A to Z Album and Gig Reviews
Amy Wadge - No Sudden Moves (Manhaton)
The Carole King and Indigo Girl references remain strong on numbers like Free Fall, Always and the stand out Pulling Me In while Fairweather Friend and the title track suggest Sheryl Crow's mellower moods and Here In My Hands even has a touch of Bonnie Tyler about her husky delivery.
A poetic lyricist, the songs too have grown in stature. The material on Woj was solid, but she's moved to a new level with things like the jazzy flavoured easy rolling Always, the emotionally drained Shattered, Play It Again's poignant farewell to a late friend and the Brill Building airiness of the other man's grass themed USA, We'll Wait & See , the Welsh version of which reached No 9 in the native charts. Indeed, it says much that her wistful piano interpretation of the Manics' Design For Life slots in seamlessly among her original material. It may take some concerted gigging and a leg up from Radio 2 airplay to crack the territories beyond the land of song, but as the album suggests, she's in no hurry and her time is definitely approaching.
Mike Davies, May 2006
There was once a rumour that the Avon by birth Welsh by adoption singer-songwriter was going to replace Cerys in Catatonia. The truth is that their rhythm section joined her. Wise move. Pronounced as per the album title, Wadge, winner of the Best Female Singer Welsh Music Award for the second year running, has been frequently compared to Joni Mitchell, one of her prime inspirations, but perhaps more accurate reference points would be Janis Ian (Anywhere, written for her late father-in-law), Carole King (Nothing) , Aimee Mann (Scream) and Thea Gilmore (Just In Time), or maybe even the Indigo Girls.
Partly new recordings of material from her DIY demo album Open, it's a mix of gentle acoustic folksy pop and more rock inflected material like the slow ringing swagger of Valley Boy (about her actor hubbie) or Six of One where Robbie McIntosh lets his guitar off the leash. Her voice too runs the gamut from breathy wisps of smoke (Grace) to gutsier blood (Breathe), playful on things like the jaunty Paris with its cafe accordion, wistfully tender on the piano ballad June, and on Adre' nol, a valentine to her chosen homeland, even partly sung in Welsh. Croeso y Woj.
Mike Davies
Born in 1929, John Dee Holeman is an original bluesman and here he teams up with the young Australian folk/rock band The Waifs for a surreal session that resulted in this gem of an album. They open with a straightforward version of the country blues classic, John Henry and follow it up with the electric blues of Country Gal. This is delivered at a pedestrian pace but the delta/Chicago hybrid is the real deal. Mojo Hand is another, no messing electric blues and the band gives it to us, warts and all. This is a rough diamond with a live feel to it. The strangely titled Give Me Back My Wig gives the harmonica player, Vikki Thorn, a chance to step out of the shadows and she does excel on this rustic offering. I'm A Pilgrim is acoustic, traditional and fantastic.
The tracks keep on coming and Coming Home To You is a classic blues. The first slight disappointment is Elmore James' Dust My Broom. I've been brought up on powerful versions of this song and Holman's just doesn't do it for me. Next up is Little Queenie but I could swear that I was listening to Reelin' and Rockin' – someone has got his Chuck Berry tunes mixed up! This shows how wide reaching Chuck Berry's influence is. They return to electric delta style blues for I Miss You Huggin' and they turn in an unpolished performance that demonstrates how sweet music can be. Looking Yonder Comin' is country acoustic blues and harks back to days gone by. If there is a style to pin to Holeman then this is it. They finish with the classic Baby, Please Don't Go - often covered, few better.
David Blue October 2007
The Waifs - Up All Night (Jarrah)
The latest Americana outfit to emerge from Australia (their 'strine accents proudly undisguised), founded by singer-songwriter guitarist sisters Donna and Vicki Simpson and Josh Cunningham the Waifs have actually been going since 1992 and were the first Oz band to play the Newport Folk Festival, but it's only now they're starting to stretch the horizons beyond their native shores. Partly recorded in LA, this, their fourth album, pretty much describes where they're at with its acoustic bluesy folk-pop, or as Donna puts it on the opening Fisherman's Daughter, "just your regular West Australian fisherman's daughter .. a middle class folk singing guitar playing girl."
A collection of written on the road songs, stained by the dust, warmed by the sun and cooled by night under open skies - on Highway One they even sing about eating fish from a coal fire and sleeping outside - it's unfussy but accomplished stuff, the sisters twangy soulful vocals clearly having spent some time soaking in the glow of Nashville (listen to Three Down) but without feeling the need to actually pretend they were born there.
Recent single London Still (curiously evocative of the late Kirsty MacColl) where, to the accompaniment of lonely dobro. they talk about wandering round Camden and buying old Motown records will undoubtedly strike a chord with Aussie ex-pats, but you don't have to come from the land Down Under to appreciate the sentiments that vein something like the aching barroom ballad Nothing New where Vicky writes of the 'embittered heart' of a woman burned by love or the 'you don't know me' notes of Cunningham's funky bluesy Flesh And Blood. Cunningham actually makes his vocal debut on this album, taking lead on two tracks, the semi-spoken don't get out much these days Since I've Been Around, which suggests he's a bit of a Dylan fan, and the closing weary heavy-lidded six minute title track that surely owes a nod to Tom Waits. They're both fair enough numbers, but if the band are going take on the world then it's clearly the sisters who'll be out there leading the assault.
Mike Davies
Aptly named indeed, this new release from Canada's Jennys (and only their second!) positively sparks, bristles and fizzes with an explosive vitality that takes their home-grown down-home rusticity onto a higher plane while letting the glow it creates linger long in the memory. It's less contemporary in overall sensibility than their debut 40 Days, with an altogether more pronounced roots-Americana feel yet retaining the girls' penchant for lush and well-coordinated vocal harmonies within tightly controlled musical grooves.
The lineup change since 40 Days has if anything crystallised the trio's approach even more, with a striking new degree of cohesion that their debut at times only hinted at, which is still perhaps more than mildly surprising given the three girls' distinct musical personalities. New member Annabelle Chvostek (Cara Luft's replacement) has already more than proved herself over on two successive UK tours, and here she shows herself to be an integral part of the Jennys' unique mix, contributing a depth of register that really complements the soprano voices of the other two Jennys. She's contributed four of the album's 13 compositions (including the title track), as have both Ruth (Moody) and Nicky (Mehta), the remaining cut being a drop-dead-gorgeous acapella rendition of the traditional Long Time Traveller. Annabelle and Nicky have both contributed songs that inhabit the more pure bluegrassy idiom: of Annabelle's, Swallow is a delicate country-waltz, while The Devil's Paintbrush Road ushers in a rush of fresh air like a breakneck Appalachian breakdown. Of the other songs, Nicky's Starlight and Ruth's This Heart Of Mine definitely have the feel of lost Alison Krauss (or Emmylou) classics. As is often the case, the sweet, heart-stoppingly beautiful sound of the girls' combined voices belies any dark content in the lyrics yet sometimes only serves to make the pain of that expressed beauty more intense (check out the desperation Ruth evokes in Prairie Town for starters). There's no harm in optimism however, as Nicky's romantic-pop opus Begin and Annabelle's Apocalypse Lullaby thoughtfully remind us. And there's a gently anthemic nature to Avila and the seriously gospelly Glory Bound (the latter a real killer that stopped me getting as far as track 3 for ages!).
As I've already more than hinted, all three Jennys are in superb voice here, and the Jennys' own (possibly undersold) instrumental talents are capably augmented by four guitarists including Kevin Breit and Mike Hardwick, four bass players including Joe Phillips, as well as drummer Christian Dugas, while Richard Moody (violin, viola) and album producer David Travers-Smith (trumpet, organ etc) widen the palette still further. There are some fine solos too (notably from Kevin on Prairie Town and Avila), but none of the musicians get to hog the spotlight to the exclusion of either the Jennys or their songs. And the recording is exceptional, admirably lucid and with buckets of presence. Without wishing to be disparaging, it's almost that the Jennys are what the Dixie Chicks had sort-of-promised to be; their degree of natural talent is just mind-blowing, and I get to wonder just how long they'll be able to continue producing brilliant albums like this. But for the time being, this is one of those totally exquisite CDs that I'll be returning to again and again, I just know it!
David Kidman
The Wailin' Jennys - 40 Days (Red House)
Well let's lay something to rest for starters – these lasses don't wail, and none of 'em's called Jenny! And I've been playing this CD for more than 40 days now and I've not got tired of it! It's stupendous! Why? I'll try to put some words together… Three quite different singer-songwriters performing together does not necessarily a consistent, or even listenable, group or album make, yet the Wailin' Jennys prove the exception to the rule with 40 Days. Although each writer contributes three songs to the album, the whole doesn't ever feel just like a stitching-together of disparate styles of writing, for the performances of these (and the two traditional songs and two covers herein) have a satisfying unity in attitude allied to a real musicality of approach. It says much for the latter that the non-originals don't stand out like sore thumbs from the rest of the material.
Back to the individuals concerned – all three hail from Canada, but confusingly, there's been a lineup change since this album was recorded; original members Ruth Moody and Nicky Mehta remain, but Cara Luft has since been left the group, to be replaced by Annabelle Chvostek. Ironically (and lamentably), I know next to nothing about Nicky or Ruth, just that they're both Canadian roots music award winners, but Cara – well, I was knocked out by her 2000 CD Tempting The Storm, which I came across only last year (and reviewed here on NetRhythms, of course!). She's an intense presence both vocally and instrumentally, but in the WJs environment she doesn't dominate proceedings, preferring to go with understatement for effect. Having said that, the intense rhythmic impetus and driving (almost Zeppelinesque) momentum that's her trademark comes across in full on cuts like her own Come All You Sailors especially. The three lasses also bring in a select few other musicians (including Richard Moody, Mark Mariash and Andrew Downing) to help flesh out the sound a bit on occasion.
So, back to the special qualities of this album as a whole then – just get the opener One Voice playing, and prepare to be mesmerised, charmed, intrigued, captivated, completely hooked as the deceptively simple voice-and-guitar grows in tandem with the lyric to embrace two more voices in gorgeous harmony, a mandolin and a bass providing gentle instrumental counterpoint. The WJs' take on Saucy Sailor speeds along at a rate of knots at first yet loses nothing in poignancy of effect by the time a racing bodhrán is added to the mix in the second half. Nicky's drifting, tripping meditation Arlington complements its dreamily gorgeous melody line with rippling guitars and lush harmonies, with a coup-de-théâtre provided by the introduction of viola into the mix. Ruth's Beautiful Dawn is closer to alt-country, the harmonies boosted by dobro, harmonica and percussion. Cara's Untitled is a standout, its strangely detached lyric set off by a pulsing, throbbing riff and choppy viola with some other decidedly weird instrumental effects and scratches. Nicky's This Is Where brings in organ chords and some shimmering and sensitive electric guitar playing to offset those vocal harmonies (which remind me a bit of the Roches without the more blatant discords).
And that only takes us up to the halfway point of the CD, I haven't time to dissect the rest, I'll just advise you to get out and buy this amazing CD. OK, it's probably not one for the traddies, but I'm sure even traddies' hearts would melt if you play them the WJs' acapella rendition of The Parting Glass that closes the CD with the simple sound of unadorned voices in serene and controlled, intelligent yet luscious harmony. The CD's rainbow packaging aptly reflects the kaleidoscope of vocal and instrumental colours within, insistent yet strikingly beautiful.
David Kidman
Tho' the album's subtitle is "music from and inspired by Knocked Up", Strange Weirdos turns out to be more like a brand new Loudon Wainwright album (and a classic one at that), and certainly far more substantial than just another film soundtrack disc. Sure, the movie's a comedy, and sure the songs reflect and point the narrative strand, but that's as far as we need go, since Loudon himself seems to have been genuinely inspired by the act of collaborating with writer/director Judd Apatow and producer Joe Henry on the soundtrack music, producing work that transcends the usual "occasional" and merely incidental demands of the movie discipline. (And by the way, Loudon actually appears in the film too, in the role of a gynæcologist!)
Back to the music, though: there are some especially fine and thought-provoking new LW songs here, from the perfectly-observed Valley Morning and Grey In LA vignettes to a couple of outstanding, if disturbingly caustic takes on romance (Final Frontier and Lullaby), a poignant reflection on loneliness and normality (that's the title song) and the ostensibly tongue-in-cheek (but deeply serious) reflection on ageing, Doin' The Math - all of these adding up (sic!) to a pretty special set that has a credible existence outside of the purely filmic context. Loudon also turns in a brace of darned fine covers (Peter Blegvad's Daughter and Mose Allison's Feel So Good). And the musicianship of Loudon's backing band (dubbed by Joe Henry his "Wrecking Crew"!) is fabulous, with the presence of special guests Richard Thompson (on splendid form playing electric guitar on no less than three songs) and Van Dyke Parks representing more than just icing on the cake. Even the two instrumental cuts (both Joe Henry compositions) don't exactly seem pure makeweights: Naomi is a restful, weaving steel-led interlude and Ypsilanti a gently dreamy guitar idyll. But both vocally and in terms of the deeper power of his writing, Loudon's never sounded better in my opinion.
David Kidman July 2007
Loudon Wainwright III - T-Shirt/Final Exam (Evangeline)
Way back in the mid-70s, Loudon released a couple of albums on the Arista label that for some unknown reason were a devil to get hold of; I never even had copies at the time, so I'm real pleased to see that Evangeline have the good sense to make them available again. OK, so there are one or two marginally less than comfortable moments on both albums (and a couple of instances of gratuitous sound-effects), but what strikes me most hearing these albums some 30 years after they were made is the extraordinary sharpness of Loudon's vision, both in the lyrics (naturally) and in the musical settings too.
T-Shirt was originally unleashed on an indifferent world in 1976, and it really does run eclectic rings round most of what was happening in music in that year. Down-home old-time, country, Dixieland jazz, lounge, blues-boogie, strident politico-rock, songwriter-musings - they're all here, and Loudon shows a real gift for tailoring his musical accompaniments impeccably to the subject-matter, the milieu of the tales and the inimitable bite of his social commentaries. There's the Guthrie/Dylanesque Talking Big Apple 75, the edgy rollin' of California Prison Blues, the histrionic rock angst of Prince Hal's Dirge, the tacky drink-sodden barroom honky-tonk of Wine With Dinner... masterful each and every one. Moreover, the more philosophical of the songs (eg Reciprocity and Just Like President Thieu) are every bit as impressive as the deliberately satirical offerings and even the overt "novelty cuts" don't tend to grate. Backing musicians mostly comprise "house band" Slowtrain, who play way better than just fine throughout (as they do on Final Exam too by the way), with the wacky Holy Modal Rounder Peter Stampfel on Wine, and two of the Roches make an appearance as well (on Summer's Almost Over). While casually and almost incidentally, Loudon demonstrates his unsung prowess on the humble banjo (on Hollywood Hopeful (duetting with Eric Weissberg here, no less).
Generally speaking, with T-Shirt folks didn't know what'd hit 'em, and sales of the LP were as muted as the critical reception. So, as the insistent farting washboard fades away at the end of the Wine reprise, the call of destiny leads us now inexorably to reappraise Final Exam. That album followed in 1978, and after the ignominious reception given to T-Shirt perhaps great things couldn't be expected in terms of commercial success. But although it's evidently cut from the same cloth so to speak, if anything the compositions therein display a greater assurance and defiance, a determination to realise a vision of life that's proud and uncompromising and above all to force folks to think (in the best traditions of political folksong, but of course it wasn't termed such at the time). And there's some splendidly quirky contributions from those Roches again (on Golfin' Blues and The Heckler) and the touching Pretty Little Martha gives Loudon a chance to dust off that ol' backporch banjo again. So I'd say snap up these albums now, before they disappear again from the catalogue. For here's Loudon the iconoclast, in all his splendour, and these two albums are essential to the picture of the man and the artist.
www.evangeline.com
www.loudonwainwright.com
David Kidman June 2007
Now nearly 60, Loudon Wainwright III has been at the very heart of American culture for the best part of four decades.
Since 1968 he has been writing, recording, touring, making films and TV. He has appeared in movies by Tim Burton and Cameron Crowe as well as a cameo as a singing surgeon on MASH. Even his 'side' projects reek of class. But that's not all, two of his children, Rufus and Martha, are acclaimed musicians, talk about the Midas touch.
But he was born to be a singer/songwriter and, even at this stage of his a career, Here Come The Choppers is full of the unfettered enthusiasm of a man doing what he loves.
With Bill Frisell, Greg Leisz, Dave Piltch and Jim Keltner in tow the album was recorded with almost unseemly haste over four days. But what that's done is keep everything fresh, the weariness of familiarity hasn't had time to dim the fire.
Wainwright as a writer is incisive and acerbic, the title track was written at the start of the Iraq war and it typifies the man, thoughtful and intelligent. Instead of just protesting he aims and succeeds to stir debate. The subjects on Here Come The Choppers are obviously things he cares about but they are also written for the people who want their music to be thought provoking.
But he is a performer and My Biggest Fan provokes nothing other than a broad grin. How can you not smile at the line: 'My fan is so large he's an entourage'.
Music may no longer have ambitions to change things but while musicians like Loudon Wainwright III are around it can still rumble things up.
Michael Mee
Back on his songwriter's psychiatrist's couch for another bout of autobiographical musings and hang ups after taking time out for Social Studies' topical observations. Wry humour and poignant sadness remain his key notes rather than the self-flagellation practised the PMT generation who seem to have hijacked the confessional songbooth in recent years. Although the most striking song is Surviving Twin, in which he recounts his lifelong sense of competing with his dead father, it's the death of his mother in that provides the broken heart of the thirteen songs, most potently in the moving Homeless and the affectionate memoir that is White Winos.
Being orphaned at 54, estranged from his siblings, his own children long having fled the nest, not surprisingly prompts a whole set of ruminations. Growing old (Graveyard), the fears of being forgotten (Fresh Fossils), growing apart (Donations) and spending our last years on our own (the litany of loneliness that is Living Alone). Lyrically, he's as sharp as ever, a skill with words (unencumbered by over arrangements) that elevates the songs beyond self-pity and brings a universality to the feelings and such observations as those uncomfortable silences on the phone. There's a little of Loudon Wainwright in all of us, and a whole lot of all of us of a certain age in these songs.
Mike Davies
You'll already know about her recent EP and its vitriolic title track Bloody Mother F***ing A**hole, a payback ditty dedicated to dad Loudon for his less than paternal attention as a child, and it's on the fire spitting tracks like that, sexual politics belter Ball & Chain and G.P.T that the power of her voice and anger really rises.
But it's arguably the smokier side that serves her best, offsetting the acid edge of her lyrics with musical honeyed charm as, for example, on Far Away that sounds like a cross between The Carpenters and Across The Universe, Factory's bruised cry of displacement, the domestic tedium and relationship stagnation of This Life or the regret-veined These Flowers. She's blessed with an emotionally acrobatic voice, cracking with a choke, leaping with hope and aching with a forlorn lack of self-worth and defensiveness that, understandably given her childhood, informs many of the songs here, most notably TV Show and the warbling sweet jazzy blues Who Was I Kidding?
It may have been gestating and stewing in her blood and soul ever since she was a young girl but, deliciously topped by the circling melody of lurching waltz The Maker where brother Rufus adds accompaniment and Whither Must I Wander's reflection on mortality with its plaintive harp and piano hymnal setting, this is an album to build a life on.
Mike Davies
When he sings 'do I disappoint you in just being human' on the discordantly orchestrated Do I Disappoint You, or spits out ''tell me, do you really think you go to hell for having loved?' and 'I'm so tired of you, America' on the wearied Going To A Town, it's obvious Rufus is having a bit of a righteous strop. He's also prone to bouts of romantic insecurity and bitchy need with Slideshow both asking 'do I love you because you treat me so indifferently' and snapping ' I better be prominently featured in your next slideshow because I paid a lot of money to get you over here'.
Waspish, a bit of a queen and revelling in tortured, diva angst, it's a jot to have him back with this, his first self-produced album. Gloriously cabaret in mood, still infused with the spirit of Judy Garland, summoning images of staring out at rainy afternoons from the Brill buildings windows and dreaming of European boulevards, sly gigolos and cafes selling absinthe. Indeed, he's even got a lovely languid little number here called Tiergarden (the album was recorded in Berlin, his new home), while sleeve photos have him posing (in both senses) in lederhosen.
Sex clearly charges his creative batteries, affording both the tender on the violin jittered Brel inspired operatic Tulsa (dedicated to The Killers' Brandon Flowers) with its wonderful line 'you taste like potato chips in the morning', and the magnificently lust soaked, funky rocking glittering pop that is Between My Legs where he sings 'dancing without you, I shed a tear between my legs' and Sian Phillips turns up to provide a voice over finale.
With myriad guests that include sister Martha, mom Kate McGarrigle, Larry Mullins, the Thompsons Richard and Teddy, exec producer Neil Tennant, and Joan Wasser, it's another fabulous excursion into elegantly jaded languor. Illuminated by twinkling cerise fairylights and the reflections of a slightly rusted glitter ball, they shimmer across the acoustic guitar kissed swirling unconsummated desires of Sanssouci 'gambling the tiny shards of brass once my heart' and the studied ennui protestations of Not Ready To Love, indolently waltzing through the full blooded, doo wop and brassed up belting show finale title track farewell to a faded Hollywood. 'I'm tired of writing elegies to boredom,' he sings. But we're far from tired of listening to them. Pull up a cocktail and swoon.
Mike Davies June 2007
Here's another CD that's been wearing a big big hole through the "must get reviewed" pile for a couple of months, yet has obstinately refused to drag a conclusion out of my addled brain. But notice of the forthcoming re-screening of the BBC documentary has galvanised me into action.
It really is proving hard to meaningfully assess Rufus, at least at first. I'd known for a time that he was someone to watch/listen out for, his name had been touted round ever since well before the appearance of Want One, I'd never got round to hearing any of his music and my requests for review copies of his CDs fell on deaf ears at the promo companies. Success in finally obtaining a copy of Want Two, however, had persuaded me that I will after all need to backtrack to previous albums to make complete sense of Rufus' talent.
With such a talent, the big problem for a reviewer is how to cut through the hype and "explicit content" warnings and catch a valid reference point - for Rufus may be the son of a celebrity singer-songwriter, and claim to be one himself, but he produces music like no other singer-songwriter, and it's music that positively demands attention. Any s/s CD that starts off with a pseudo-classical, richly-clothed six-minute setting of the Agnus Dei (and it's brilliant, by the way!) is, you'll say, either plain unorthodox, seriously maverick or just plain twisted; and you'll have a good point there.
Want Two is almost too much to take in, an extraordinary mixture of heady piano-backed ballads (The Art Teacher), brooding and thoughtful lazy-lounge (Peach Trees), seemingly workaday, breezy adult-oriented rock (The One You Love), smalltown backporch folksiness (Hometown Waltz), pomp-rock (Old Whore's Diet), moody alt-rock, and wilful yet believable full-scale pastiches of anything from French chanson, through to Brandenburg-baroque (Little Sister), "Egyptian reggae" (Old Whore's Diet again) and glittering Broadway-style orchestration-production numbers (Memphis Skyline). Its simultaneous smoothness and swaggering assurance can be distinctly unsettling, even though it largely stays on the right side of the dangerously thin line leading to overkill. It can easily seem sickly, like a luxury chocolate, and too fulsome and almost too good to have to (or want to, geddit?!) devour in one sitting. Quite an aural mouthful, in fact. But make no mistake, it's a genuinely thrill-a-minute album.
Rufus is a hell of a lyricist; he's capable of both a surprisingly sensitive approach to detail (This Love Affair) and an imaginative approach to using deliberately provocative imagery (Gay Messiah). And what leaps out of the speakers straightaway is that the man's got a hell of a singing voice. A voice which is supremely strong, with an immediately identifiable timbre and approach to phrasing, sometimes just a little affectedly histrionic some might say but undeniably full of character. At the risk of appearing mildly sacrilegious, I was sometimes reminded of Freddie Mercury's posturing, but in a positive way. Perhaps the very impassioned nature of that voice doesn't quite gel with the idiom of every song he essays (Coeur De Parisienne sounds distinctly overwrought), but by and large it's an extremely effective vehicle for the expression of his lyrics. The occasional mismatch, where Rufus almost seems to be trying too hard to convince, is brought home by the pair of live tracks at the end of the CD; both sung in French, they tellingly contrast each other, in that Rufus uses his own piano accompaniment on the first (Coeur De Parisienne), whereas on the second (Quand Vous Mourez De Nos Amours) the altogether gentler playing style of his mother (Kate McGarrigle), taken together with the need to allow space in the texture for those delicious McGarrigle vocal harmonies, inspires a similarly gentler responsiveness in moulding Rufus' own vocal performance.
The very fact that Rufus has thus far received a mixed press, veering from unbridled adulation to intense indifference, may well be the indication of true greatness, or else it signals the emergence of a major talent that's destined for purely cult status rather than wholesale acceptance. After a number of false starts and indecisions, from hereon in (and even despite some nagging reservations) you can count me among the believers; I enjoyed my rich choccy-feast, and now (probably against my better judgement!) I Want More!
David Kidman
It's a cliché, I know, to brand Boys From The Abattoir as "difficult third album" time for the totally cool Leeds foursome, and so all credit to the girls for coming up with a sophisticated and mature offering fully worthy of its participants that in many ways rings the changes on its two predecessors yet remains entirely true to the WTW brand-name and the band's ultra-distinctive musical identity. First of all, what hasn't changed, without a doubt, is the girls' sheer consistency of output in the face of the striking, and often strikingly contrasted, songwriting and singing styles of the four of them (it's easy to identify which is witch - if you forgive the obvious homonymic pun!), which prove tellingly complementary. And the quality of the songs is once again outstanding, there's no other word for it; they encompass a great variety of mood and approach which is reflected in the diversity of the equally innovative musical settings. And the trademark WTW lush vocal harmonies and intensely assured acoustic guitar work are still firmly in place at the centre of the group sound.
But there are marked changes: for this new album, WTW have engaged the services of Dave Creffield (famous for his work with Leeds band Embrace) as producer, and in so doing, they claim, they've "become the instigators of a new genre of roots music" - "indie acoustic". Well I'd go along with that, if only because it can be interpreted as providing a convenient tag for the Witches' headily original sound-world, which has hitherto obstinately defied categorisation. And maybe in marketing terms the tag's a headline-grabber that might just get WTW some overdue attention from the more influential sectors of the industry. But whatever, the end product is tremendous.
Boys From The Abattoir takes a step back from the intimacy of the shiveringly beautiful, hushed aura and minimalist stance of Hands And Bridges and then expands the sound outwards again but in intriguingly different ways. On the majority of the eleven new songs this involves bringing on board a vibrantly edgy rhythm section (Jon Short on bass and Mick Bedford on drums), which keeps things on the move and the balance sharply defined; this is achieved spectacularly well. At the same time, greater depth is given to the overall picture by making the textures attractively richer, by the creative use of extra instrumental resources such as some stirring, burnished electric guitar (courtesy of Big Country's Bruce Watson) on Me Leaving Me, funky bluesy harmonica (John Burr) on Only Human, sweeping violin and cello (the enigmatic Fluff, latterly with the re-formed Incredible String Band) on three songs, as well as some percussion from James Goodwin and double bass from Dave Bowie. There's even a mini-brass-choir on the sort-of-title track, while at the same time the Witches have extended their own personal musical armoury with the addition of slide guitar (Bex) and mandolin (Pats).
Every track's a strongly individual composition, complete in itself of course, while different to, but recognisably from the same stable as, each of the rest, and as you'd expect each of the four girls proves herself once again to be a special talent in her own right, lending each track its definitive character and flavour. The assurance of the writing is stunning, whatever the feel or idiom of any particular groove, from Pats's narcotic love-song Rock 'n' Roll to Bex's punchy rap-rhythmed Horse To Water, Jools' darkly glistening string-soaked torch-song High Fire And High Water to Rach's pounding gothic anthem Me Leaving Me.
But in truth there's so much great writing on display here (musically and lyrically) that you can easily forgive (in fact, I rather liked) the occasional cheeky nods to folkier territory: for instance the insistent chiming mando-riff of Yorkshire Boy (chart single here we come!), which is pure Show Of Hands, and the perky schoolgirl-chant of Jenny Thornton & The Boys From The Abattoir which recalls While&Matthews' Class Reunion...
Notwithstanding the Witches' strong reputation as a fearsome live outfit, this is a fully credible studio outing that would put many a studio-based band in the shade. And it's an album that already has a place assured on my selective best-of-2007 list.
www.wakingthewitch.co.uk
www.myspace.com/rachpatsjoolsbex
David Kidman January 2007
This is stupendous. This Leeds-based female foursome stunned the roots-acoustic scene with their debut release Like Everybody around 18 months ago, and I forecast then that following an album of such promise they would either go on to infinitely greater things - that is, if they lasted as a unit - or else implode and vanish. I'm so, so glad that the former has proved to be the case. Well almost, for one of the original four, Michelle Plum, has since departed the lineup (confirming her status as an accidental tourist, you might say!), her place having been taken almost exactly a year ago by the amazing Bex (Becky Mills). But these Women Acting Independently have come up with a very much stronger and more focused offering this time round, and much of the credit for that must go to the enhanced level of their confidence in the adrenalin-inducing drive of really working together to create something extra-special out of four already damn special individual talents. Not that they ever lacked confidence in themselves, as Like Everybody had demonstrated they always had it in spades, but now the extra dimension in intimacy and empathy, both between each other and in terms of their actually reaching their audience (which had always been a strong feature of their live gigs right from the beginning) is absolutely startling.
The really important change from Like Everybody is that they've dropped the bass and drums from the menu; on Hands And Bridges the instrumental textures are kept absolutely to a minimum, stripped barer than naked almost, with on many tracks no more than one or two acoustic guitars as backdrop for those sublime voices. Whether solo or in intriguing and inventive harmony, or chanting or vocalising in unison, those voices are the cornerstone of WTW - utterly bewitching (sic!) and you really do hang on every note and nuance. Those voices have the unearthly power to chill you to the very bone or else reduce you to quivering tears, I jest not. There's pain, passion and delicacy all in there, and the emotional temperature is heart-stopping, seriously pin-drop and ethereal. It helps, naturally, that each of the four lasses has such a strikingly individual vocal personality, but (and this is so seldom true of a group with a combination of intensely individual voices) they also meld so enticingly together and their keen sense of internal balance is unerring, even unearthly. And when the lasses' songwriting is of such an intensely high standard too, you've a hell of a combination.
They seem to have learnt, too, that less is more - there's an impressive concentration, a mature economy of expression in this new batch of songs, especially in the respect that they don't any longer feel the need to rely on stretching songs out to four minutes by (say) repeating riffs, chord sequences or vocal phrases right on to the fade. On this new CD, Jools Parker, Rachel Goodwin and Becky each contribute two songs, whereas Patsy gets four; even so, the album hangs together really well, not least because it's so very evident that they're all so keenly involved in the process of making each other's songs come alive in performance and interpretation. Without wishing to seem picky, I've absolutely gotta single out Becky's two songs for special mention; Man Of Moon, especially, is Track Of The Year so far for me, conveying an unsettling aura of other-worldly emotion although it's dealing with an ostensibly simple scenario; just revel in its weird vocal decorations (fanciful perhaps, but I hear Native American influences in there somehow, and then there's that low flute-like crooning, the telling juxtaposition of staccato and legato phrasing, ooh so much – and all in the space of just 5½ minutes). In fact, I can't over-praise Becky's contributions to the whole album, the way her stunning voice weaves into the WTW tapestry on whatever level of emphasis or at whatever register she chooses to sing, and as for her guitar work - it's a paragon of invention and control. Then there's Jools' brilliant Bluer Than This, which starts out like a broody, soulful Helen Watson number, but develops into a bit of a torch song, minimally yet unusually ornamented, with an extraordinarily haunting wordless interlude that Rachel just drops in ghostlily towards the end, as if from another level of the stratosphere altogether (Rachel may have the most obviously "young" voice of them all, but its quality of girlishness is eerie rather than cute). Although Patsy's songs tend to be built around a specific rhythmic element, whether in the guise of a stopped-down guitar riff or a phonetic unison repeated vocal figure, the emotional impact is still invariably highly poignant and strongly characterised. And she's not averse to reworking strong older material in the group context either - there's a strikingly different take on Always One Like Her, here done in a lively, sneaky acappella mode.
But as I said already, each of the four band members brings her own individual voice to her own song (I mean in composing terms as well as literally/vocally); on first playthrough, I tried a "blind tasting" to see if I could correctly spot the writer of each song, and (not bragging, honest!) I scored full marks - they're that distinctive. So who was it said WTW are Britain's answer to the Wailin' Jennys? I've got news for you - they're even better. Trust me!
David Kidman
David Kidman
The Waite Collective - Flights Of Angels (Cock Robin Music)
Seasoned festival-goers will, I'm sure, already know and appreciate the vocal talents of the female members of Chester's Waite family – mother Mal and daughters Rebecca and Katrina (I hesitate to say the trio are already making waves on the scene!). Their repertoire is intelligently chosen, also admirably wide-ranging, and their individual and collective versatility is at once apparent in their ability to switch between melody and harmony lines and between different musical styles with consummate and comparable ease. From straightforward traditional to well-crafted contemporary (Steve Knightley, Allan Taylor) to Mama Cass! They've unearthed some gems too – Nick Lines' Heavy Horses and Chris Rogers' Vampire's Prayer are but two of their welcome discoveries. Each of the three ladies is a very fine singer, and the collective empathy of their harmony work can be breathtaking as well as beautiful and stimulating, for their voices blend well, and virtually effortlessly. Their versions of Ewan MacColl's powerful Terror Time and the West Gallery transcription of the 18th century Cat's Catch are probably the best, and most contrasted, examples of their expertise in this field. The CD's title is taken from Shakespeare's Hamlet – "… let flights of angels sing thee to thy rest". And while that quotation nicely reflects the rough thematic tenor and overall musical character of the CD, it also pinpoints what for some listeners may be its downside, in that it's all perhaps a bit too polite and soft-focus in character (the Waites don't do rip-roaring, raucous or gutsy, in other words). The gentleness of their approach leads to a tendency to mildly underwhelm the listener, which is more prevalent on a CD than it is live, where their singing comes across more compellingly. Also, one or two of the early selections (I'm thinking of Bonny Portmore and the Connemara Cradle Song in particular here) are taken a mite slowly, the resultant lessening of forward momentum frustrating the more rigorous exigencies of home listening. Around half of the tracks feature a limited degree of (undistracting) accompanying instrumentation, courtesy of Mal's own guitar, Chris Harvey's keyboard, and contributions from musician friends from Chester (Chris Lee, Nick Mitchell and Dave Manley), while Alison Younger and Graham Waite chip in to swell the chorus on James Keelaghan's Sing My Heart Home. There's a slightly artificial ambience to some of the tracks, specifically to the voices themselves on occasion (a curious woolliness to the backing-chorus reverb is how I'd describe the effect on the Waites' otherwise superbly arranged and performed rendition of the standard Fever, for instance). But these are minor matters, for whether singing together in gentle harmony or regaling the ears with their poised solo work, they're always worth a listen, even if inevitably some songs work better than others. And the hidden track at the end, a lovely rendition of The Parting Glass, provides a fitting conclusion to the disc.
David Kidman
Listening to a Tom Waits album can never be described as an easy experience, understanding him is even more difficult. But like anything worthwhile the experience is ultimately a hugely satisfying one.
Waits, blessed with a voice that sounds as if someone's carving strips off his vocal chords as he's singing, mines the darkest recesses of the human soul. When not satisfied with his efforts, he then searches a little deeper and a little further.
In both style, or lack of it, and content he is the antithesis of a 'showbusiness' musician, he growls and snarls his way through Real Gone but what he unerringly uncovers is the core beliefs of his muse.
Wait's originality is borne out of a complete lack of fear. The ability to conceive of an album that is at times optimistically funky and then able to become the soundtrack for a post-apocalyptic wasteland is the mark of a genius. To make it work as well as Top Of The Hill does, for example, elevates Waits to the very top of modern musical innovators, (admittedly not an overcrowded market). A complete faith in his own imagination and ability is both justified and a cause for celebration.
It may be stating the obvious to those already familiar with Waits, to say that he has an innate feel for the blues. His voice alone carries the sound of a lifetime's hardship but its much more than that, he feels the songs as deeply as he sings them. Nowhere is that better demonstrated than on the beautifully haunting Sins Of The Father.
But to restrict artists like Tom Waits to a 'label' is both intolerable and futile. He pushes and presses himself and his music to the absolute limit, Hoist That Rag may well be largely impenetrable to anyone other than the author but it's impact is simply devastating.
Real Gone is a raw and bleeding piece of music that wears its heart on its sleeve, Dead and Lovely is as much a romantic and heartfelt ballad as anything sung by some charlatan in a nice suit with a slick hair cut. It's just that in Waits world, hearts get broken and flowers wither and die. There are few things left in this world that are truly real and honest, Tom Waits is one of the few.
Michael Mee
Rick Wakeman is an oddity to me. While I love his playing, I really do not like his writing. His albums leave me cold, and have for a long time now. Where he really shines is in Yes. Here he is given music to enliven, music to put colours into. Under the awesome imagination of Jon Anderson, he finds scope and more for his considerable abilities.
Dave Cousins is the heart and soul of a band called The Strawbs. They have been around for many years. In fact, Rick Wakeman used to play with them before joining Yes. It seems the Dave Cousins could never find a way to use the virtuoso talents of Mr. Wakeman until after he had left. The Strawbs ventured into the world of progressive rock, and did so quite successfully. Sadly, Rick was not around to help with those halcyon days, save for the occasional session work.
This CD reunites the old friends for the first time in over thirty years. There are a few new songs, and some older Strawbs songs are dusted off and given new life. Yes, Dave and Rick are old friends, drinking buddies from their 'good ol' days'. But can they play together? Can they make it work after all these years? Would this be just a nostalgia album, wiping away a tear for auld lang syne?
Yes, it does work, and no, it is not an nostalgic look back. It is a nod of recognition between two accomplished artists, an acknowledgment that time may have passed, but it has not passed these two by. They work together as if they they had never stopped, as if they could read each other openly and honestly. Dave Cousins didn't just pick out a few random tracks to play with Rick, the songs are heard here are if they are brand new. They are given new life on this album, and they work as good, if not even better than they did as the original versions. They work because Rick Wakeman has added entire new meanings to the words; entire pages of passion to the work. This is especially true of the passionate So Shall Our Love Die?, the gentle guitar ballad from the Nomadness album. The song is fragile, but Rick does a beautiful job of catching the delicate strength of the song, and reinforcing the beauty of the melody. His work here rivals anything he did with Yes, even the lovely Turn of the Century.
There is one complaint, though. The opening track is called The Young Pretender, and features violin work by Ric Sanders of Fairport Convention fame. I find this spoils an otherwise good song. One almost longs for Dave Lambert of the Strawbs to step up and say "Now hold on a mo, let's have a gander at that!", then lay down guitar work to really capture the fire of the song.
Of the original songs, I find the sweet fragrance of the title track truly captures what Cousins and Wakeman can do, although Can You Believe is certainly excellent, as well. Higher Germanie is a traditional song, but seems quite unremarkable to me. It has the same melody as a dozen other traditional songs; this one is hardly noteworthy enough to warrant inclusion here.
On the whole, an excellent CD, well worth the effort. It is a testament to the abilities of two great men, Dave Cousins, the songwriter, and Rick Wakeman, the musician. Together they make a formidable team.
www.strawbsweb.co.uk
www.witchwoodrecords.co.uk
Doug LeBlanc
This, the latest Walkabouts offshoot project from the band's key members Chris Eckman and Carla Torgerson makes deliberate attempts to avoid the "M" word that has - rightly or wrongly - dogged Chris and Carla over the years. Of course, that's a tall order, for melancholy (with that capital M!) has always been a major element of their stock-in-trade. And, although the lion's share of the songs on Fly High Brave Dreamers are unquestionably about hope, even hope can't altogether avoid introspective melancholy, especially when the very way Chris writes (and scores instrumentally) always lends a certain air of the "M" word to proceedings. But I promise I won't mention it again... What we have here on this new 11-tracker is a mostly coherent set of ten new Eckman songs (the eleventh, Salad Days, being a Young Marble Giants cover) that share a generally uplifting demeanour. Some of these I like very much - Taking Leave Of Our Senses is wonderfully intimate, if a mite claustrophobic in a kinda Junkies way, while Long Slow River builds cautiously to its inexorable chorus and Rising Backwards uses a cool jazz ambience and confidential vocalising to accentuate the gently nagging water-torture repetition of the lyric's gnomic poetry. The level and kind of detail in the musical settings is very typical of Chris's skill for arranging and selecting just the right kind of instrumentation, with guitars used to counterpoint the keyboards and occasional programming rather than the other way round; sometimes this works against the songs however, with an over-sweet, slightly sickly ambience that cloys (as on the opener, At The Twilight's Last Gleaming) - basically, such songs can easily stand a less cosy, less mellow setting, I feel. But when the appealing combination of texturing and intricate detail gets to balance just right, the music of Chris and Carla is at its most persuasive. Its occasional drawback can be its elusiveness, but as is often the case a closer acquaintance reaps closer rewards and I'd guess Walkabouts devotees won't be disappointed.
David Kidman December 2007
The Walkabouts - Acetylene (Glitterhouse)
Still around and fronted by Chris Eckman and Carla Torgerson after some 20 years, a flirtation with major label backing during their stint with Virgin, this sees the band re-energised and reborn with a potent rock edge after a period of quiet, atmospheric late night city in the rain albums.
Recorded pretty much as live during the run up the last Bush election, you can feel the anger and foreboding in the music and the apocalyptic nature of the songs, spookily F*** Your Fear ("the reckoning is in the air") and Coming Up For Air (this ain't hell, it's a holding tank") were both recorded on 9/11 2004, the latter clocking in at nine minutes eleven seconds. On Sept 13 they recorded Kalashnikov ("they're bulldozing the suburbs down, putting up a razor fence"), the same day America lifted its ban on the sale of assault weapons.
Understandably it's a raw, electrified album (Eckman says the fantasy blueprint was Neil Young recorded in Wire's studio), guitars slicing through the melodies like barbed wire, ripping flesh from the songs, leaving the likes of the snakelike Whisper, Before This City Wakes ("divide and conquer is the new mathematics") and the title track dripping blood. Even when Devil In The Details and the nine minute The Last Ones open with Torgenson in whispery prowling form things wind up in sonic eruptions that cram 60s psychedelic wig outs into the wind tunnel of Young's Rust Never Sleeps. Acetylene torch songs indeed.
Mike Davies
The Walkabouts - Drunken Soundtracks (Glitterhouse)
Given their general lack of mainstream success, Chris Eckman and Carla Torgerson are nothing if not prolific. I've got a dozen albums in the collection (not including their Chris & Carla projects) and that's by no means complete. They also regularly issue mail order only releases and turn up on tribute albums. And then there's the tracks that never make it to album. This latest 2CD compilation covers the years 1995-2001, gathering together studio material that 'got away' as well as major label singles, tribute rarities, covers, a remix (a country take on The Light Will Stay On) and two tracks (one being Serge Gainsbourg's Bonnie and Clyde recorded live in Belgium with the Nighttown Orchestra) from the label's mail order only catalogue.
Although recent years have seen them experiment with dub, jazz and experimental rock (listen to the Bone Mix of On The Day), theirs is consistently the sound of dark gothic folk-soul, sometimes distilling the ambience of desert nights at others capturing the rain washed neons of the city, brooding, melancholic, sometimes downright doom laden at others veined with a rich romanticism, almost always tinctured with the sort of cinematic textures found in the works of Wim Wenders, Jim Jarmusch and David Lynch.
There's 29 examples contained here, progressing backwards from their 2001 recordings to 1996's Theme from Where The Air Is Dark and Cool from the mail order soundtrack. With such riches it's difficult to play favourites. So for those who revel in their offbeat covers included here are Serge Gainsbourg's Sorry Angel, Neil Young's Albuquerque, 22 Pistepirkko's Scandinavian Midwest noir Shot Bayou, Mickey Newbury tribute How Many Times (Must The Piper Be Paid For His Songs), a suitably fractured and fevered reading of Townes Van Zandt's Sanitorium Blues and, just to illustrate their diversity, Neil Diamond's Glory Road and Antonio Carlos Jobim's Corcovado. And for devotees of the self-penned rumbling storms and glowering angels, suffice to say the inclusion of Thieves Like Us (a mini epic of fugitive lovers played out south of the border) and the title track are more than worth the price of admission on their own. Best listened to through a haze of Mescal.
Mike Davies
Thirteen band albums, 17 years and assorted labels later, the likelihood of Chris Eckman and Carla Torgerson's pride and passion ever capturing the imagination of the masses seems unlikely. They continue, however, to provide a rich seam of atmospheric noir rock for the fringe audiences to mine. As ever they trade in similar mournful, dreamlike songscapes to Nick Cave, etching out Eckman's songs of self-laceration and heartbreak with a dark, shimmering beauty. Rejoined by former longtime drummer Terri Moeller for the album, there's a couple of instrumentals (Mary Edwards, Incidento) composed by keyboard player Glenn Slater, with Torgerson flexing her lyrical muscle for co-writes on More Heat Than Light and Lest We Forget, Eckman says that rather than revolve around a central theme like recent albums, this is more akin to the fragmented nature of memory, sensations slipping from one to another. He describes it as an album made out of pieces of conversations half-remembered, towns forgiven and tears forgotten, blurry polaroids of old friends, and soundtracks found waiting along a curve in the road. You get the mood. Guitars twang like soundtracks to desert nights as songs of love, loss and growing old curl out into the skies with tales of drifters, dreamers and losers. The closing title track and opening Lazarus Heart pin a sense of alienation, but there's lurking within them, as in Life:The Movie, Fallen Down Moon and Clib there's also a sense of home as both a haven and a rock from which the outside world can be travelled.
Worth noting too that next year the band will be releasing Drunken Soundtracks, another 2CD collection of 29 rare tracks (culled from the Virgin years) and outtakes, full details of which can be found on their website.
Mike Davies
Hot, man!... This guy has an intriguing history - born in Boston but raised in North Carolina, Watermelon Slim (Bill Homans) was the only Vietnam veteran to record a full-length LP during the war (d' you really need to know that, trivia junkies?!), but it's only in recent years that he's become a full-time bluesman, after a time farming watermelons in Oklahoma (hence that stage name!). With his band The Workers, he released several award nominations for his eponymous NorthernBlues debut record, and hearing The Wheel Man it's easy to see why - his individual brand of blues, all driven and punchy, delivered with a raw Okie twang, is both authentic and original, born of the soil and hard sweat as well as a lifetime of truckin', the real deal. Slim's prowess on harmonica, dobro and slide guitar has become well nigh legendary, and the weathered, gritty intensity of his singing proves a perfect foil for that of his playing: this guy's got real character!… He's one of those that's lived it all, and is determined to get his pleasure now while he can, giving it all he's got. Sounds like he's been given one last chance and he's gonna make as much out of his life now as he ever can (well I just found out he suffered a near-fatal heart attack five years back that put things into perspective, so there goes!). Most of the songs are Slim's own compositions, shot through with a lived-in, hard-bitten realism, but Slim also turns in biting covers of material by Slim Harpo and Furry Lewis. Slim's assembled a crack band to help him realise his vision, and they can cope with anything thrown at them (from delta, jump and boogie through to swampy zydeco-fuelled grooves); Slim's "Workers" here are Ronnie McMullen and Ike Lamb (guitars - responsible for that "big guitar sound"), Cliff Belcher (bass) and Michael Newberry (drums), with special guests including none other than Magic Slim, also Dennis Borycki and David Maxwell (pianists). There's also a couple of tracks where the unbridled power of Slim's voice (acappella, or as near as dammit) conquers all: the extraordinary Sawmill Holler, and the harp-ridden Jimmy Bell. But the whole of the Wheel Man album makes a big impact: thrusting modern truck-drivin' blues at its most raw and vital.
www.watermelonslim.com
www.northernblues.com
David Kidman October 2007
This is Watermelon Slim's debut for NorthernBlues and builds on his critically acclaimed Up Close And Personal album which I reviewed last year. He has toured constantly since and this has given him a toughness that is transparent on his new disc. Hard Times is a strong opener and confirms his status as one of the rising stars on the Blues scene. Driving drums from Michael Newberry and scorching slide guitar from Slim make this one of the best opening tracks that I have heard this year. Slim is a former truck driver and delves into his past with great regularity, Dumpster Blues being a case in point. This is electric blues of the first degree and The Workers, the aforementioned Newberry on drums, Ike Lamb on guitar and Cliff Belcher on bass, give great backing to Slim's affected vocal. The only out and out cover on the album is the classic Baby Please Don't Go. This has been covered so many times but Slim takes it back close to the original and turns in a great version. Devil's Cadillac is co-written by drummer Newberry and is a slow, rhythmic blues on a familiar theme. Slim cranks it up on the fast paced and good fun Check Writing Woman (recently played on Paul Jones' Radio 2 show). Possum Hand is a slow harmonica led blues instrumental, written by Ike Lamb. Slim shows that he can handle acoustic slide as well on Frisco Line which sounds like an authentic old time blues (apart from the drums), enough said.
There's more than a bit of Robert Cray's style in Ash Tray which is another electric slide song. He returns to his former employment again on Mack Truck, a fast paced Kansas style offering with excellent harmonica. Bad Sinner has brooding slide guitar as Slim reaches top form and his Dobro playing on Folding Money Blues is sheer class. You can just imagine him sitting on the front porch playing this. Juke Joint Woman is an up-tempo shuffler and Hard Labor is electric Chicago, showing that he and the band can play in many styles. They finish with Eau De Boue which is sung completely in French and tips its hat to Cajun. Fortunately, there is a full translation in the sleeve notes. Watermelon Slim continues to go from strength to strength. Catch him if you can.
www.northernblues.com
www.watermelonslim.com
David Blue April 2006
Think of duets, and who springs to mind? George and Tammy; Porter and Dolly; Conway and Loretta (or, more recently, Jack White?) And, of course, Emmylou and Gram. The duet has been a staple of modern recent country music and, when done well, can be a marvellous thing. Now Australian singer-songwriter Barb Waters has joined that hallowed list with Rosa Duet, 10 songs that are guaranteed to bring a smile to your face. The idea for the album grew out of the kind of back porch, kitchen-table singalongs that Waters loves. A couple of guitars, a few friends and magic appears. Waters has captured that essence on this album; 10 disparate songs that not only showcase her fine singing voice, but also allow her fellow dueters (ists?) to take their share of the glory. Standout tracks are a wonderful When Will You Come My Way, with Rob Snarski, of the Blackeyed Susans; Wipe Away The Tears, a classic, jangling song with Lisa Miller and Rebecca Barnard, both established country and rockabilly artists Down Under. Rosa Duet is sterling stuff; simply produced, with just enough instrumentation and, of course, those voices.
John Stacey
Muddy Waters - Electric Mud (Originally released on Cadet/Concept, October 5, 1968, Re-released on Chess, March 31, 1997)
Amazingly, I find no reviews of Muddy Waters material on the NetRhythms website. Time to set the record straight methinks. OK, so this album isn't exactly a new release (a little difficult since Muddy passed away in 1983), but it's new to me, so that's all the excuse I need.
I've got a few recordings by the blues legend in my collection, but this is one I missed. In fact, it would have stayed missing had it not been for an episode of the excellent BBC4 series "The Blues", featuring Electric Mud. Anyway, after watching the archive footage and listening to tracks from the original album, I decided to buy it the next day. Unfortunately, so did a fair few of the other viewers. Imagine now, a company that sells 30, maybe 40 copies of an old blues album a year, suddenly gets requests for thousands all on one day. Just a guess, but maybe that's why it took over 2 months to arrive.
So when I got back off holiday, the first thing I did was start playing the eagerly awaited disc. On first play, I was a little disappointed. I was listening on headphones due to the lateness of the hour, which maybe didn't help. Also, the quality of early stereo recordings leaves a bit to be desired and the 'phones emphasised the left ear only, right ear only stereo effect. The choice of material was good though, and I thought it showed promise. The next day, after catching up on my sleep, I played it again, this time through speakers. Mmmm. Maybe something is stirring here. This is actually quite good. The mix sounded much better; the speakers smoothing out the apparent disjointed nature of the recording and making the vocals breathe more. By the end of the second play, I wanted to put it on repeat for the rest of the evening. I was hooked.
There are only a couple of self penned songs on the album, which consists mostly of well known, yet heavily reworked covers of material by Willie Dixon, Charles Williams and James Cotton. Also included, is a version of Jagger/Richards track "Let's Spend The Night Together", perhaps as thanks for the Stones taking their name from one of his songs or maybe for covering many of his early hits, helping revive his own career when it was at a low ebb.
Stylistically, the music is very much of the period. Jimi Hendrix was recording Electric Ladyland and Miles Davis released the controversial electric jazz album Bitches Brew around this time and this record sounds very much like a blend of the two. Wailing guitars and funky bass licks provide the backing with Muddy's monumental voice soaring over them, distorted and full of reverb. Spinetingling stuff now, imagine the impact in 1968.
Thing is, it's not so much a Muddy Waters record, but a record featuring Muddy Waters, if you know what I mean. This is an album loathed and despised by many blues purists, but I'm not one of those. To me, music is music, and if you listen to this album with an open mind, then the marriage of late 60's electric jazz and psychedelia with the one of the most distinctive blues voices of them all, produces something quite unique and extraordinary. Just give it the space it needs and enjoy.
Incidentally, the sleeve notes were pretty comprehensive and the pictures of Muddy at the hairdressers, complete with curlers and a hairnet were worth the price of the disk alone. All in all, a cracking album and well worth the paltry £7.99 it cost from 101CD.co.uk. Good value as long as you don't mind the wait.
Andy Pearson
This is a curious new artistic venture from the ex-Pink-Floyd supremo whose uncompromising stance on the importance of freedom to the individual had produced some of the most enduring and successful works from the band's later years, from Dark Side Of The Moon through to The Wall. He began work on it as long ago as 1989, during the bicentenary of the French Revolution, on hearing of the creation of an original libretto by the songwriter Etienne Roda-Gil and his wife Nadine, which portrayed the events and spirit of the Revolution through a multitude of perspectives using a circus as a central theatrical framing device and metaphor. Roger was attracted by the libretto's power, and by its parallel application to contemporary events and philosophies close to his own heart, and set about creating a full orchestral score in collaboration with Etienne. Before it could be finished, Nadine died of leukaemia, hence the delay in the work coming to fruition; but now we have a recording of the final score which Roger had undertaken in collaboration with Rick Wentworth. It's certainly an ambitious project, and Roger has evidently immersed himself in its complexities with the fullest commitment. The problem for me is that it's not been possible to assess the work to the optimum level of critical appraisal, simply because the promotional edition consists of just the two audio discs, with no synopsis of the action and no supporting libretto to follow while listening (these are de-rigeur for opera critics, I hasten to add) and no detailed notes. There's no indication of the work's dramatic structure (although it's stated to be in three acts, the music flows continuously), and it's just not easy to follow the action properly when we're given little or no idea of which character is singing at any given moment or of that character's role within the plot as it unfolds, even when that character is voicing a static reflection on the action. (Naturally, the finally-released package includes proper background notes and the full libretto, as well as a DVD documentary chronicling the history of the project and the making of the recording, and by the time you read this the opera will have received its staged première, in Poland.)
But as for the purely musical impact, well, there's no denying that Roger's first essay in operatic composition is a brave, if flawed one. Flawed because his concept of "acceptable" dramatic expression, though ostensibly rooted in "serious" opera as exemplified by the Italian late-Romantic school (Mascagni, Puccini et al), equally has something in common with the over-expressed gesturings of the music-theatre and even the musical. The orchestral scoring, too, while not in any way incompetent, betrays a certain reluctance to depart from elements that are perceived as "operatic convention" and which almost come across as clichés of the genre. Bold instrumental gestures aren't out of place in this kind of work, of course, but a little too often their impact is deliberately underlined for the listener rather than merely underscored with any subtlety of instrumental texture. In this recording, the incorporation of sound-effects for "atmosphere" during much of the score distracts too rather than aiding appreciation of the action; dramatic coups are invariably best conveyed purely by the music itself, which should stand alone on its own pictorial merits. It goes without saying, though, that the actual recording is state-of-the-art for an opera, immediate and bold with a wide dynamic range; and the performances are suitably spirited and committed. Bass-baritone Bryn Terfel was a good choice for portraying the principal characters of the Ringmaster, the Troublemaker and King Louis, while tenor Paul Groves and soprano Ying Huang make the best of their own leading roles; there's also an intriguing cameo part for the Senegalese Ismael Lo. There are some effective choral contributions, notably in the defiant "In Paris there's a rumble..." section, but at several other moments the dramatic impact is spoilt by the use of a kids' chorus who sing in what sounds like a misplaced stage-cockney (their To Take Your Hat Off is more akin to a chirpy Disney musical number than an operatic chorus!). Elsewhere, the score has a weakness which is common to many operas: ie. some of the early sections are dramatically insubstantial, even weak, their purely episodic or scene-setting nature betraying or occasioning their thinness of invention; things improve significantly as the action gathers pace, however, as you might expect, and some later episodes are genuinely stirring.
Whatever my reservations, though (principally stemming from my own love of opera as a musical experience and valid art-form), I still think the work is worth a listen - whether you're a Pink Floyd buff or not - as a valid artistic statement; after all, many "classical" composers who wrote operas and vocal works didn't achieve their greatest artistic credibility with opera but with purely instrumental forms, so all credit to Roger for trying. And since the work is sung in English, language should not be the barrier to understanding that it can be for newcomers to opera as an art-form. For, more than just an operatic history of the French Revolution, Ça Ira is a piece examining the potential of humanity for change (after all, its very title, taken from a revolutionary song of the period, translates as "there is hope"). And there will always be a place within artistic endeavours for the honest expression of such views.
www.ca-ira.com
www.roger-waters.com
David Kidman August 2006
"You reached for the secret too soon
You cried for the moon
Shine on you crazy diamond."
It is impossible to listen to In the Flesh without trying and failing, to choke back a tear at the sad news of Syd Barrett's death. Wish You Were Here and Shine On You Crazy Diamond particulary take on an obvious added poignancy. Unintentionally, Roger Waters has offered his friend the perfect, loving epitaph.
Waters and Barrett were the creative geniuses behind the early Floyd, theirs was the band that defined and still does, the wonder of the psychedelic 60s. Waters and Pink Floyd have been variously accused of being overblown, too arty and pretentious. If this 2-CD and DVD set does nothing else, it shows what a great rock musician Roger Waters is.
True artists dream bigger dreams than us mere mortals, they think on a grander scale and then make those thoughts real. A lot of In The Flesh is theatrical, it's meant to be, Waters is as visual an artist as he is audio.
However, some of the guitar riffs, particularly on Another Brick In The Wall are blistering and the song itself, apocalyptic in tone, is as far removed from the fey and foppish as it's possible to get. Conversely, Mother is as open and simple as any singer songwriter's best effort, Waters dispels a whole lot of myths in those two songs alone.
Obviously, he could have taken an easier path to even more fame and fortune with In The Flesh but, as he has always spurned one and has no need of the other, this is a wide-ranging and eclectic collection. Breathe, Time, Money and Comfotably Numb represent the 'hits, while the inclusion of the The Bravery Of Being Out Of Range and The Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking and Each Small Candle show that Waters' creative juices didn't stop flowing with the acrimonious Floyd split.
The DVD, which completes the set, is both a gem and a surprise. A gem because Waters has gathered around him a group of young, energetic and highly talented musicians and they rise admirably to meet each of the challenges that Waters sets, giving some complex and well known music a fresh perspective.
It's a surprise because once again a perception of Roger Waters is shattered. On In The Flesh he appears to be perfectly happy to be a band member. Although your eyes never leave him and completely without ego and almost unwittingly he is undoubtedly the star of the show.
In The Flesh is a masterpiece from a musican whose work has stood the test of time and no doubt he will be as listened to, discussed and analysed in the future as he has been for the past 40 years.
As the world clamours for a Pink Floyd reunion, Roger Waters demonstates that he is as sharp and incisive a performer as he has ever been.
His position over the years has been a difficult one, largely blamed for the break up of Pink Floyd, he has gone about his business of making challenging music. In The Flesh is an object lesson in just how powerful, intelligent rock n roll can be, it stirs the soul and fires the imagination. Shine On Syd.
Michael Mee, July 2006
Countrified college retro pop with shades of Gram Parsons, The Jayhawks and Big Star, the Baltimore quartet aren't going to set the world on fire but they do make for pleasant sunny day listening with their breezy melodies, nasally vocals and songs about stealing your brother's girlfriend (Forgive Me Robert), screw ups (Andy), changing your ways (To All Those Girls) and the general ebb and flow of boy/girl relationships. All God's Children makes for a punchy piece of guitarslinging pop, (Darling) You Won't Have To is bouncy jug band folksiness and Southern Belle takes the slower path with the organ throwing up a hint of The Band, and while you wouldn't drive out of your way to hear them if you stumble across a copy while browsing they're worth a listen.
Mike Davies, July 2006
What have we here then?... two seasonal releases that appear right on the cusp of spring and summer? Not really. For Frost And Fire is more in the way of a celebratory calendar of ritual and magical songs, and one that might well readily be viewed as an appendage to last winter's marvellous Waterson: Carthy offering Holy Heathens And The Old Green Man, were it not for the fact that the year's big news (and next big gig) is to be the re-formed Watersons playing the Royal Albert Hall on 12th May in a Mighty River Of Song concert. Apart from the fact that it could never strictly be, as claimed, "the Watersons re-formed" (Lal having departed this mortal coil, for one thing)... But, such small matters aside, the RAH event still promises to be something truly special. So, to tie in with the concert, those good folks at Topic have seized the opportunity to issue freshly remastered editions of two of the original LPs made by the Watersons, the first of which (Frost And Fire) was made by the original group in 1965, was subsequently awarded the accolade of Best Folk Album of that year by Melody Maker, and has since proved one of the most influential recorded artefacts of the 60s folk revival. It has deserved better than a hastily cobbled-together straight-to-CD-transfer of the ilk of the 1990 Topic re-release; this had compiled the origjnal Frost And Fire LP's 14 tracks along with seven taken from the later "panorama of sacred song" LP Sound, Sound Your Instruments Of Joy, which a subsequent incarnation of The Watersons group (in which John Harrison had been replaced by Martin Carthy) had recorded in 1977, close on a dozen years later. All but one of the remaining seven tracks of Sound, Sound… had since languished in vinyl obscurity (only Heavenly Aeroplane managing to land on CD, tucked away on the lavish Mighty River Of Song box-set). Are you confused yet? - well, read on...
With these brand new editions, Frost And Fire replaces the comparatively dull artwork of the original LP with a fresh new design, complete with archive photos and attractive layout housing the complete original sleeve notes, all in a brand new slipcase, whereas Sound Sound... is housed in a most attractive digipack with original sleeve notes and full texts therein. So far so fine. And what about the music within, then? Well, the remastering has certainly been carried out to the highest standards, and there's a much greater presence to the ensemble work as well as an altogether sharper definition between voices and lines on many of the songs (especially on Sound, Sound...) with a welcome reduction of distortion at the top end of the register; but to be fair much of this is only noticeable when directly comparing the two CD transfers side by side, and many prospective purchasers will, I suspect, have found the sound of the 1990 CD transfer perfectly acceptable. On both discs, however, the performances, as I've already hinted, are glorious, utterly classic, and essentials for any serious collection of music from the folk revival. Sound, Sound... is a particularly inspiring collection, revealing the strong influence of the power of Sacred Harp singing on the Waterson Family. If all you want are CD versions to replace your original vinyl LPs, pure and simple, then get out there straightaway and buy these new reissues - but be aware, the total playing time of each disc is predictably meagre: barely a minute over half-an-hour for Frost And Fire and 37 minutes for Sound, Sound... And there's no freshly-exhumed bonus material therein (whereas the 1990 transfer of Frost And Fire stretches out to a better-value 52 minutes with the additional Sound, Sound... items, although you're then left yearning for the remaining, more elusive tracks from that LP).
So what does this all mean then? The cynical may view these latest reissues as a canny and opportunist, if state-of-the-art, repackaging exercise for the new generation currently discovering this music and their folk heritage for the first time, whose demands are just as artistic and cultural as they are musical. For, will those who already own three-quarters of the total contents of these two discs on CD be tempted to shell out yet again? I'm not altogether sure, even considering the very high quality of these new reissues.
www.watersoncarthy.co.uk
www.topicrecords.co.uk
David Kidman April 2007
This one is a magnificently rousing, heady parade of seasonal songs of various kinds, basically an aural counterpart to the family's current celebratory Frost And Fire tour and a sequel to both the (original) Watersons' album of the same name and their Sound, Sound, Your Instruments Of Joy of many moons ago (and succeeding where last year's Yorkshire Christmas shortchanged us on the purely musical element). And Fire is the operative word here, for these wonderful ritual songs are charged with elemental passion, the participants' response to which has evidently stirred up something deep within their souls so that the sheer driven fervency of their active and wholly intuitive involvement is apparent right from the opening bars - and it never lets up for a moment.
Yet without wishing to play down the W:C clan members' own performances, another vital ingredient in the immense impact of this collection is definitely the presence of The Devil's Interval (Jim, Lauren and Emily - see their Blood And Honey CD reviewed a couple of months ago on NetRhythms). Their contributions to such selections as the round The Falling Tear, and the several pieces using comparatively "massed forces" including brass players, add significant depth and weight - and variety of vocal timbre - to an already fulsome and invigorating blend. But with all singers and musicians on a high, operating at full strength singing their proverbial hearts out and playing as if their lives and souls depended on it, this is one quasi-seasonal disc that will never outlast its welcome.
It's an eclectic collection too, kicking off like a rocket with the decidedly strange Residue, which is hotly pursued by some highly unusual carols, wassailing songs and social and religious commentaries drawn from many and various traditions (Yorkshire to Baptist to travellers), all neatly offset with a handful of more obviously doomy, pensive offerings that provide album highlights (like Eliza's chilling version of Mike Waterson's Jack Frost, Tim's sparse, bleakly admonitory rendition of On Christmas Day It Happened So and Eliza's fine setting of the salutary Time To Remember The Poor).
Throughout, we're in the presence of something very powerful and primeval: the potent combination (and contradiction) of elements - beauty and savagery, doom and optimism - that's at the heart of any celebratory tradition and ritual itself. The disc's sequence is well planned and managed too, presenting us with a grand and satisfyingly uplifting experience.
David Kidman November 2006
The Watersons et al. - A Yorkshire Christmas (Witchwood Media)
David Kidman
Waterson: Carthy - Fishes And Fine Yellow Sand (Topic)
David Kidman
This wondrous four-disc set pays tribute to the still-continuing (hurrah!) career of that famous singing family of folk who were once dubbed the "folk Beatles" (ho ho!), the importance of whose distinctive ensemble performing style has divided folk music enthusiasts, arguably more than almost any other folk group of recent times. There are those who've been inspired to a great extent (and not exclusively in their formative years) by the Watersons' joyous, soulful and powerful singing and their exciting approach to repertoire, while others have castigated them for (among other things) over-harmonising and/or destroying the melodies of the songs they perform. To whichever of these views you may incline, you can neither deny the pervasive influence of this "extended family" of performers nor arrive at anything but a genuinely favourable assessment of each member's individual talent as a singer (whether or not you actually like what they do). This set chronicles over its four well-filled discs not only the career of the Watersons as a defined singing group but the recording activities of the various individuals (not only actual Watersons but also "satellite" or non-family members like Peter Ogley, John Harrison, Jill Pidd, Martin Carthy - the latter of course is now the venerable patriarch!) over the forty-year span from the 60s to the present decade with the new generation. The set also gives a healthy degree of perspective to the roughly concurrent story of what has become known as the English Folksong Revival.
The earliest recordings here are two rather rough takes on shanties recorded by the "Folksons" in 1964, whereas the latest is a track from Oliver Knight's Mysterious Day album; in between is a veritable treasure trove of some 80-plus tracks encompassing both group, solo and duo performances from various Waterson incarnations. Twelve of these are taken from rare and/or deleted recordings, and a further 40 are previously unreleased in any format; the remainder are well chosen to provide a sensible overview (oh alright, I could quibble with the omission of some of the quintessential Watersong repertoire staples like Country Life, and I suppose I expected Some Old Salty to have cropped up herein, and yes, we didn't really expect the necessary co-operation from he-who-shall-remain-nameless for the inclusion of a track from the landmark, if maddeningly inconsistent Bright Phoebus album did we?!). And one of the major virtues of the set is the compiler's knowing avoidance of the over-obvious choices out of the legacy of group performances in favour of more obscure smaller-scale or offshoot recordings. It's salutary, too, to compare different renditions of songs - for instance, the group version of Whitby Lad (from 1966) as against a 1978 reading with Martin C taking the lead, and similarly The White Cockade in group performances from 1966 and 1990 respectively. And I appreciate the opportunity to relish hitherto unreleased variations of songs recorded by the group, like the Pace Egging Song (one of three cuts recorded in 1974 in Loughton folk club, that open disc two).
Highlights of the set for me, though, are such real discoveries as Norma's amazing, deeply felt rendition of Coal Not Dole (recorded at an American festival in 1991), Mike's own composition Jack Frost (a demo recording from 1996) and three starkly atmospheric demos recorded by Lal in 1970/71 (one for the Bright Phoebus album, the others privately at home in Hull) which include the incredibly dark and intense Song For Thirza. Yes, this set also scores by celebrating Watersons as songwriters, with a number of good examples of both Lal's and Mike's craft. Norma's solo rendition of Poor Boney (taken from the 2001 Sharper Than The Thorn show) and the 1997 Waterson:Carthy version of Flowers Of Knaresborough Forest are both certainly worthy of an outing here - but then, so are all of the unreleased items…! I've already hinted that the genuine rarity quotient is high, but even I was surprised to find some curios that'd passed me by over the years, such as Mike's McIlroy The Emerald Cowboy (recorded for a 1994 No Master's compilation). And it's good to see the incorporation into the CD catalogue (at long last) of The Morning Looks Charming and Heavenly Aeroplane (originally from A Yorkshire Garland and Sound, Sound Your Instruments Of Joy respectively, but which thus far had eluded the trawl onto CD format of virtually all of the remainder of the Watersons' back catalogue).
Another big bonus is the inclusion of a DVD of the legendary and highly evocative 1965 BBC documentary Travelling For A Living, which incidentally also includes footage of Anne Briggs; this documentary so well captures the essence of the group's performances and attitude, their endemic energy and vivacity. As indeed the whole set celebrates the extended Watersons outfit as an undisputed major creative force in the English folk revival. The mammoth task (nay, mammoth tusk!) of archival research and compilation for this lavish set could not have been entrusted to a better man than the wholly admirable David Suff, who has an excellent track record in masterminding innumerable fine anthologies and themed charity collections (mainly for his own Fledg'ling label). Extreme good taste, allied to an ear for unearthing the significant pearls of obscurity and an eye for detail in that perennial quest for accuracy - all these hallmarks are present in the planning and sequencing of the discs themselves as well as in the attractive and informative "extra items" - the Frame-style discography and the reminiscence-packed 52-page booklet (though maybe the landscape-format of the latter makes it a mite floppy for a comfortable read!). An essential venture (not before time!), and an equally essential acquisition.
David Kidman
That youthful, one might say precocious guitar talent Sean (of Nickel Creek) springs back into the limelight with a new CD recorded over two years during breaks between touring with the group. It's his third solo album; the artistic and stylistic jump from albums one to two was really startling, so inevitably that to number three is not so much so, but you'll find that Sean still has the capacity to surprise and challenge. Blinders On is at once more reliant on simple textures and more reliant on "produced" textures; those who love the contemporary-bluegrass mode of Nickel Creek will find No Lighted Windows the track to die for, and sister/band-mate Sara brings her fiddle alongside that of Gabe Witcher for Starve Them To Death and I'm Sorry, whereas those of a more open turn of ear will appreciate the distinctly Beatlesque retro feel of tracks like Summer's Coming, or the Radiohead-style "acoustic-industrial stew" of Happy New Year, which makes a virtue of a veritable barrage of fuzzy distortion and drum machine. On many of the tracks Sean seems to delight in being wilful, because nothing seems to stay the same for long and several cuts finish on a different sonic planet from where they started and others (like I'm Sorry) returning full circle after an exhausting journey.
Although Sean plays most of the instruments himself, he benefits from guest contributions from, apart from those mentioned elsewhere, Jon Brion, Byron House, Mark Schatz, Glenn Kotche and Benmont Tench. There's some discreetly lush autumnal string textures, some eerie experimental layerings and sounds (like what seems like a prepared-piano on Coffee), and a fair amount of signature flatpicking too (and a glorious instrumental hidden track, a traditional old-timey breakdown featuring some fabulous bluegrass cello work from, I'd guess, Rashad Eggleston, who guests on an earlier track too). Sean's songwriting tends to focus on themes of regret and loss, and his gift for poetic expression can be almost painfully economic, as in the pithy and bittersweet miniature Hello… Goodbye. And as for Sean's singing, there are times when I feel his vocal style comes close to emulating Brian Wilson, at others a more understated version of Rufus Wainwright (it can be quite heart-on-sleeve, albeit in a more restrained manner).
All in all, Blinders On is an album that amply repays close investigation and, in spite of its frequent air of restlessness, possesses an artistic coherence and thus satisfies greatly on repeated plays. Oh, and I'd like to hear the whole of Sean's string quartet someday (a tantalising 20-second sample forms track 11 here, a mere interlude on this disc).
David Kidman, July 2006
One third of that highly-rated young modern bluegrass outfit Nickel Creek, and already barely in his mid-twenties, here's Sean making his second solo album. Two years ago, Sean's first solo effort, Let It Fall, was basically (except for one lone vocal cut) little more than a sequence of quasi-improvisatory acoustic bluegrass-infused mood-pictures, characterful and yet virtuosic, but in the end bordering on the sterile, too much reliant on a gasping perfection of technique to provide lasting interest. 26 Miles, however, is a different thing entirely. Instrumental skill and expertise is still an integral part of the picture, but the settings are much more adventurous, and most important, (rather unexpectedly) the emphasis this time is firmly on Sean's developing songwriting. This inhabits an often intriguing musical landscape where rhythmic ebb and flow are captivating and yet unpredictable, where "diary entries" seem to provide the inspiration and soft, gentle and persuasive combinations of instruments and voices are the order of the day rather than tightly structured tradition-infused narratives. There's a definite ambience of "quality pop" about much of the album. But having said that, there's also at times a prominent mid-to-late-60s-retro feel to the musical effects Sean creates - the White Album's an obvious reference point, and the luscious harmonies of the cryptic Through The Spring lend it the air of a lost Brian Wilson creation - even though Sean's not afraid to utilise technology (sampling and sequencing) selectively to enhance a mood, as on the title track. The CD's centrepiece, Chutes And Ladders, bucks the trend by being one of three "scary-good" flatpickin' instrumentals on the album (you know, those complex pieces that Sean can probably play in his sleep). There's a degree of funkiness in there too though, which is as refreshing in this context as the obvious fun that Sean and his friends had in recording it. Sean's cohorts include an odd assortment of musicians from the cream of San Diego's jazz community (among them Kevin Hennessey on bass, Duncan Moore on drums and Trip Sprague on sax), while in addition to Jon Brion on keyboards there's sister Sara on fiddle who joins Glen Phillips on harmony vocals on several tracks, also a fine string quartet arrangement on the enigmatic closer Carousel. It's a constantly interesting palette, and I find myself increasingly drawn to the songs themselves as a result.
David Kidman
Doc Watson - Memories (Gott Discs)
This is a straight reissue of Doc's landmark 1975 album which was a key statement in what the album's original sleevenote-writer Chet Flippo termed the "recent… encouraging… acknowledgement of Southern music". In spite of the solo header credit, Memories presents Doc mostly not in a truly solo capacity, performing a wide-ranging selection of material from his celebrated heritage of traditional and old-time music (which shamelessly embraces ragtime, blues and the work of Jimmie Rodgers alongside the more obviously mountain music category). The album was recorded just a year after Doc's important contribution to the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band's Carter tribute Will The Circle Be Unbroken, and is the most persuasive demonstration of his artistry and versatility you'd think possible. Doc's playing and singing on Memories is totally excellent, and both in terms both of performance and unerring choice of material has proved inspirational to every musician who's followed in his footsteps. Doc's supporting cast on Memories centres round his late son Merle, with Michael Coleman, Sam Bush, Chuck Cochran, Jim Isbel and Courtney Johnson making up the rest of the ensemble. Even some occasional relative concessions to "modern" instrumentation (in the guise of a gentle bass-and-drums rhythm section or electric piano or organ) don't intrude on the effervescent musicality of the performances. As well as instrumentally (from the easy fluidity of the fingerstyle flat-picking guitar for which he's become most famous and influential through to an equally exquisite frailing banjo technique), Doc also here proves himself master of vocal exposition, most notably perhaps on an acapella rendition of Wake Up Little Maggie. The man's an institution – truly one of considerable talent and stature, yet modest to the last. The entire record is characterised by that wonderful combination of virtuosity and fun that marks out the very best of Southern music. Don't miss out on this excellent reissue, which (like all Gott Discs releases) comes complete with both original and new sleeve notes and a handsome slipcase presentation.
David Kidman
David Kidman
I never cease to be amazed at the amount of good music that has sat in obscure vaults since the 50s and 60s and is only now beginning to surface and get released on CD. Here's another example - 14 previously-unreleased tracks of prime Doc Watson recorded live during two two-week stints from December 1962 through to March 1963 at Gerdes Folk City in Greenwich Village, New York. These tracks are of considerable historical importance, not least in that they were Doc's first solo acoustic engagements, but in that they capture Doc's already considerably accomplished musical personality and his ability to hold an audience in the palm of his hand with his vocal and instrumental presence. Although these are solo performances, he inveigles other musicians - John Herald, Bob Yellin and all three Greenbriar Boys respectively - up on stage for three of the cuts. At that time, Doc's superlative performances of authentic folk and oldtime country material were (together with the pioneering work of the New Lost City Ramblers) proving key to the growing realisation of the richness of the country's musical heritage, and this release is thus immensely valuable, and not least for its purely musical virtues. Listening to these performances today also enables us to humbly reflect on Doc's pervasive influence on subsequent generations of guitar flatpickers. Doc's stunning, benchmark-setting renditions of Blue Smoke and Cann