's rowdier escapades, somehow don't quite fit with the image or make the same kind of lasting impression on the senses. Those which do best stick in the mind, perhaps, are the title track and In Your Dreams, which inhabit a kinda ethereal, enigmatically referential psych-folk milieu that's complemented by their tumbling, swooning instrumental backdrop, while elsewhere Zombie Song is well described by a phrase in the band's press handout: "toe-tappingly dark and cheerfully melancholic".
If I'm brutally honest, the covers (Hank Williams' Lonesome Whistle, Creedence's Have You Ever Seen The Rain?) let the side down a tad, and one or two of the other songs don't quite cut it in the context of the aforementioned highlights (maybe their only crime is being guilty of lowering the temperature too much), but still, let's make no mistake – Bag Of Rats at their most imaginative and storming are a band not just to watch but to keep your ears fixed firmly upon. Hell, they almost live up to the ultra-purple prose of their press handout!
David Kidman November 2011
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