Original Soundtrack - Crazy Heart (New West)
Anne Hills - Points Of View (Appleseed)
Pierre Bensusan - À La Carte (Dadgad Music)
Cliff Richard - Just About As Good As It Gets! (Smith & Co.)
Gerry Rafferty - Life Goes On (Hypertension)
Paul Curreri - California (Tin Angel)
Karl Culley - Bundle of Nerves (3 Minutes of Madness)
Various - The Village (Proper)
Jeff Lang - Half Seas Over (ABC Music/Universal)
Carolina Chocolate Drops - Genuine Negro Jig (Nonesuch)
Pete Seeger - Live In '65 (Appleseed)
Anna Shannon - Over Land (Chloë Productions)
Various - Folk Awards 2010 (Proper)
Dayna Kurtz - American Standard (Munich)
Laura Veirs - July Flame (Bella Union)
Beth Nielsen Chapman - Back To Love (BNC)
Danny and the Champions of the World - Streets Of Our Time (Loose)
Ramblin' Jack Elliott - A Stranger Here (Anti)
Ian King - Panic Grass And Fever Few (Fledg'ling)
Robby Hecht - Late Last Night (Own label)
Jubal Lee Young - The Last Free Place In America (Reconstruction)
Demolition Sky -1202 (LongMan)
Nick Wyke & Becki Driscoll - Beneath The Black Tree (English Fiddle)
Rusalnaia - Rusalnaia/ Rusalnaia Live (Camera Obscura/Own Label)
Nancy Wallace - Old Stories (Midwich)
Sarah MacDougall - Across The Atlantic (Copperspine Records)
Sonja Kristina - Harmonics Of Love (Market Square)
String Sisters - Live (Compass)
Blue Rodeo - The Things We Left Behind (Continental Song City)
Eilidh Grant - Masks And Smiles (EAG Productions)
Sue Foley - Queen Bee (Retroworld)
Katy Moffatt - Trilogy (Retroworld)
Sheelanagig - Baba Yaga's Ball (Big Badger Records)
Kimber's Men - Kimber's Men In Port (A Private Label)
Issy & David Emeney with Kate Riaz - The Waiting (WildGoose Studios)
Rattle On The Stovepipe - No Use In Crying (WildGoose Studios)
Enoch Kent - One More Round (Borealis)
Ashley Hutchings & Ernesto De Pascale - My Land Is Your Land (Esoteric)
Various Artists - Transatlantic Sessions 4 DVD (Whirlie)
Various Artists - Transatlantic Sessions 4, Volume 1 (Whirlie)CD18
Mick Moloney & The Green Fields Of America - The Green Fields Of America (Compass)
James Hill & Anne Davison - True Love Don't Weep (Borealis)
Robyn Hitchcock & The Venus 3 - Goodnight Oslo (Proper)
Luther Allison - Songs From The Road (Ruf Records)
Drumbo - City Of Refuge (Proper)
Joanie Madden, Brian Conway, Billy McComiskey & Brendan Dolan - Pride Of New York (Compass)
The Hut People - Home Is Where The Hut Is (Fellside)
Colin Hay - American Sunshine (Compass)
English Rebellion - Four Across (WildGoose Studios)
Jenna - Brother (Hands On Music)
As anyone will tell you, there are about as many actors who make good singers as there are singers who make good actors. However, it does tend to be that the former pull it off best when singing in character rather than as themselves. Jeff Bridges is a case in point. Released a decade ago to overwhelming indifference, his Be Here Soon album was a dull and at times (as on Buddah & Christ At Large) frankly unlistenable collection of largely self-penned soul and r&b under the stodgy musical stewardship of Michael Macdonald.
However, here, in the persona of hard living, troubled alcoholic Bad Blake, a role that seems certain to finally earn him an Oscar after four previous nominations, he makes for a very convincing country singer, deservedly earning comparisons to Sissy Spacek’s turn as Loretta Lynn in Coalminer’s Daughter.
He sings with a soulful Southern country gruffness that immediately evokes the Outlaw days of Kris Kristofferson and Waylon Jennings, both of whom were also clearly inspirations for his character’s look.
In the film, touring the bottom of the barrel circuit, Blake’s backed by a series of pick-up musicians. On disc, Bridges fares a little better with a ‘house’ band that includes drummer Jay Bellerose, pedal steel player Greg Leisz, acoustic bassist Dennis Crouch, guitarist Buddy Miller, accordionist Joel Guzman and T Bone Burnett who, along with the late Steven Bruton (to whose memory the film’s dedicated), produced the soundtrack and co-wrote several of the songs.
Bridges gets to sing five numbers, among them the TexMex flavoured I Don’t Know, bluesy slow roller Hold On You and the Kristofferson-like weary brushed waltzer Brand New Angel. In addition to a solo take of the jaunty Fallin’ & Flyin’, there’s also a duet version with Colin Farrell who plays Blake’s protégé turned mainstream superstar Tommy Sweet.
Farrell also gets his own turn on the spotlight, delivering country rocker Gone, Gone, Gone with a persuasive performance that could give Nashville’s established young bucks cause to look over their shoulder.
The song’s co-credited to Burnett and Ryan Bingham and it’s the Texas singer-songwriter who’s proven the soundtrack’s hot catch. Aside from cameoing in the film, he and his band get to back Bridges on the rowdy Nashville boogie Somebody Else and perform their own version of Bruton and Burnett’s I Don’t Know.
He also gets to steal the whole shebang, his gritty, cracked emotion voice delivering the film’s closing number The Weary Kind, the theme song which he co-wrote with Burnett and which has earned them an Oscar nomination for Best Original Song. In what’s looking like a straight fight with Randy Newman’s two nominations for The Princess & The Frog, I’ll be putting my money on the man with the cowboy boots.
For the record, the soundtrack’s completed with an unaccompanied Live Forever by Robert Duvall (who plays Bad’s bar owner buddy and who, you’ll recall did the actor-singer country star thing himself in Tender Mercies) and recordings by Buck Owens (Hello Trouble), The Louvin Brothers (My Baby’s Gone), Lightnin Hopkins (Once A Gamber), Waylon (Are You Sure Hank Done It This Way), Townes Van Zandt (If I Needed You) and Burnett’s ex-wife, Sam Phillips (Reflecting Light).
www.foxsearchlight.com/crazyheart
www.newwestrecords.com/crazy-heart
Mike Davies February 2010
Anne’s status as veteran singer-songwriter has probably been fading from folks’ memory a bit of late, as she’s not released a new album of original self-penned material since 1998’s Bittersweet Street (unless you count her discs of settings of poet James Whitcomb Riley and Opal Whiteley). She has, however, continued to tour, while managing to team up with other musicians on record at least: with Tom Paxton on the lovely Appleseed release Under American Skies in 2001, then with Steve Gillette, Cindy Mangsen and Michael Smith on 2003’s Fourtold, and finally again with Tom and Bob Gibson for 2004’s Best Of Friends.
So it’s really good to finally get another solo set from Anne, especially since she’s manifestly still on such good vocal form, her precise tone and heartfelt delivery giving her images exactly the degree of presence and focus they deserve. Glancing through the booklet credits, we find that five of the 13 songs are co-writes with other musicians. Highlights among these are a beautifully spare piano-backed take on Two Year Winter (for which our own young folk star Bill Jones provided the musical setting some years back), the cultured pointing of Gardens (with its neat neo-artsong setting by Cindy Mangsen), and the stately, if rather succinct and enigmatic Romeo & Juliet (jointly composed with Peter Erskine). The typically strong-spirited I Am You (here given a feisty rocking backdrop) was written with New Jersey songwriter Michael Smith.
The latest of Anne’s own non-collaborative compositions (the CD contains seven) prove a fine bunch indeed – especially the simple evocative power of Pennsylvania, the universal poignancy of job loss expressed in The Farm, the quirky childlike philosophy of Leaf, the gentle air of reflection in A Plain Song and the delectable poetry of The Moon’s Song (written for Priscilla Herdman). Anne’s continuing concern for the plight of the disadvantaged and marginalised recurs on I’m Nobody. A refreshingly unpretentious craft is at work here, no doubt about that. The disc is completed by two sensibly-chosen covers (Peter Mayer’s Holy Now and a tender take on the comparatively recent Leonard Cohen song Alexandra Leaving).
Musical settings are admirably uncomplicated and undistracting, and even the two songs employing a rhythm section are cleanly and crisply rendered with no excess fat; production duties (and a handful of instruments) are expertly managed by Scott Petito. Yes, it was worth waiting for this new offering from Anne, for such is its quality that it will doubtless prove an unforgettable entry in her canon.
David Kidman January 2010
This generously-filled (74-minute) disc is headed Compilation, yet subtitled both as Complete Works 1975-2010 and Best Of. Happily, the mini-press release clarifies the situation for us: yes, it’s a "best of" selection, compiled from the internationally acclaimed French-Algerian acoustic guitarist’s nine albums recorded since 1975 - all of which are also being re-released now to celebrate his 35-year-long career.
The music on these tracks is unfailingly accomplished (exceedingly so), and presented at a level which allows for easy appreciation by non-guitar-nerds as well as practising musicians and those who more closely understand and follow all the technical stuff and the more esoteric nuances of guitar technique. It’s an ideal primer for Pierre’s personal vision of a world guitar music, providing some stunning examples of his artistry both in a purely solo capacity and placed in the context of other musicians. Gentle virtuosity, impeccable phrasing, unobtrusive technique, controlled elegance - these are the hallmarks of Pierre’s playing, and just to get to Pierre’s standard in any one of those areas any average guitar player could count himself more than fortunate.
And then there’s the eloquent way Pierre combines a free, relaxed and playful spontaneity with an ultra-careful attention to articulation. His musical style can’t be defined - it crosses right through folk, roots, classical, light jazz, French, Arabic, African, Brazilian and most other world musics you can imagine, though with an entirely natural improvisatory quality, an enviable fluidity that carries away any desire for rigid classification.
Around half of the 15 tracks find Pierre with a measure of considerately-managed backing (generally involving flute, bass and exotic percussion), notably the various selections sourced from 1987’s Spices and the mid-90s set Wu Wei which provide the lion’s share. All of these, plus two other tracks, also feature Pierre’s attractive singing (I particularly liked his traditional-folk straight guitar’n’vocal rendition of the anonymous ballad Le Roi Renaud, recorded for his second album in 1976).
Personally, I find the solo items the most compelling; although as is often the case with solo acoustic guitar playing, even though it’s very much in the “easy virtuosity” bracket, you still need to be in the right frame of mind to give the music your undivided attention. And notwithstanding the satisfyingly varied nature of the disc’s menu, it turns out to be the bonus track - an eight-minute live solo version of Intuite from 2004 - which provides the highlight of the entire disc. But if you’ve not yet sampled Pierre Bensusan’s talent, À La Carte will certainly give you the perfect introduction.
David Kidman January 2010
Yes, really! This exceedingly well-filled 71-track two-disc set is subtitled The Original Recordings 1958-1959, which gives the best clue to its usefulness and importance. Many of us have always felt that Cliff's was a similar story to that of Elvis, in that Harry Webb's finest recordings were the earliest ones - i.e. when he was a real rock'n'roller rather than a manufactured crooner, tin-pan-alley balladeer or Christian crusader. Hence the arrival of this new release, which purports to collect together all of Cliff's fifties recordings (I dimly recall an earlier EMI Cliff compilation called something like Rock'n'Roll With Cliff, but whether this was genuinely complete or just an opportunist marketing exercise I'm not sure).
The two discs are sequenced credibly enough, but not quite chronologically, which is a mite puzzling - although it was a sound decision to end the second disc with the eight tracks from Cliff Sings (his second album release), which heralded the start of the slippery slope into saccharine with the arrival of the dreaded String Section. It's clear that from the start, young and inexperienced though Cliff was, he had a flair for rock'n'roll without having to attempt to directly mimic Elvis (although he was evidently in thrall of Elvis, who inspired his formation of early school bands). Other nascent British rock'n'rollers were being swiftly sanitised by their record company moguls, and Cliff was also to succumb in due course, but for the time being (the odd embarrassment like Schoolboy Crush notwithstanding) he came up with some surprisingly convincing goods that captured something of the spirit of authentic rock'n'roll, if at times inevitably a touch tame in execution.
A key factor in the strength of Cliff's identity was the presence from an early stage (after the first few singles) of a cohesive and talented backing band, the Drifters (soon to be renamed The Shadows of course) with their amazing guitarist Hank Marvin more than ably supported by Messrs Welch, Harris & Meehan (a handful of solid Drifters instrumental cuts are scattered through the set, should you require further proof of their talent!).
The turning point in Cliff's approach, as regards emphasis within repertoire, came with the transmutation of Livin' Doll from rocker into teen ballad, from which point on most of Cliff's single releases would feature a ballad coupled with a rocker. This latest collection scores above its predecessors by including some enticing rarities, Cliff's contributions to the films Serious Charge (the rockin' variant of Livin' Doll included, complete with some crazy dialogue!) and Expresso Bongo, his eight tracks from the Oh Boy TV show soundtrack album (along with three "off-air" recordings from the show), all of the singles cuts, and the first two LPs (the eponymous first being an impressively energetic live-in-the-studio phenomenon with screaming fans in tow!), together with an assortment of stereo and alternate versions. Completeness or wot?!
Taken together, it's a great and surprisingly varied collection that embraces some convincing rockabilly (Twenty Flight Rock), moments of controlled aggressive wildness (Dynamite, Never Mind, Move It, and a more-than-respectable cover of Blue Suede Shoes), 12-bar rock (Mean Woman Blues), Cash-style country (the sublime Travellin' Light, I'm Walking, and I Gotta Know – the latter pre-dating Elvis' recording) and the aforementioned teen-ballads. Not to underplay the role of the Drifters-cum-Shadows or the guiding hand of Norrie Paramor, both crucial elements in the establishment of Cliff's persona.
This excellent new collection - with fine booklet notes by its instigator Dave Travis - does indeed demonstrate that those early Cliff recordings were "just about as good as it got" for home-grown British rock'n'roll at the tail-end of the 50s.
David Kidman January 2010
A legend in his own lifetime, formerly of The Humblebums (with Billy Connolly), Stealers Wheel (with Joe Egan) and then a major 70s solo artist in his own right (nobody could forget the iconic Baker Street!), Gerry continued to record new material right up to the millennium, but disappeared from the scene entirely for eight years thereafter. His gift for writing melodic and memorably catchy observational songs remained with him throughout that 30-year span, ensuring him a place among the pop giants.
To everyone’s surprise, Gerry’s now emerged from the shadows again with the release of Life Goes On, a comeback of sorts on which he presents an expansive 18-track collection that intersperses half-a-dozen brand new recordings with various tracks taken from his last three albums (six from 1993’s On A Wing And A Prayer, two from 1994’s Over My Head and four from 2000’s Another World), six of these in personally re-mastered versions.
You might know what to expect, then, and I’d imagine you’ll be neither disappointed nor surprised – it all sounds exactly like you want it to. Gerry’s distinctive (if stylised), smooth-textured and passionate voice is strongly in evidence on every track, and it sounds just like he’s never been away since y2k, right down to the glossy, polished, programming-rich and often decidedly over-lush arrangements that surround that voice, some naturally featuring that trademark swooning saxophone riding high in the texture. The best of these have an undeniable attraction, but it’s also indicative that time appears not to have moved on much in Gerry’s universe, and several of these tracks are now simply too much, too overbearing, too syrupy and/or bland for us roots-conscious souls.
The new recordings are a strange mixture indeed: a prefatory tolling, chiming take on a Mozart Kyrie Eleison, two passably pleasing, if slightly sugary arrangements of Christmas carols (Adeste Fidelis, Silent Night), a harmony-rich homage to the Beatles’ Because, an over-cultured version of the traditional Maid Of Culmore and a self-questioning new composition Your Heart’s Desire. The latter’s a standout cut for me, and as a bonus it features some excellent playing from a bunch of "real musicians" (as opposed to just programmed sounds) including Jerry Donahue, Mel Collins, Ken Craddock and Alan Clark. On the whole, the album tends to leave a bit of an impression that awareness of mortality might now be a burning issue for Gerry.
The disc’s impeccably packaged, with full lyrics and production credits within the lavish booklet. If you’re incurably addicted to Gerry’s voice (and I can understand why!), and you’re comfortable with this kind of polished produced pop sound, then you’ll be able to accommodate this disc on your shelves, where it will "sleep in heavenly peace" no problem.
David Kidman January 2010
Released on the Belgian label Blues Boulevard, this is the second official European album release from this Atlanta, Georgia combo purveying straight-down-the-line contemporary Southern blues-rock that derives its lineage from Lynyrd Skynyrd, the Allman Brothers and Mick-Taylor-period Rolling Stones, with a soupcon of Z.Z. Top thrown in too perhaps. Suitably gritty-voiced and authentic, and with most of their material self-penned (albeit with a wry slant) by lead vocalist and lap steel guitarist Tom Gray (occasionally in tandem with fellow-band-members), Delta Moon give us a masterful set of tough (but not over-the-top) delta-blues-rock that audibly takes no prisoners, even if not exactly treading any new ground. The funky slide-and-keyboard strut of Stuck In Carolina (with what sounds like an uncredited sax player on the playout coda), two neat excursions into stripped-down acoustica (the plaintively nostalgic Plantation Song and an excellent cover of Mississippi Fred McDowell’s You Got To Move) and the welcome appearance of a six-string banjo (on Get Gone), are all extra elements that add spice to the already laudably solid brew, and, notwithstanding a couple of unremarkable cuts later on in the sequence, this still turns out a pretty satisfying - and rather replayable - rootsy set that heralds Delta Moon (now boasting a different rhythm section from that on their Howling At The Southern Moon album, by the way) as a band to watch.
www.myspace.com/deltamoonrocks
David Kidman January 2010
In recent years, Paul’s tended to be namechecked more for being the partner of Devon Sproule than for his own status as a performing songwriter of no mean talent - this despite releasing his fifth, and particularly impressive, album (The Velvet Rut) barely two years ago.
California is once again characterised by Paul’s dextrous guitar work and typically smoky vocal, but its songs don’t quite possess either the darker edge or the consistency of expression that had defined The Velvet Rut – unsettled and often angry though that album was. Sure, California’s songs grow on you, but it’s almost as though the relative optimism that permeates the new album from opening song Now I Can Go On in has dulled Paul’s emotional soul to the extent that he’s unable to revisit the murkier depths, at least for the time being. There’s compensation, of course, in the self-inflicted high production values of the new album, including the fact that (again) Paul plays every instrument himself (on all tracks but Wildegeeses, a Michael Hurley cover on which he’s joined by Devon herself), and the often hypnotic yet homespun well-craftedness of the songs themselves (well, most of them anyway). I found one or two of the new songs a touch glib, almost self-parodic (on The Line he takes his voice into an uneasy strain in an attempt to sound wacky, while Tight Pack Me Sugar is almost too self-consciously like a pastiche of Tom Waits, although its weird instrumental backdrop is not without interest). And I’m puzzled as to why the booklet reprints lyrics for all Paul’s songs except The Line, which is represented by an italicised anecdote.
However, in the final analysis, it’s the hazy intricacy of Paul’s guitar picking, together with the often elliptical vagaries of the better of the lyrics (the title track, Here Comes Another Morning and the tender John-Martyn/Martin-Simpson-like I Can’t Return) and the sometimes extraordinary directions the songs get to twist into (like the essay in throat-singing that snarls I Can Hear The Future Calling to its premature close), that inspire me to return to this disc for further edification - which I’m sure will follow in time.
David Kidman January 2010
Already a published poet, the Yorkshire singer-songwriter drove for 6 ½ hours and then took two ferries to spend 20 days recording his debut album at the only recording studio on the Isle of Jura, a ruggedly beautiful but desolate place that also has but one pub and a population of just 200. Plus, of course, a distillery.
He doesn't make things easy for himself. But, with its self-declared tales of lust, regret, anger, love, death, onanism, dehumanisation and insanity, the end result was certainly worth the effort.
Consisting entirely of the line 'I love you but you never come round with the elephant juice', chanted over and over as the tempo gathers pace into a dervish whirl, the opening track sets the idiosyncratic mood for what follows.
Accompanied by Simon Edwards on, among other things, bass, piano, and marimbula and producer Giles Perring on a variety of exotic percussion (not to mention lap steel, harmonium, and baglama), Culley himself plays quicksilver fingerpicked acoustic guitar (superbly showcased on Suffering), his flamenco-like rhythmic style evolving from teenage years mixing drum and bass and a stint as a skiffle-noir percussionist. A little John Martyn is certainly in there too.
The voice is a little reedy, but he builds on this by either accentuating each syllable (especially the sibilants) or adopting a wavering wobble in the manner of the formative ISB. He can also bring a darkling, spectral quality to his delivery which, in tandem with often mantra-like lyrics and the hypnotic nature of the rhythms, weaves a mesmerising esoteric ambience.
I'm Not Proud Of Myself, for example has a Middle Eastern snake-charmer sway while The Haunting Of Karl Culley saddles up with spaghetti western ghost riders, the cello adorned Man In The Shadows lingers around Palestinian villages, In Her Nature is a mazurka rework of the frog and the scorpion fable as played by a folk answer to Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and the wonderfully twitchy Bundle Of Nerves comes on like a cocktail of Cat Stevens and New Order reconstructed into an Andalucian stomp.
As if to demonstrate that not everything has to be performed at a life-dependent urgent pace, Sap provides the album's laid back moment with bluesy electric guitar intermingling with acoustic plucking and jazzy brushed drums while things play out with the hand drum percussive drone Sand And Snow leading you like nomadic herders across some North African plain.
Certain to appeal to world music and contemporary folk audiences alike, I'd recommend you develop a nervous disposition.
Mike Davies February 2010
As any musicologist will tell you, in the 60s Greenwich Village, New York, was the epicentre of the burgeoning folk movement, a hive of both political and musical activity, often embodies in the same artists. Drawn to the area's history as the home of the beat movement and names like Kerouac, Ginsberg, and Burroughs, it was here that the young Dylan first made his name, where the seeds of the Mamas and Papas were laid and to where musicians such as Tim Buckley, Joni Mitchell, Joan Baez, Phil Ochs, Richard Farina, Tom Rush, John Sebastian, Peter, Paul & Mary and Fred Neil came to hone their craft and hang out with like-minded singers and songwriters.
So, presented with an tribute album that declares itself A Celebration Of The Music Of Greenwich Village, you'd anticipate a rich and diverse collection of the songs and writers that helped forge its reputation. However, as the first three numbers illustrate, this is a considerable missed opportunity to both celebrate those contributions and introduce a new generation to artists with whom they may not be familiar.
The album kicks off with Rickie Lee Jones giving Subterranean Homesick Blues a stoner fuelled woozy groove, then The Duhks strip It's All Right Ma I'm Only Bleeding down to a fiddle scraped backwoods blues before Lucinda Williams delivers Positively 4th Street like she's leaning on a barroom table clutching her third bottle of bourbon.
Now, these are undeniably strong covers, but three Dylan songs in a row does rather suggest a certain bias. And it doesn't end there. Shelby Lynne drawls her way through Don't Think Twice It's Alright and Rocco DeLuca closes up proceedings with a spare, gospel-blues infused The Ballad Of Hollis Brown with flashes of bottleneck slide.
So that's five Dylan songs out of 13 tracks. And while John Oates' folk blues finger picking version of He Was A Friend Of Mine nods to Dave Van Ronk, you can be pretty sure the compilers were aware that when the song was included on the Brokeback Mountain soundtrack it was credited with the 1962 arrangement by, yes, Bob Dylan.
Sure Dylan was the first to bring the music being made in the Village to the attention of a wider audience, but a little more balance wouldn't have gone amiss.
So, other than Mr Zimmerman, who else is represented here? Village denizens Baez, Buckley and Peter, Paul & Mary are among the myriad of folk names who've recorded the traditional Wayfaring Stranger, now given a moodily electrified individual stamp by Sixpence None The Richer.
Buckley himself is represented by a typically hushed and faithful rendition of Once I Was by The Cowboy Junkies, Eric Andersen's achingly beautiful Violets Of Dawn is tenderly handled by Mary Chapin Carpenter. Rachael Yamagata represents Mitchell with an emotional weary, slow march version of Both Sides Now (even if it does overlook the original's breezy ironic joy) and, one of the standouts, Amos Lee turns in a soulful performance of Fred Neil's Little Bit Of Rain that conjures comparisons to Aaron Neville.
Already one of the Village's folk revival leading lights when the new breed started to make waves, it seems an odd choice to celebrate Pete Seeger with a cover of a song he didn't even write, though mercifully, at least Los Lobos' version of Guantanamera doesn't take its cue from that by The Sandpipers.
I also have to ask what those behind the project were thinking of when they decided to include Bruce Hornsby's live recording of Sebastian's Darlin' Be Home Soon. One of the greatest songs The Lovin' Spoonful ever recorded, the emotionally naked original version can reduce grown men to tears. Hornsby's flat, note strangling and droningly monotonous version may do likewise, but not for the same reason. "Tom Jones I'm not", he says on the introduction. Nor John Sebastian either.
Hornby aside, this is a solid set of sometimes inspired recordings that bear repeated listens, but, by putting the emphasis on Dylan and either reducing his peers to footnotes or, in the case of Ochs and Farina, ignoring them entirely makes the album subtitle something of a mockery. The album credits make reference to 'bonus tracks', and maybe these afford a wider perspective, but none are included on this release and there's no indication of where to find them. Perhaps a special edition or Vol II will rectify matters.
Oh, I almost forgot. Just to add a little icing to the Dylan cake, the sleevenotes are written from first hand experience by Suze Rotolo, author of A Freewheelin' Time: A Memoir of Greenwich Village in the Sixties and, as I'm sure you know, Bob's former girlfriend photographed hanging on to his arm on the cover of Freewheelin'.
www.429records.com
www.thevillager.com/villager_347/timeschange
www.suzerotolo.com
Mike Davies February 2010
I last came across this acclaimed Australian guitarist, singer and songwriter sharing the credits with Chris Whitley on the unjustly undersung album Dislocation Blues a couple of years back, but Jeff's latest offering to come under my radar is a solo release, a beautifully eloquent exploration of traditional modes of folk, country and blues that expands the boundaries of those genres and blends them all together to form a unique musical hybrid.
Jeff's astoundingly simple, yet deftly intricate, abundantly lyrical and utterly hypnotic guitar playing provides the backbone of the determinedly spare, wiry soundscape where usually the only accompaniment is Grant Cummerford's admirably economic and understated bass work. To provide just a little extra instrumental support for his sweet-toned, often plaintive singing voice, Jeff multitracks with additional instrumental colours from time to time, but the essential, almost primordial intimacy of his musical creations remains intact and very powerful indeed.
Jeff's own compositions (nine songs and one instrumental piece) form the majority of the disc, and their quality is consistently high with each individual vignette compellingly and naturally unfolding before your ears. The gently stirring ambience of the soul-searching Five Letters complements a hyper-restless yet genuinely haunting take on the disturbing traditional ballad of The House Carpenter, while Jeff's soulful version of the prison lament My Mother Always Talked To Me carries a deep resonance beyond its simple dobro accompaniment and paves the way for the enchanted balladry of Mooncoin, the weird disembodied experience of Ghosting On My Mind with its stabbing electric-guitar loops, and the all-hands-to-the-pumps call-and-response finale Newman Town.
The album's title, nautical slang for blind drunk, may give an impression of careless or wilfully exaggerated behaviour, but this belies the vivid introspection of Jeff's music and the sheer thoughtfulness of his inspiration. It's an intensely masterful, endlessly fascinating and richly rewarding set that may well end up on my year's-best-list.
David Kidman May 2009
Sheer joy! This stylish African-American trio caused a real stir a couple of years ago with some overdue UK exposure for their lively and committed revival of what’s best termed the Piedmont string-n-jugband music tradition, effectively reclaiming their own (“black string-band”) heritage. Their slightly confusing discography was brought up to date by the release of a new album, Dona Got A Ramblin’ Mind, which rapidly won them many new admirers. And now the band consolidates its pole position in its field by returning to the UK for a (once again far too brief) tour and releasing another brand new album. Which is a cracker!
Much of its 38 minutes is a deeply footstompin’, fiddle-scratchin’, banjo-pluckin’, jug-blowin’ country-string-band howdy-rowdy-dow, full of what might be called dirt-floor immediacy and with the strongest goodtime presence of almost any album I’ve heard in a while – and a state-of-the-art recording to match, pairing a brilliance of inner detail with the spontaneous capturing of the trio’s characteristic authentic edge. You won’t hear stuff like Trouble In Your Mind and Your Baby Ain’t Sweet Like Mine played with any more verve and gusto than here, but one of the aces in this threesome’s pack is their ability to transform songs we now think of as genre classics back into their original milieu and invest them with that first-time-round freshness on each successive performance. Dallas Austin’s Hit ’Em Up Style gets perhaps the most spectacular retro-makeover, with a sensual hoedown-inflected rumba treatment (stunning vocal from Rhiannon Giddens by the way!), but I just love what these guys do, period, with everything from Sandy Boys to Kansas Joe McCoy’s Why Don’t You Right?, to the old English ballad Reynadine (done by Rhiannon, as an acappella solo), and the delectably joyful Cornbread And Butterbeans.
They make all the connections between the different musics that would form an inter-continental melting-pot and criss-cross the seas. Even so, the album’s nominal quasi-title-track, Snowden’s Jig, is a rather strange item, with slapped percussion and a sinuous, rather Eastern-European vibe that doesn’t sound remotely like a jig! And then again, the album’s final number might seem a surprising choice – yet Tom Waits’ Trampled Rose is a piece we could almost take as coming from the tradition (or a branch of it that came over to the States from Weimar!), although it makes for a bit of a leave-you-in-mid-air moment as closing tracks go, I feel. Fabulous though the energised but unrushed goodtime numbers are, though, there are a couple of time-stands-still moments too, when the tempo drops right back: these really strike home – and not just because they provide such a contrast. Band member Justin Robinson’s own composition Kissin’ And Cussin’ is a real standout in that regard, with its ominous ringing autoharp and drumbeats enhancing its sense of bluesy doom.
The individuality of the CCDs’ sound is striking – even within the time-honoured old-time string-band template – and this might well be attributed to the band members’ versatility, the easy facility with which each of them can swop instruments and duties and come up with a great combined sound by working it all out together with a passion. Creative use of percussion, with some superb banjo, fiddle and guitar (not to forget jug, kazoo and harmonica) work to both underpin and embellish the basics, all helps to establish that band identity. This is mountain music with a vengeance – and that revenge is both sweet and intensely more-ish.
www.carolinachocolatedrops.com
David Kidman January 2010
Travelling back in time from Appleseed’s last Seeger release that chronicled Pete still going strong a couple of years ago at the age of 89, here’s a great two-disc set presenting a newly discovered live recording taped in Pittsburgh’s Carnegie Music Hall close on 45 years ago. It brings us the quintessential Pete Seeger in equally quintessential concert mode: the man of constant communication, charismatic to the last, exuberantly bobbing and weaving around the microphones as he performed this totally riveting two-hour solo show.
Pete treats the audience to the full spectrum of his repertoire, moving effortlessly and entirely naturally from laughter to tears, contemporary to traditional, balladry to social commentary, activism to nostalgia, children’s songs to adult philosophy, one area of human experience to another, in a polyglot pageant of life itself. In doing so, he gives us unique insights into the origins of the songs and thus the byways of human creativity. His trains of thought and song may often seem tangential but they’re always highly fascinating. For instance, his introduction to Hamish Henderson’s Freedom Come All Ye (complete with an authentically Scottish delivery) takes in an impromptu performance of D-Day Dodgers; his performance of When I First Came To This Land leads to a Pied-Piper-like exposition of the use of the same tune throughout many cultures; similarly, literary and cultural references are brought in to inform every song Pete performs. And even his occasional switching-over of instruments (from banjo to 12-string guitar) is accomplished with minimal delay and an entirely modest degree of genially informative anecdotery – no time wasted here!
As for the enormous breadth of material Pete eagerly encompasses during the show, a partial tracklist must suffice to give you a flavour: Oh Susanna, I Come And Stand At Every Door, Peat Bog Soldiers, Guantanamera, Dylan’s A Hard Rain’s A-Gonna Fall, Matt McGinn’s hilarious Manyura Manya, of course some of his hits (Bells Of Rhymney, Turn Turn Turn, If I Had A Hammer, Where Have All The Flowers Gone), and a generous helping of songs in languages other than English (Malaika, Los Cuatro Generales). There are some quite spine-chillingly atmospheric moments, such as the bizarre point at which Pete seems to turn Greensleeves into a spaghetti-western theme while exhorting the audience to sing along! And we mustn’t forget to mention Pete’s unassuming, but very real instrumental prowess, notably on the banjo (check out his Old Joe Clark for starters). It’s a real privilege to share these songs with Pete, to feel part of that audience and to sing them along with him (plenty of evidence here of his unshakable belief that “singing is like democracy – it’s best when everyone participates”!); to hear his accounts of the stories behind them and come to an understanding of everything he stands for.
Oh, and even tho’ he’s up there on that big stage, the guy’s human after all – so what if he muffs a line or two, forgets a word or so! What matters is that this show is nothing less than a totally involving experience (it might usefully be marketed as Now That’s What I Call A Folk Concert!): Pete engages you directly from the very outset and refuses to let your attention wander for a moment. He’s an inspiration to us all, and has been for a very long time. This issue is nothing less than the ideal celebration of Pete in his prime, the consummate folk entertainer.
David Kidman January 2010
Over Land is Scarborough-based songwriter Anna's fifth CD release, and comes at the culmination of three years during which she's been working (and gigging) hard and rapidly (and deservedly) building a reputation as one of the folk-acoustic scene's most confident - and compelling - live presences.
For, as folks around the north of England scene already know, she makes a hell of an impression in live performance, where she brings to her lyrical and sensitively evocative songs her seriously stunning singing voice and some intensely accomplished musicianship that encompasses distinctive guitar work (influenced by both classical Spanish and folk stylings) and occasional excursions onto whistle and percussion. (She's also a more than capable player of fiddle, flute and oboe by the way, and these instruments all get brief but effective airings on this new record, which scores points by virtue of its sparse yet richly-toned palette.)
Strictly speaking, Over Land's immediate predecessor, the lovely, intimate When We Were Young album (released in 2008), should have brought her name to the attention of every right-thinking music-lover, for it was her most perfectly formed collection and if anything it sounds even better today. I'm not entirely sure (yet) that Over Land is quite as consistent a set in total, but it certainly contains plenty of real gems and not a weak song.
It actually also forms a neat bridge between albums (and, I guess, creative periods in Anna's writing), since its opening two tracks (A Little Piece Of Africa and Frost On The Larch) also occur on When We Were Young and just happen to be two of its strongest songs. The reason for the re-recording of these songs, Anna explains in her liner notes, is essentially the presence of the incomparable Mike Silver, who's been responsible for production (and mastering and mixing) of Over Land as well as the gentle and sympathetic musical arrangements on three of the tracks. Mike's rather special, (umm) silvery-toned Lowden guitar graces six of the songs in beautiful counterpoint to Anna's own guitar lines, and he sings backing vocal on a seventh. Mike's new, and strongly individual, arrangement for Frost On The Larch, made after hearing only the melody of the original version, is just wonderful.
Moving on through the album, Anna glides over land (and sea) to retell the tale of the flight of golden eagles returning to their native Scotland, then comes to earth and settles down for a sequence of songs with the land (the soil) as a loose connecting theme. Three tracks carry the special resonance of Anna's own stamping ground: the rather bluntly-titled Yorkshire Song chronicles a special moment in the fields around her home, Cinder Hills is a gentle instrumental portrait of a local hillside, and English Holly takes a Victorian perspective on one of Anna's own regular occupations, the harvesting of holly to make wreaths.
Two songs powerfully retell old tales: the ballad of Charlotte Dymond, based on a Bodmin legend, comes straight out of Mike Silver Country, while Velvet Green (a standout track) is an old English fable on the consequences of infidelity which has a stark traditional feel and moves eerily from acappella to fiddle and hurdy gurdy drone accompaniment. Several of the other songs would have fitted in well on When We Were Young, two in particular feeling complementary to that earlier album, both being reflections from the point of view of a farmer (Where Once He Laboured affectionately recalls years spent with his working horse, while No Money For Old Rope tells of being defeated by technology and modern ways). Dancing With Lilies was written for Anna's youngest daughter, while Bravios Gryengro provides a historical window into the life of a Romany.
So why, despite its many virtues, do I still have a nagging feeling that Over Land isn't quite as consistent a set as its predecessor? I suppose it might be that I've grown to love When We Were Young so much that it will inevitably take a little longer for any new album (however good) to surpass it; but it's equally possible that while each song is strong individually, there's sometimes a sense that Anna's melodies aren't all quite as immediately distinctive this time around. This may just be a false impression, and certainly when I take a step back and at further remove from the earlier album Over Land scores especially highly and on its own terms is definitely an immensely appealing and rewarding experience - which in the end is how it should be assessed.
Oh, and the accompanying artwork is sheer magic. Anna's is a very special talent, so miss this release at your peril!David Kidman January 2010
Another year, another BBC Radio 2 Folk Awards and another box set with 2 discs featuring the nominees with, as ever, several in the running for more than one category. The awards take place on Feb 1, so it may all be over by the time you actually read this and I’m not going out on a limb to make predictions that almost invariably will have no relation to the actual winners.
However, the compilation exists as more than a checklist and is a more than useful thumbnail reference work for the current health of British folk music. Much of the featured music here is of a traditional bent, embracing as it does current material from such names as Cara Dillon, Mawkin:Causley, Jon Boden, Damien Barber & Mike Wilson, Jackie Oates, Bellowhead and Martin Simpson. The latter’s the only artist to get two tracks on the compilation, both taken from True Stories, but then he’s also not only nominated in five different categories but is nominated twice for Best Original Song!
Like Simpson, there’s several well established names on the list, with accordion maestro John Kirkpatrick, folk-reggae fusioneers Edward II, Belshazzar’s Feast and Show Of Hands (up against Simpson in the song race) all sporting long service medals while relative newcomers include The Unthanks, the bluegrass influenced Megson, instrumental duo Maclaine Colston & Saul Rose (both former Young Tradition finalists with Saul up for Best Musician) and, looking to make it a Best Group hat trick, Lau.
Nominated in the Musician of the Year category, curiously John McCusker’s represented on the compilation not by a track from his recent vocal and instrumental suite, Under One Sky, but by one from Before The Ruin, his 2008 collaboration with Kris Drever and Roddy Woomble. Still, given that it’s The Poorest Company, it seems churlish to quibble over the selection process.
As ever, The Horizon Award puts the spotlight on acts who have either increased their profile or debuted on the scene during 2009. Sometime Memory Band/Owl Service singer Nancy Wallace earns her place by way of full length solo debut Old Stories though, given the compilation’s trad bias, it might have been better to feature one of her own songs rather than I Live Not Where I Love.
A runner up in my best of the year list, it’s good to see Sam Carter represented with debut album Keepsakes, joined by Hannah James & Sam Sweeney who made their duo debut last year after serving time together in Kerfuffle and, separately, as members of The Demon Barber Roadshow and Bellowhead. Rounding out the nominees are two more names branching out from their day jobs into duo territory, Tiny Tin Lady fiddle player Katriona Gilmore and, yet another Kerfuffle graduate, Jamie Roberts.
Finally among the nominees, in what can sometimes seem a rather po-faced genre, it’s good to find rowdy punk into folk alchemists The Bad Shepherds in the running for Best Live Act, here to be heard transforming Down In The Tube Station At Midnight.
As ever there’s also a bonus third CD featuring the six finalists - all of a trad persuasion - for the BBC Radio 2 Young Folk Award. The results were announced last December with Dorset’s James Findlay walking away with the trophy, featured here singing British Man Of War, with the other finalists lining up as 15 year old Celtic Folk singer and bodhran player Niamh Boadle, Irish instrumental sextet Cinnte, Skye sisters Maire & Steaphanaidh Chaimbeul, Scottish button accordionist Chris Keatinge and, another sibling duo, bluegrass influenced Devonian twins The Carrivick Sisters.
www.bbc.co.uk/radio2/events/folk-awards-2010
Mike Davies January 2010
Despite having reviewed 2003’s Postcards From Downtown here in glowing terms, neither of the subsequent two follow-ups, Beautiful Yesterday and Another Black Feather, found their way to my postbox for similar treatment. So, good news then that, three years on from the latter, her fourth studio album is currently ringing loud and clear from the CD player.
I have no idea of the musical journey in the interim, but, recorded in her native New Jersey, Memphis and New Orleans, its evident that time spent on rockabilly guitar lessons and Masters level poetry writing courses in New York, not to mention soaking up log cabin life, has paid off with a confident, muscular album that both rocks and swoons in equal measure.
Sounding a lot like a young Joan Baez, she opens the album with the banjo accompanied Greenwich Village folk feel of Invocation before putting those guitar lessons to poky use on Good In 62’s echoey vocal and loose limbed swinging rhythm and then swinging into the swampy blues of Billboards For Jesus with Kurtz hitting the deeper end of her register while the guitars squeal and the organ rides its noir sidewalks.
She’s in molten form too for Lou Lou Knows, an old Slim Willet rockabilly tune that gets a blues and cigarette smoke workover while Hanging Around My Boy slopes across the speakeasy floor with boogie woogie piano and bluesy mouth harp and, recorded in the Big Easy with brass band The Nightcrawlers, Election Day grabs you by the arm and takes you off into a night of handclapping gospel and jazz swung carnival revelry.
She does, of course, give good torch and bruised ballad too. Are You Dancing With Her Tonight sees her slow waltzing with the ghosts of Kitty Wells and Patsy Cline, Elliot Smith’s little known Don’t Go Down gets the early hours Billie Holliday treatment, and, with dampened brushed drums, wounded lap steel and ‘human hammond’ backing vocals from herself and Keren Ann, she turns Here Comes A Regular, Paul Westerberg’s ode to the drunk and lonely, into a six minute slow marching hymnal lament.
With a capella worksong gospel You Fine Girl completing the track listing and underlining the seasoned depth and maturity of her voice, she’s set a standard that others are going to have to work hard to match.
www.daynakurtz.com
www.myspace.com/daynakurtz
Mike Davies January 2010
Named after a peach variety, the Colorado songstress’s new album finds her back on her old UK label, losing the glasses, ditching her old Seattle band, recording at home in Oregon with producer and partner Tucker Martine and returning to the unadorned, folksy fingerpicking style of Carbon Glacier.
It’s all very serene and bucolic, variously wrapped up warm against the winter chill and enfolded in a summery haze as her voice floats across open space arrangements and lyrics that trade in her customary predilection for natural world imagery.
Ever one for writing about matters of the heart, there’s some lovelorn wistfulness and occasional shades of lonely while (suitably phrased with euphonium intro and plucked banjo) Where Are You Driving flirts with spikes of jealousy and, a little musically darker with its brooding strings, furrowed brow electric guitar and melancholic vocal, the piano backed Little Deschutes has her dithering ‘one foot on the floor and one foot outside the door’.
However, doubtless reflecting domestic contentment and impending motherhood it’s a woozy romanticism that dominates with numbers like the languid Sun King, an airy dappled When You Give Your Heart, and the descant, whirly Fleet Foxesish I Can See Your Tracks which, like closing duet Make Something Good, features My Morning Jacket’s Jim James on harmonies.
By way of a lyrical tangent that will only mean something to those who scour musician credits, Carol Kaye is a song in admiration of the session bassist, but, by and large, the album theme and mood is pretty much summed up by the giveaway titles of barber shop quartet backed Life Is Good Blues and raggy waltz Summer Is The Champion.
It should go down nicely with the arrival of the slightly more clement weather.
www.lauraveirs.com
www.myspace.com/lauraveirs
Mike Davies January 2010
Following the death of her husband and her breast cancer experiences that informed Deeper Still, Hymns collection of Latin hymns amd Prism’s multi-language songs of devotion and the spiritual, Chapman’s latest finds her in a less meditative and more upbeat and joyous frame of mind. Indeed, both I Can See Me Loving You and I Need You Love find her breaking into a giggle. But then, having recently come out the other end of an operation for a benign brain tumour, she has more reason to laugh than most. As she says on How We Love, life’s taught her that every day is new and that from the ashes new dreams start.
Echoing the subject matter of 2005’s Look, she describes the album’s dominant theme as the awakening the heart and letting love in. If the title weren’t clue enough, love also figures in no less than six of the song titles while two others, Happiness and Peace, equally give a pretty good idea of where she’s emotionally coming from.
Returning to the soulful country pop that characterised her eponymous album a decade ago with co-write contributions from such names as Michael McDonald, Benmont Tench, Danny Flowers and Annie Roboff, the set opens with Hallaleujah, the melodically infectious and life-embracing stand out number previewed during last year’s tour (the lyrics of which add another dose of love to proceedings) and featuring a lovely George Harrison-like slide guitar figure.
More Than Love may have a handclapping old school country gospel rhythm and the choppy I Can See Me Loving You a frisky guitar and mandolin setting, but the prevalent musical mood here is gently rolling mid-tempo, punctuated by the relaxed, star-kissed and Celtic tinged early evening balladry of How We Love (very reminiscent of Julie Gold), and the piano and strings back hymnal notes of Peace and The Path Of Love.
Over the years, Chapman has been giving workshops about healing grief through music. This album should swiftly become a set text.
Mike Davies January 2010
The follow up to 2008’s self-titled band debut finds Danny George Wilson and his fluid line up of musicians edging even closer to Slim Chance, the folk-country outfit founded by one of his musical heroes, the late Ronnie Lane. Indeed, Henry the Van, a mandolin strummed campfire song about the demise of the faithful tour bus en route to Aberdeen, even includes a line about the romance of the road and a poacher.
That homespun feel of back porches and dusty byways runs throughout, evident noticeably on the pedal steel coated Appalachian flavoured Wandle Swan a reference to a South London river and the fiddle and banjo rousing bluegrass and Irish stomp of Parakeets.
Lane’s not the only influence to ring clearly. The steady rolling Follow The River nods to Springsteen’s optimistic romantic nostalgia, complete with a Clarence Clemons style sax solo, the keening Bluebird harks to the West Coast colours of CS&N, Restless Feet takes a Neil Young like wistful stroll through memories of youthful dreams, and the pedal steel jaunty Lose These Rags recalls Gene Clark.
The People Here (Shine A Light) is a bit of a mess with its gospel chorus and jerky verse rhythms and various instruments trying to elbow their way in, but otherwise, steeped in the weary but contended melancholia of passing years that imbues Streets Of Time, these are streets well worth the walking.
www.thechampionsoftheworld.org
www.myspace.com/dannyandthechampionsoftheworld1
Mike Davies January 2010
77-year-old Ramblin’ Jack, long regarded as kinda the handshake Woody Guthrie gave to Dylan, follows his 2006 album I Stand Alone with this quirky yet totally honest exploration of Depression-era blues classics, to construct the essence of which he’s been assisted by celebrated producer Joe Henry and a handpicked collection of musicians including David Hidalgo and Van Dyke Parks. But even if you think you know what this is gonna sound like, you’re probably in for a surprise or two!
It’s a raunchy, gritty, rough-edged set, tho’ not without many elegant subtleties of expression, as even a swift exposure to the record, in the form of the first couple of tracks will prove. The opening Rising High Water Blues is like Tom Waits-meets-Ry Cooder, except that Jack’s singing voice is less worn’n’rasped and more life-scarred, whereas Death Don’t Have No Mercy starts out as an almost graceful shuffle but by the time it reaches its instrumental break has degenerated into a war-torn, shellshocked memoir for which the only course is numbed, growling resignation. The haunting musical landscapes, with their characteristic grinding gutbucket instrumental settings, are priceless examples of how to convey a period atmosphere: take the lovingly stretched-out Rambler’s Blues, with gleamings of limpid mandolin, twelve-string and slide peering cautiously thru a backdrop of steamy, gently rollicking piano and rough percussion. Jack’s broodingly defiant rendition of Grinning In Your Face has all the chill of the grim reaper; while Soul Of A Man brilliantly catches its insistent questing nature, and is hammered home by the eerily hallucinatory, quasi-psychedelic instrumental effects and scoring.
It’s clear that each song’s individual psyche is ideally matched to Jack’s own – as too with the character of the set as a whole: “as dark, funny and strange as is he and the times that produced them”. The songs speak potently and poetically of man’s struggle, in matters such as love, justice and morality, with a deep integrity that mirrors Jack’s own uncompromising take on the world he’s helped shape. This is a masterful set that fully justifies Jack the epithet of legendary.
David Kidman January 2010
Coming from nowhere (well Penistone, actually), a drystone waller by trade who after early folk club experiences gravitated readily to the punk ethic: welcome to the illustrious Fledg’ling fold Ian King. It’s quite a few months back now that Ian was one of the subjects of a fRoots cover feature proudly labelled “new English folk from all directions”, and after performing a key support spot for Alasdair Roberts at last year’s Folk Roots, New Routes festival, his approach was magnanimously dubbed by the festival’s organiser Shirley Collins (no less) as "English folk music for the 21st century".
So his debut CD must be something to look forward to very eagerly indeed, right? Well we’ve all heard this kind of claim before haven’t we? and however reliable the source of all those endorsements and purple-prose quotes, credence can still be a scarce commodity these days. Anyway, here’s that very CD - and first impressions? Well I admit more on the lines of hey, who’s this guy, who thinks he can just swan along in and take a bunch of hallowed traditional folk songs and ballads, dress them up in snazzy new dancey, beat-ridden apparel and swank them casually across your speakers?
But hold it right there. This guy may be confident, and at the outset he may seem a mite over-devil-may-care in his delivery, but there’s much keenly intelligent preparation gone into this record too. You can hear how Ian has creatively absorbed a host of musics and multi-cultural influences in his natural-born quest to widen the appeal of folk song, recognising the timeless value of the ancient stories and dragging them out onto today’s urban streetscape for us all to access and share. And in doing this Ian has clearly drawn considerable inspiration from the guys he recruited for production duties: dub impresario Adrian Sherwood (who’s worked extensively with Lee Perry) and his latter-day sound-crew sideman, the ultra-innovative Skip "Little Axe" McDonald. The imprint of these two men is stamped right across the disc’s grooves in the use of characteristically vibrant scoring and intriguing textures involving devices such as loops and beats.
But in spite of Ian and his co-producers’ pointing-up of Caribbean-type vibes and transglobal rhythms and musical gestures generally, a sunny, feelgood Edward II-style take on tradition this ain’t – for although there might still linger a certain initial impression of chirpy accessibility on a few of the tracks, it quickly becomes evident that a deeper response is both engendered and intended in Ian’s considered reinterpretations. Instrumentally speaking, his use of brass (a three-piece horn section), while carrying echoes of both the Yorkshire tradition and indigenous reggae “baps and swirls”, takes on a darker element too, and is thrown into relief by the eclectic nigh-omnipresence of world-beat percussionist Pete Lockett, while the overall mix generously allows due prominence to the more intimate input of Ian’s own guitar, banjo and mandolin, Little Axe’s extra guitar and bass lines and Filipe Tavares’ occasional violin contributions.
As regards Ian’s personal takes on the songs themselves, even one hearing should convince you that he’s done his research and carefully rethought their import in the context of our time. The fleeting familiarity of individual elements, or distinctly remembered words or lines of these folk songs, just drifts through your mind and out again, having been processed by (and permeated with) all the world-music that’s cascading around your consciousness in daily life. Ian sings clearly and appealingly, and yet, while he makes no attempt to emulate either the source-singer or folk revivalist, and there are times when his vocal delivery betrays more of a pop approach in its moulded phrasing (as on The Jovial Broom Man), he avoids over-theatricality (you might say, running directly counter to the current vogue for epic or consciously dramatic retelling as espoused by the Unthanks or Jim Moray).
This might at times tempt the listener to charge Ian with underplaying the drama of the classic ballads; there’s Death And The Lady, for instance, on which Ian employs fragmented, consciously irregular or off-the-beat phrasing, almost casting himself in the role of the alien or immigrant who’s trying (not entirely successfully) to comprehend the syntax as well as the meaning. And you might feel that Adieu To Old England blithely skates around its central emotion through its broody (albeit tasty) Afro-gypsy setting. And yet by and large Ian (sometimes against the odds, perhaps) manages to communicate the essence of these songs - or else he discovers an alternative and equally viable essence, one that causes us to reassess our own instilled response. On Four Loom Weaver Ian deconstructs and then reconstructs its desperate industrial jungle through an edgy skanking-blues filter, its clattering percussion mimicking the shuttles and bringing the hopeless mechanical grind right into the present day. The Old Miner is an extraordinary acappella recreation of the powerful industrial lament, sung in the presence of old ghosts and their chanted worksong (Ghetto Priest looped around in the ambience) - but the impact of its viewpoint is somewhat missed by Ian’s omission of the song’s final verse. Flash Company, in contrast to Bellowhead’s recent woozily hallucinogenic rendition, is set by Ian as a plaintive, almost resigned gentle calypso coming straight out from under the boardwalk complete with cooing female backing vocals. The convict ballad Isle Of France employs a similarly seductive lounge-shuffle setting, but doesn’t quite convince; in contrast, Black Eyed Susan lays down an attractive and persuasive Malian groove with Appalachian banjo and cool reverb effects.
Perhaps the most immediately ear-catching track of all, though, is Evil Eye, one of two songs penned by Ian himself, which centres round a cyclic banjo figure offset by bold dub effects for its passionate depiction of the interpolated words of Robert Johnson (the Elizabethan composer, not the blues legend). By George, the second of Ian’s own songs, is set to a curious twisted-tango rhythm: it’s an affecting tribute to Ian’s late friend Simon George Eckert, who’d been a primary source of encouragement for the making of the album (this track rather put me in mind of the Unthanks’ Lucky Gilchrist). Ian’s modern-day setting of the late-medieval composer William Cornysh’s Ah Robin, Gentle Robin (a duet with Denise Sherwood) is most enchanting, and there’s an elegantly exotic, almost middle-eastern cast to How Should I Your True Love Know? Virtually every track reveals subtleties on successive play, too, which is how it should be.
Finally – and this is not in any way meant as an adverse criticism – but overall my reaction to Ian’s music is that instead of my feeling in the presence of something specifically daring and knowingly radical, it carries an almost uncanny sense of inevitability (of both purpose and execution and yes, expression too) in the way the songs get to unfold. Ian has procured a domain of his own, and therein has triumphantly managed to develop a credible zeitgeist in which to wrap his personal vision of the power and continuing relevance of tradition.
www.myspace.com/iankingofengland
David Kidman January 2010
Listening to opening track, Something, Somehow, you can well understand why, with that gentle folky warmth and soulful vocal, he's been likened to the early James Taylor. However, the further you get into the Knoxville singer-songwriter's debut and its laid back, romantic hued Americana, the more you realise that a much more accurate comparison would be Don McLean.
He has an almost identical inflection to his voice and intimate delivery and songs like dreamy, jazz tinged Alone On A Saturday Night, the poignant fiddle flecked Along The Way's soldier's lament from beyond the grave with its reference about an unjust conflict, and the reflectively wistful, post-relationship double act of My Love Was Gold and Two Tickets are cast from the same heartfelt mould as McLean's first two albums.
Listening to the gently rolling Freight Train Lady, one of the album's best cuts and featuring Mindy Smith on back-ups, I'd also venture to suggest there's a strain of Rick Nelson in the bloodstream too.
Gifted with the ability to pen captivating sublime melodies, elegantly interpreted through arrangements that embrace accordion, viola, soulful organ and playful banjo, he's a songwriter natural while his reading of A J Roach's psalm-styled whisky confessional My Chemicals shows him to be a sympathetic interpreter of other's pain too.
An auspicious first outing, originally released in America in 2008 (the year he won Kerville's New Folk competition) it's being re-promoted to coincide with his second brief UK tour (he was here in 2009 with Carrie Elkin) that takes in a return appearance to the Celtic Connections festival. He's apparently busy working on a follow up. Personally, it can't come quick enough.
www.robbyhecht.com
www.myspace.com/robbyhecht
Mike Davies January 2010
The only son of outlaw country pioneer Steve (Seven Bridges Road) and his rather lesser known wife Terrye Newkirk, Young apparently spent his 20s in a drink and drugs spiral wrestling with his legacy. And, one might suspect, being landed with such terrible wordplay for a name.
Now 39, he’s apparently comfortable with who he is and, listening to his third album and its Steve Earle echoes, has clearly made good use of his growing pains experiences and the music on which he was raised.
Variously written between 1993 and last year, the album pretty much divides down the middle with hard rocking, bluesy outlaw country on the one side and more honky tonk and Americana inclined mid tempo numbers on the other.
It’s the former that gets the ball rolling with Uh, Let’s Go with its blowing harmonica, kicking Texas barroom rocking rhythm, lap steel boogie and Young’s raspy delivery. The same groove drives the loose limbed John Lee Hooker styled Boom, Boom, Boom, the prowling smoked midnight blues of Animal Farm (a political rant and the oldest song here) , a swampy, fiddle laced Justice Or Death and the droning blues slow stomp of Dead Miners with its attack on the ‘bottom liners’ more concerned with profits than workers’ lives.
He delivers with leathery, whisky soaked conviction, but, personally speaking, I’m more inclined to the other side of his musical coin.
Here you’ll find the Lay Lady Lay feel of Bloom, Lily, Bloom, pedal steel weeping slow waltzers Whatever You Do and Falling For You, a cracked and rumbling dust layered, mahogany folk stained cover of Richard Dobson’s Piece Of Wood And Steel and, evoking Hurricane like thoughts of another Young entirely, the closing 1997 penned One And One Is One.
The life and spirit of Woody Guthrie is also a significant presence. A fiddle flying jauntily amusing autobiographical tale of stubborness, I Refuse harks to This Land Is Your Land while the album’s anthemic and lyrically ironic stand out title track, drawled over steel and harmonica, was inspired by reading about Guthrie’s time in a Brooklyn lunatic asylum where he declared he was finally free to stand up and declare himself a Communist.
The most recent song in the collection, it’ll be interesting to see if it provides the marker for the new material he’ll be assembling for album number four.
www.juballeeyoung.com
www.myspace.com/juballee
Mike Davies January 2010
Writing together for eight years, Alistair Mackie and Mark Collyer finally get round to assembling a debut album, produced by acclaimed concert guitarist Richard Durrant (who adds double bass, keyboards and cello) with Marianne Hillier-Brooks on percussion. With songs that variously address hangovers (Where Do We Go?), romance born (Hooks) and lost (Savage Days), small town life (Demolition Sky), worn down dreams (Cowboy Song) and, on Far Away Tree, Shoot The Moon and 1202, those desires and goals that alwasy seem just out of reach.
Centred around their harmonies and acoustic guitars, the music’s firmly of the contemporary folk persuasion, shaded with jazz, pop and hints of world and Latin. As such they remind me very much of Nizlopi (especially on Where Do We Go?) and Ezio while, here and there (as on Savage Days), the influence of Paul Simon can be heard. If you’ve warmed to them, then you’ll probably find this worth the effort of tracking down.
Mike Davies January 2010
Karl Culley - Bundle of Nerves (3 Minutes of Madness) Already a published poet, the Yorkshire singer-songwriter drove for 6 ½ hours and then took two ferries to spend 20 days recording his debut album at the only recording studio on the Isle of Jura, a ruggedly beautiful but desolate place that also has but one pub and a population of just 200. Plus, of course, a distillery. He doesn't make things easy for himself. But, with its self-declared tales of lust, regret, anger, love, death, onanism, dehumanisation and insanity, the end result was certainly worth the effort. Consisting entirely of the line 'I love you but you never come round with the elephant juice', chanted over and over as the tempo gathers pace into a dervish whirl, the opening track sets the idiosyncratic mood for what follows. Accompanied by Simon Edwards on, among other things, bass, piano, and marimbula and producer Giles Perring on a variety of exotic percussion (not to mention lap steel, harmonium, and baglama), Culley himself plays quicksilver fingerpicked acoustic guitar (superbly showcased on Suffering), his flamenco-like rhythmic style evolving from teenage years mixing drum and bass and a stint as a skiffle-noir percussionist. A little John Martyn is certainly in there too. The voice is a little reedy, but he builds on this by either accentuating each syllable (especially the sibilants) or adopting a wavering wobble in the manner of the formative ISB. He can also bring a darkling, spectral quality to his delivery which, in tandem with often mantra-like lyrics and the hypnotic nature of the rhythms, weaves a mesmerising esoteric ambience. I'm Not Proud Of Myself, for example has a Middle Eastern snake-charmer sway while The Haunting Of Karl Culley saddles up with spaghetti western ghost riders, the cello adorned Man In The Shadows lingers around Palestinian villages, In Her Nature is a mazurka rework of the frog and the scorpion fable as played by a folk answer to Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and the wonderfully twitchy Bundle Of Nerves comes on like a cocktail of Cat Stevens and New Order reconstructed into an Andalucian stomp. As if to demonstrate that not everything has to be performed at a life-dependent urgent pace, Sap provides the album's laid back moment with bluesy electric guitar intermingling with acoustic plucking and jazzy brushed drums while things play out with the hand drum percussive drone Sand And Snow leading you like nomadic herders across some North African plain. Certain to appeal to world music and contemporary folk audiences alike, I'd recommend you develop a nervous disposition. www.karlculley.co.uk Mike Davies February 2010 Various - The Village (Proper) As any musicologist will tell you, in the 60s Greenwich Village, New York, was the epicentre of the burgeoning folk movement, a hive of both political and musical activity, often embodies in the same artists. Drawn to the area's history as the home of the beat movement and names like Kerouac, Ginsberg, and Burroughs, it was here that the young Dylan first made his name, where the seeds of the Mamas and Papas were laid and to where musicians such as Tim Buckley, Joni Mitchell, Joan Baez, Phil Ochs, Richard Farina, Tom Rush, John Sebastian, Peter, Paul & Mary and Fred Neil came to hone their craft and hang out with like-minded singers and songwriters. So, presented with an tribute album that declares itself A Celebration Of The Music Of Greenwich Village, you'd anticipate a rich and diverse collection of the songs and writers that helped forge its reputation. However, as the first three numbers illustrate, this is a considerable missed opportunity to both celebrate those contributions and introduce a new generation to artists with whom they may not be familiar. The album kicks off with Rickie Lee Jones giving Subterranean Homesick Blues a stoner fuelled woozy groove, then The Duhks strip It's All Right Ma I'm Only Bleeding down to a fiddle scraped backwoods blues before Lucinda Williams delivers Positively 4th Street like she's leaning on a barroom table clutching her third bottle of bourbon. Now, these are undeniably strong covers, but three Dylan songs in a row does rather suggest a certain bias. And it doesn't end there. Shelby Lynne drawls her way through Don't Think Twice It's Alright and Rocco DeLuca closes up proceedings with a spare, gospel-blues infused The Ballad Of Hollis Brown with flashes of bottleneck slide. So that's five Dylan songs out of 13 tracks. And while John Oates' folk blues finger picking version of He Was A Friend Of Mine nods to Dave Van Ronk, you can be pretty sure the compilers were aware that when the song was included on the Brokeback Mountain soundtrack it was credited with the 1962 arrangement by, yes, Bob Dylan. Sure Dylan was the first to bring the music being made in the Village to the attention of a wider audience, but a little more balance wouldn't have gone amiss. So, other than Mr Zimmerman, who else is represented here? Village denizens Baez, Buckley and Peter, Paul & Mary are among the myriad of folk names who've recorded the traditional Wayfaring Stranger, now given a moodily electrified individual stamp by Sixpence None The Richer. Buckley himself is represented by a typically hushed and faithful rendition of Once I Was by The Cowboy Junkies, Eric Andersen's achingly beautiful Violets Of Dawn is tenderly handled by Mary Chapin Carpenter. Rachael Yamagata represents Mitchell with an emotional weary, slow march version of Both Sides Now (even if it does overlook the original's breezy ironic joy) and, one of the standouts, Amos Lee turns in a soulful performance of Fred Neil's Little Bit Of Rain that conjures comparisons to Aaron Neville. Already one of the Village's folk revival leading lights when the new breed started to make waves, it seems an odd choice to celebrate Pete Seeger with a cover of a song he didn't even write, though mercifully, at least Los Lobos' version of Guantanamera doesn't take its cue from that by The Sandpipers. I also have to ask what those behind the project were thinking of when they decided to include Bruce Hornsby's live recording of Sebastian's Darlin' Be Home Soon. One of the greatest songs The Lovin' Spoonful ever recorded, the emotionally naked original version can reduce grown men to tears. Hornsby's flat, note strangling and droningly monotonous version may do likewise, but not for the same reason. "Tom Jones I'm not", he says on the introduction. Nor John Sebastian either. Hornby aside, this is a solid set of sometimes inspired recordings that bear repeated listens, but, by putting the emphasis on Dylan and either reducing his peers to footnotes or, in the case of Ochs and Farina, ignoring them entirely makes the album subtitle something of a mockery. The album credits make reference to 'bonus tracks', and maybe these afford a wider perspective, but none are included on this release and there's no indication of where to find them. Perhaps a special edition or Vol II will rectify matters. Oh, I almost forgot. Just to add a little icing to the Dylan cake, the sleevenotes are written from first hand experience by Suze Rotolo, author of A Freewheelin' Time: A Memoir of Greenwich Village in the Sixties and, as I'm sure you know, Bob's former girlfriend photographed hanging on to his arm on the cover of Freewheelin'. www.429records.com www.suzerotolo.com www.thevillager.com/villager_347/timeschange Mike Davies February 2010
Nick and Becki are two young fiddle players from North Devon who share a strong interest in the traditional music of the south-west. Although they’ve worked together as a duo for a few years now, Nick has also performed with folk-rockers Sacred Turf and Devon outfit Jiggerypipery, while Becki has appeared with the Angel Brothers. Here they follow their debut full-length CD The Calling with a collection of songs and tunes that, whether purely traditional in origin or not, nevertheless have their wellspring in English tradition.
Listeners new to the duo’s style will probably find it takes them a while to get used to, especially since the first few tracks are quite stark in terms of overall texture, presenting fairly unrelieved spans of just fiddle and viola (or else twin fiddles) with some double bass. Myself I find it invigorating, but not everyone will warm as readily. Having got that caveat out of the way, however, there is much fine music in which to delight here. The Antimacassar, the first of the album’s four original compositions, builds well from its austere motoric opening motif, with the darker timbre of the viola landing a special elegance to the instrumental blend. This tune also serves to characterise the complementary playing styles of the two musicians: Nick’s driving presence and Becki’s more melodic, emotive expressiveness.
Then again, there’s no lack of drive in Becki’s playing, for her own original tune Barnstaple To Umberleigh is clearly inspired as much by eastern European time-signatures as by traditional west-country sources, and here, as on a handful of other tracks, Nick and Becki employ some creative and welcome augmentation from Andy Seward (double bass), Keith Angel (percussion) and Ellen Driscoll (French horn). These musicians’ contributions to Benjamin Bowmaneer are particularly successful; the latter, which verges on small-scale folk-rock, is one of just three songs on which Nick does the vocal honours - a role he fulfils with reasonable distinction, if at times a touch self-conscious in matters of emphasis or expression. At the centre of the CD are two well-contrasted instrumental pieces: the atmospheric A Trip To Marrowbone and the quintessentially English (Playford) Coronation Day. The second Playford item, The King Of Poland, also benefits from the introduction of a glockenspiel which adds a quite chilling tone in counterpoint to the warmth of the string playing.
As indeed throughout the disc, the playing here has an appealing quality of refinement that matches its commitment, even if there are times when it brings the feel of the performance closer to art-music or chamber music than folk – any rougher edges have been smoothed out, with the passion being sublimated to the careful arrangements. Your final enjoyment of this disc will probably largely depend on whether this approach lights your candle; personally I find it engrossing and captivating.
David Kidman January 2010
Rusalnaia (named after a mythical, and mischievous, water nymph) is an abundantly intriguing psych-folk venture, a fairly recent collaboration between two noted dark-folk practitioners, Sharron Kraus and erstwhile Reverie member Gillian Chadwick - two intensely talented and creative musical minds in their own right. The disc’s eight songs are described as being “influenced in greater or lesser part by Mellow Candle, Trees and Jefferson Airplane” - to which reference points I’d definitely add The Sun Also Rises, Principal Edwards Magic Theatre and the Incredible String Band – but in truth Rusalnaia don’t really sound an awful lot like any of them although they share a certain kinship in many ways.
Sharron and Gillian are joined on this eponymous debut Rusalnaia CD by Espers’ Greg Weeks (keyboard, bass and acid-guitar) on half of the tracks and on a further two by Fern Knight’s Margie Wienk (cello and bass), these extra contributions proving but unintrusive layers of glacé-icing on a richly haunting cake that mostly concentrates on the interplay between the two ladies’ beauteous vocals (cool harmonies allied to a disturbing precision and power) and pulsating acoustic guitars.
The opening invocation The Sailor And The Siren draws you in like the siren-call of the whirlpool and holds your attention; this is followed by the remarkable Shifting Sands, with its ritual-percussion-backed voices one minute eerily blending then (just like the sands themselves) shifting apart, to eventually reveal a spectral cello line and discordant pipe flutings weaving away into a mysterious processional coda. Then for exquisite contrast we encounter the graceful (if shadowy), fragile, dulcimer-flecked Kindling, which features Greg’s celebrated acid-guitar solo, and the gentle time-capsule of Dandelion Wine, which is one of those lilting, atmosphere-laden sunlit-summer creations that could’ve been made for Peel’s label of that name. The Ravager is a masterly, if necessarily sinister, portrait of an all-too-familiar personal nemesis with a mournful, mystic organ backing. Elsewhere we encounter the hypnotic mantra of the ladies’ two uncannily blended voices intoning their enigmatically beautiful lyrics in often surprisingly dramatic fashion, notably on the wilful but incantatory title track and the more cumulative charms of Wild Summer.
The live album is an almost exact counterpart to the above record, at any rate in terms of track listing, with The Ravager replaced by what feels a slightly unsettled (or rather, unhinged) cover of Cream’s Strange Brew. There is, however, quite a marked difference in the overall feel of the tracks, with an extra-intense tribal energy which is very likely down to the presence on that occasion of Jim Ayre and four other percussionists. The additional sense of charged atmosphere is no doubt also partly attributable to the fact that the entire set was recorded during a thunderstorm, and yes, it’s quite electric at times!… The original album tracks were never weak, but there’s an even more compelling sense of pagan drama in these live performances, and the nine-minute finale Wild Summer becomes a living embodiment, everything you’d want it to be, both bold and majestic, driven and trance-like. Unlike many live recreations of recorded repertoire, this Rusalnaia set is genuinely to be regarded as a complementary experience to the altogether more reflective - though no less potent - studio set.
Each album has its own special sense of flow (though the sequence of tracks is quite different on each) and makes the most capital out of its unique aura and its splendid parade of original compositions. And Sharron and Gillian together exhibit so keen an empathy, one that’s seriously spinechilling in all its scary glory. Get both albums if you can – each forms a magnificently mesmerising musical experience.
David Kidman January 2010
Nancy was one of the four subjects of that key “New English Folk From All Directions” fRoots cover feature last May, and at the time she’d the highest profile of the four artists included. This was probably due to her fairly lengthy stint with The Memory Band a few years earlier, where (among other things) she assisted in unpretentiously restyling a handful of traditional folk classics. Since that time, she’s been involved with The Owl Service, and now at long last she’s got round to producing a proper solo album which blurs the musical boundaries in mixing her own charming compositions with fresh-accented, free-of-preconception takes on just three of her beloved traditional folk songs.
Here, Nancy gives us a tender take on I Live Not Where I Love that comes straight from the heart, while the album’s closing gambit is a persuasive account of The Drowned Lover. Maybe she doesn’t quite seem to connect as much with The True Lover’s Farewell, but that’s probably relative when all the songs encircling it shine like richly radiant genstones. Nancy commands marvellously sympathetic, if spare folk-driven accompaniments from fellow-Memory-Band collaborators Jennymay Logan (violin) and Richard Lewis (accordion), which boost her own playing (chord organ, guitar, ukulele, concertina and accordion) and impart a glove-like precision to her enchanting and involving personal visions for the various songs. Nancy may at times still quite audibly take the cue for her essentially pure vocal approach from Shirley Collins, who’s both a seminal influence and a mentor; this doesn’t, however, mean any lack of originality in her lovely delivery (though there’s an occasional parallel tendency to what I might term Essex-ify certain vowel-sounds).
Her own songs dovetail almost seamlessly with the traditional ones, much in the manner of Anne Briggs’ I thought. Indeed, Anne’s own writing is strongly recalled at times, especially in themes like perennial wanderlust and the urge to escape (eg. the rolling, flowing Many Years) and the converging (and recurring) emotions of hope and desire, love and parting, which are tellingly conveyed in Nancy’s own words and through the character of her singing and its phrasing. This whole magical collection is one of those sit-through-and-be-hypnotised experiences that commands immediate replay - a luxury which its frustrating brevity (a mere half-hour) does at least afford.
David Kidman January 2010
Sarah is a Swedish-born but Canada-based songwriter who’s been described as an up-and-coming alt. country/indie folksinger – which doesn’t give a massive clue to what to expect from this, her official debut release – even following as it does on the heels of a number of successful tours of Canada, the UK and Scandinavia over the past two years. But Across The Atlantic enters centre-stage pretty inauspiciously, as a bewildering Jekyll-and-Hyde creation that hops trains pretty randomly, vacillating between quirkily carefree charge-ahead uptempo numbers and more intimate, elegantly personal essays that are taken at a more restrained pace.
The opening salvo, Ballad Of Sherri, is initially quite disconcerting (nay, most may find it offputting), with its first minute or so sounding like Sarah, her disembodied voice and what sounds like a primitive Chinese guitar (oh, and her band too) were all cooped up in a box – of course this is a deliberate effect, but despite the ear-grabbing timbre of Sarah’s voice it’s still a touch infuriating to have to wait till the engineer feels like turning the switch on in the next room and we get to hear the full power of the song in proper studio sound quality. Even then, its decidedly peculiar scoring and full-pelt drive gives it a kind of Weimar-cabaret demeanour that doesn’t feel entirely apt, well at least till second time around. And Sarah seems also to be employing wilful exaggeration in elements of her singing here, which may jar on repetition.
Any initial misgivings I have with that first track, though, are blown straight away on hearing the next song, Rambling, a heart-melting lonesome slowie with the richly keening melodic warmth of a classic McGarrigle composition, which Sarah delivers with the expressive depth of Eliza Gilkyson (with just a touch of Joan Baez maybe), helped along the course by a killer of a cushioned arrangement involving whining pedal steel and Fender Rhodes – well, you just don’t want her to be alone! But then its reverie is disturbed by a psycho-country-rock vibe, with Cry Wolf and its over-cooked weirdly howling backing vocal effects that distract from some classy playing.
The title track then tries valiantly to evoke a cold Nordic town (might it displace Emily Barker as a potential Wallander theme song, I wonder?), and appeals with its increasingly expansive air of gentle nostalgia and reflection. I’ve Got Your Back is another nicely intimate piece, then the cryptic Hundred Dollar Bills treads a delicately-balanced high-wire between whip-cracking cabaret and bittersweet reflection. The latter quality is also a feature of I’ve Got Sorrow, which forms a kind of bookend for Rambling (although it carries with it a trace of self-pity), and carries through into the laconic Crow’s Lament and the album’s swansong, the haunting trumpet-bedecked Goodbye Julie. As the album progresses, you somehow get used to its unpredictability, carried along by Sarah’s riveting vocal work.
Sarah’s apparent breezy over-confidence in her own production skills has led her to bring in the proverbial kitchen sink at times – for as well as Tim Tweedale’s signature dobro and pedal steel (and trumpet) she calls on other folks for violin, clarinet, keys, cello, bass, drums and euphonium, and there are still moments when it all sounds a trifle messy and either unfocused or distortedly focused. But then there are moments of supreme clarity too, which only goes to confuse matters. Perhaps the most curious thing is that I ended up liking the album a lot, and more on each playthrough. But hang on – surely that means it’s starting to do what Sarah herself intended: to write an album that sticks in your head and grabs a hold of your heart.
www.myspace.com/sarahmacdougall
David Kidman January 2010
After the eventual breakup of groundbreaking prog-rock outfit Curved Air, Sonja (the band’s songstress and key vocalist) went on to define and then nurture her own brand of “acid folk”, which in turn spawned the “astro-folk” sub-genre. This present disc constitutes a handsome enhanced-reissue of Sonja’s second solo album, 1995’s Harmonics Of Love. The album’s overtly trippy character provides an unforgettable, distinctly Glastonbury-type experience; a happy afterglow halo surrounds its sequence of “songs of desire, heartache, forgiveness and fellowship”, offering new-age acoustic and electronic exploration in trance music both melodic and ambient, punctuated with sampled natural sounds. Sonja proves her exceptional vocal adaptability on a set of spiritually aware self-penned songs, as well as festival-style latter-day revisits of two former Curved Air pieces and even a cover of A Woman’s Heart (now bet you didn’t expect that!), and she’s blessed with mesmeric backings from Paul Sax’s violin, Robert Norton’s cosmic keyboards and the rest of her Cloud Ten band. This reissue disc is generously filled, for it closes with no fewer than six entirely relevant bonus tracks (including output from her current project MASK) bringing Sonja’s special sonic vision bang up to date.
David Kidman January 2010
The String Sisters is a collaboration-cum-gathering of six of the world's foremost female fiddle players: Norway's Annbjørg Lien, Sweden's Emma Härdelin, Shetland's Catriona MacDonald, Ireland's Mairead Ni Mhaonaigh and the US's Liz Carroll and Liz Knowles. They were originally brought together for a special one-off show at Celtic Connections in 2001, which really brought the house down, but then the momentum was lost a tad due to those inevitable logistical problems which prevented the ladies getting together again until just over four years later, in February 2005 in Norway – which is when this particular recording was made. It has been available before, on the Heilo label, but it now gains a wider circulation at long last through the good offices of Compass Records (although the original release came with a DVD-format expanded alternative, which to my knowledge has not been reissued by Compass).
Of course, the ensemble was eventually reunited for British fans at 2007's Celtic Connections, but those of us unable to get there or purchase the Heilo releases have had nearly three years to wait for this disc. Worth the wait? Definitely. It's brilliant – and the ladies give their all (and more besides) in a stunning display of virtuosity, aided by an equally virtuoso male foursome (Tore Bruvoll on guitar, Conrad Ivitsky on double bass, David Milligan on piano and James Mackintosh on percussion). I did at first find the relentless energy of this combined team a touch wearing, especially the at times quite insistent piano work, and particularly on the opening intentionally-show-off jig-and-reel set and the over-stressed violence of Rumble Thy Bellyful; but they can also tread a neat line in delicate embellishment (on selections like the Shetland speciality Da Trowie Burn and the well-managed April Child/Joy Of It medley).
The choice of material, as you'd expect, is well balanced, ranging across the nations that spawned the players, and a sizeable proportion of the tunes are originals composed by band members. For me, and in spite of the invigorating nature of the tune-sets, the most enticing and lastingly haunting moments of the hour-long set come on the Scandinavian vocal pieces (Emma's renditions of an Estonian chorale and the broadsheet ballad of The Hussar), Annbjørg's delicate Norwegian horsebell tune and Mairead's macaronic version of The Matchmaker's Song; but there's no lack of appeal in the strongly-characterised faster numbers like Annbjørg's composition Wackidoo or her more atmospheric welcome-dance (G-Strings). The playing of all participants is probably faultless, but it never betrays any complacency, for the ladies clearly get off on each other's musicianship. Yet there's also a great sense of poise about all the playing, which fully complements the musicians' intense commitment and energy.
The live recorded sound is state-of-the-art, with so much more miraculous inner detail that might pass you by in the heat (or acoustics) of the auditorium; the audience are admirably unintrusive (if a touch polite in their appreciation!). Snap this one up while the licence allows!
David Kidman January 2010
I won’t say I felt lukewarm about the Canadian heroes’ last (eleventh!) album Small Miracles when it came my way for review back in the spring of 2008, but I did wonder to some extent why they’ve acquired such a massive reputation over the past couple of decades - for all their undoubted expertise in creating consistently classy and satisfyingly listener-friendly roots-country-rock sounds. The small miracle, if you like, is how they manage to come up with the goods time after time and still manage to sound both fresh and original, and plausible, within that context.
So now we come to the band’s latest album, number 12, which turns out to be a magnum opus of epic proportions – or maybe it’s just best to look on it as a good old-fashioned double LP – it’s even been brought out on vinyl in that format (just to enhance the retro feel no doubt – or is that just a cynical marketing gambit? hmm, no I don’t think so, these guys genuinely believe in capturing the spirit and yes, the excitement of unwrapping that there double sleeve.
Anyway, back to the music. It’s even more widescreen in its scope than Small Miracles, with if anything even more variety in its expression and an even greater sense of accomplishment. And yes, it’s bloody irresistible - virtually every single track. And that’s not something I expected to be writing! There are highs and relative highs, but no real lows within the set’s 85-minute span (although the voltage reduces just a little on parts of the second disc). Aside from the absence of Bob Packwood now, the lineup’s exactly as it was on Small Miracles – i.e. Keelor, Cuddy, Donovan, Egan and Milchem – with all songs being jointly credited to Keelor/Cuddy. And yes, each song, whether ballad, pop-rocker or country-rocker, has a real strong melodic content, fab hooks, a keen approach to effective instrumental scoring, and a brilliant sense of the Craft of just what goes to make a great song. And along with the ante-upping ambition that goes with a double-album, the band have evidently given much thought to the flow of the whole set, for there’s a rightness and inevitability about the sequencing that might on the surface defy received wisdom or logic.
Another special element of this set is the supreme effectiveness of the contributions of guest artists - violinist Anne Lindsay’s string arrangements, backing vocals from Wayne Petti and Suzie Ungerleider, Julie Fader’s flute, to pick just a few. So I’ll just tempt you by taking you through some of the standout moments then: the luscious title song (one hell of an opener), with its flutes, pianos and mellotron (more Moody Blues than King Crimson) providing the ideal setting for the rueful lyric; the totally can’t-get-it-out-of-your-mind hook of the uptempo jangler Never Look Back; the curiously concise psych-eastern workout that develops at the centre of Million Miles; Wasted, which brings in Who-style harmony vocals then a weirdly cool Spirit-style jazz-coda; beauteous ballads like You Said and One Light Left In Heaven; and the second disc’s big adventure, the majestic, killer Venus Rising (but is that a clumsy edit-in I hear?).
If this kind of mix is yours too, then what’s there not to like? I’ve not heard all of the band’s previous work, but The Things I Left Behind is sure the best I’ve heard of theirs - far too good to leave behind in the racks if you see a copy.
David Kidman January 2010
To a considerable extent, it’s easy to understand, when listening to the thoroughly pleasing music on this disc, just why those who’ve already heard Glasgow-born Eilidh sing rate her so highly. Not forgetting, too, that she won the Danny Kyle Award at 2004’s Celtic Connections. She has a stunning voice, of that there’s no doubt – impressive in its range and control, with just enough of a trace of her Scottish accent to give it an extra edge when needed.
Several times during the disc, the tonal quality of Eilidh’s voice reminded me potently of Anna McGarrigle, notably in that telling combination of warmth and sweetness – an effect that’s accentuated on the occasions when Eilidh doubletracks her own voice to provide a harmony line. And, though not yet out of her twenties, Eilidh nevertheless displays a maturity of phrasing and response that signals a young lady who knows exactly where she’s taking a song. Which is why I was mildly surprised to find that Masks And Smiles is Eilidh’s debut recording, though she herself views it as the culmination of ten years’ preparation.
And yet it seems that Eilidh’s talent for singing folk music was only discovered as recently as 2002, when she impressed an Aberdonian audience (not an easy task!) with her rendition of Joni Mitchell’s A Case Of You: a trick she repeats here as third track in. This is certainly an assured reading of the song, and yes, impressive when taken in isolation. In fact, I felt much the same way initially about Eilidh’s personal accounts of other favourite songs here, where her likeable tone, clear diction and dedicated response are all important features in respect of directly communicating with her audience.
And another key factor in the rather winning nature of the final product is the insistence on extremely high production values; through the good offices of Angus Lyon, Eilidh has secured instrumental backings replete with excellent musicianship and intelligent arrangements. The playing, courtesy of Angus himself (piano, accordion, Rhodes), Adam Bulley (guitar, mandolin), Duncan Lyall (double bass), Maya Burman-Roy (cello), Ruaridh Campbell (violin, viola) and Martin O’Neill (bodhrán), is both cultured and well-coordinated, with just the right amount of inner detail to gently enhance the register and timbre of Eilidh’s voice. It’s possible that the overall backdrop may be just a little smooth and companionable for some tastes, at times erring on the side of pleasant and thus lacking a certain edge, but generally speaking the material chosen suits this approach well and both over-lushness and blandness are easily avoided.
For me, the songs where Eilidh scores highest interpretatively are her brother Stephen’s tenderly, poignant By Your Side, her cousin Michael Miller’s composition The Lovers, Gretchen Peters’ delicately comforting When You Are Old, and Burns’ The Lea Rig. I’m not convinced by the breezy swinging Latin setting adopted for Eilidh’s own song Nothing To You, however, nor the jazzy demeanour of the title song – for neither seem to do the lyrics justice. And another source of relative, and minor dissatisfaction, is that while Eilidh’s own takes on outright classics like Kate McGarrigle’s Mendocino and Richard Thompson’s Dimming Of The Day are very fine, they don’t have the sheer well-up tear-inducing impact of the best versions: in those cases it feels as though Eilidh’s interpretations have reached a certain stage and have stopped “growing”, simply because she really is unable to develop them further emotionally at this time. And the same applies to A Case For You – but then I’ve not been present to witness Eilidh’s development as a singer since 2002, so my comment may seem a touch unfair. Also, notwithstanding Eilidh’s Glasgow origins, I still can’t escape the feeling that her display of affectionate nostalgia on Billy Connolly’s I Wish I Was In Glasgow doesn’t quite ring true (one can’t exactly imagine Eilidh hanging out with “some good old rough companions” for instance"!). On the other hand, Eilidh emerges more credibly from her decision to cover Ian Bruce’s Gone For The Day.
Overall, I can judge this disc a success, not least in that it heralds the arrival of a talented singer whose next moves will be eagerly anticipated; it’s sure to be keenly embraced, too, by all those seeking a memento of Eilidh’s special stage presence.
David Kidman January 2010
This excellent, and generous, compilation gathers together a whole host of classy recordings from Sue’s five records that came out on the Texas-based blues label Antone’s between 1992 and 2000, on which she demonstrates beyond the call of duty just why she’s such a highly regarded female blueser, especially in the competitive guitar stakes. And yet her profile still ain’t quite what it might be (we’re still waiting to see the fruits of her research on the Guitar Women book project, too).
Even on her auspicious debut album Young Girl Blues, it was patently obvious that the then-24-year-old Sue was one hell of a guitarist: tough and assured, with a serious grasp of the music of her heroes that transcended imitative gesturings or nascent sympathy. And not exactly a bad singer either, if at times her tone proved a little on the sweet-toned side rather than intrinsically raunchy and soulful. But here, whether paying direct homage by retelling established blues tales (Slim Harpo’s King Bee stingingly re-engineered, for instance) or kicking into creation spanking new original songs (like the mean’n’dirty Gone Blind), Sue delivered the goods in killer, raw style. If album number two (Without A Warning) was a slight disappointment, this was only in comparison with the blistering impact her debut had made, and her guitar work in particular was as peerless and vividly characterised as ever, notably on cuts like Ruby Duby Du. Sue’s greater studio confidence was being displayed on successive albums, sure, but she still retained that wild and spontaneous spark even through increasingly stretching her personal musical envelope out from strict blues into country and surf-music (influences which had been percolating under earlier cuts like Cuban Getaway) and swinging Bo Diddley beats (on the seductive Howlin’ For My Darlin’).
After album number four (Walk In The Sun) proved Sue’s most accomplished set to date – and the four original compositions included here give a good measure of its variety – she switched labels (to Shanachie) and made a couple more albums before Antone’s went and put out a disc-full of unreleased tracks (Back To The Blues) which rounded out that label’s portrait of this spellbinding musician nicely with some boogie, feelgood rhumba and a tasty Dylan cover (Positively 4th Street). Can’t quibble with this new selection at all – and it sure would spur you to dig out the original releases (if you can find ’em).
David Kidman January 2010
Trilogy collects together in one convenient new two-disc package (and with a fine booklet essay-overview too) three of Katy’s original album releases from the early-to-mid-90s that have been (frustratingly) only intermittently available for some time: that’s 36 glorious tracks in all, each one with its own tender insights, both compelling and gently memorable.
The albums concerned are The Evangeline Hotel (which was initially titled The Greatest Show On Earth), Hearts Gone Wild and Midnight Radio; all three were jointly produced by Katy and Tom Russell, and Tom himself contributes some duet and harmony vocals to the first and third albums of the set. Backing musicians are consistent too – there’s Russell’s then-regular sideman Andrew Hardin of course, augmented by Hank Bones, David Mansfield, Gene Hicks and Larry Eagle, with Fats Kaplin and Larry Campbell also putting in appearances. Quite a number of the songs from these records have lasted on into Katy’s live sets to this day – This Heart Stops For Railway Crosses, Evangeline Hotel, Amelia’s Railroad Flat to name but three straight off… and so many of the songs are top-drawer Katy, high-quality crafted compositions that tell real believable stories, songs which in performance are unassumingly and naturally conveyed by her easy-mannered yet involving vocal delivery. The musical settings are timeless, sensibly stripped-back yet with just enough extra detail plugged in to embellish rather than swamp the refreshingly honest sentiments. Just occasionally there’s a telling sort-of-apparent-mismatch between the sweet-textured settings and the more disquieting nuances of the lyrics, as on EH’s penultimate number She’s Driving Home Tonight. But this sometime duality doesn’t signal a weakness in Katy’s craft – quite the reverse. It’s a mark of her standing as a songwriter that she writes sensitively for her characters and yet refuses to be drawn into sentimentality of expression.
Of the three albums, Hearts Gone Wild has probably the closest to a mainstream country sound, with splashes of rockabilly and even soulful swing tossed into the mix, but nowhere do these influences dilute the power of the material (again predominantly Katy’s own or co-written). Midnight Radio is probably the rootsiest of the three albums, although it contains in its more autobiographical reminiscences a broader cross-section of styles generally. Therein, Katy does a nice line in eulogy/ homage, with an affecting song about Dylan Thomas, while the album is also notable for the inclusion of a pre-Loreena-McKennitt version of Phil Ochs’ arrangement of Noyes’ epic The Highwayman (something rather less typical of Katy). This trio of albums represents heartfelt country-folk at its very best, and any serious fan of the genre needs records like these in the collection, to be savoured again and again down the years.
David Kidman January 2010
This Bristol-based five-piece outfit made their debut in style close on five years ago with the acclaimed CD Uncle Lung, which proudly set out their proverbial stall on the big wide world-folk marketplace. On the followup, the band take another leap forward in their presentation, this time recording at Peter Gabriel’s RealWorld studios.
Once again, but with an even greater confidence, they tirelessly purvey their own diverting brew of influences - Celtic, klezmer, reggae, gypsy, jazz – stirring them up and tossing them straight back out into the dance-floor with unbridled abandon and an obvious surplus of energy. The album title and the associated clever artwork gives a good flavour of both the reckless delight and sense of fun, and at the same time the careful attention to detail, that the enclosed music contains. Aside from a couple of trad-arrs, the bulk of Sheelanagig’s material is self-composed: mostly by flute/whistle player Adrian Sykes, guitarist Dave Archer and/or violin/mandolin man Aaron Catlow. Each selection is expertly managed, and clearly tailored to the musical skills of the band members. The all-acoustic sound is full and detailed, with a light-textured precision of phrasing and effect that ensures your attention isn’t inclined to wander. And - surprisingly, considering the often frantic energy-quotient and the magpie nature of the constant parade of musical styles and nuances - it’s hard to feel impatient with the tunes when they refuse to settle anywhere in particular.
The strongest feel during this new set is that of East European jazz, and that’s an idiom in which the guys really seem at home – having said that, they convince on every front they tackle, from nutty-boy skank (Scruffy Dog and the title number) to Latino hip-hop with a Cossack flavour (All Over The Floor), a jaunty hot-club take on bhangra-mystic (Soup With A Fork – a brilliant title for describing bassist Dorian Sutton’s slippery solo passages on that track!) to a pensive Northumbro-Celt tone-painting (Wilson’s) that forms a satisfying prelude to the tricky rhythms of The Canny Man. The latter is one of two tracks to feature the stunning banjo work of the band’s guest Leon Hunt, by the way. Perhaps the most iconoclastic track on display here is Gargantor (here deceptively named after its gentler introductory section, Al Fresco’s Love Temple Waltz), a veritable folk-freak extravaganza which has rapidly become a live favourite. But that track’s no flash-in-the-pan, for there’s great – I might say bewitching! – musicianship on display throughout Baba Yaga’s Ball. So go check these guys out at a village hall near you – or better still at a festival… for they’ve already stormed Glastonbury, Trowbridge, Shepley, Larmer Tree and The Big Chill, and more are planned for this year.
David Kidman January 2010
Kimber’s Men have for some years been regarded as one of the country’s premier shanty crews. And yet, they’ve always been much more than a mere shanty crew, as they’ve proudly and passionately pushed the envelope of maritime song out into deeper waters, including amongst the heave-ho bump-and-grind of the bread-and-butter shanties and forebitters some well-researched lesser-known shanties and a good sprinkling of original songs on a maritime theme, focusing almost as much on the lives and trials of the men who work the ships as well as the plight of their families. Not only that, but they have proved, both in their companionable live act and their recordings, that this repertoire can be accessible and enjoyable for “mainstream” and folk audiences as well as gatherings of maritime enthusiasts, and they’re quite rightly in great demand on the folk and maritime festival circuits.
So, after two studio albums, what better than to release a live set that brings the crew’s powerful presence, skilled presentation and breadth of repertoire right into your living-room? Here it is then: recorded on “home turf” in Halifax around 18 months ago in front of an appreciative and participative audience, with the current five-piece lineup (Joe Stead, John Bromley, Neil Kimber, Gareth Scott and Dave Buckley) performing a pretty representative close-on-two-hour set. This is amicably spread across two discs, and includes the song introductions and some on-stage banter (usefully, these latter portions are banded in their own right and can easily be programmed out and/or the songs themselves accessed separately – as helpfully indicated on the back cover-tray tracklisting).
So then to the music. I’ve followed the career of Kimber’s Men from the early days and seen them weather the storms of tragedy (the sad loss of Roger) and come out the other side even stronger and more confident of their special niche within the world of maritime song. They’re blessed with some very fine singing voices and original songwriting, and they’re not afraid to take chances with arrangements, instrumentation or harmonies as befits their vision of the items they choose to perform. And what we have here enshrined on CD is a set that’s well loaded with all the atmosphere of the occasion (for which we can heartily credit engineer Tony Bottomley).
Around half of the 27 items on this pair of discs are what one might term core shanty-crew repertoire, which Kimber’s Men tackle as to the manner born, giving us lusty, dynamic, enthusiastic and well-informed renditions with plenty of fire and body and a marvellous vocal spread. The hefty, solid bass frequencies of the mighty John B both underpin the worksongs and give them a superb depth and extra dimension, and those on which he leads are among the finest versions you’re likely to encounter. Just sample Blood Red Roses, Shenandoah, Fire Marengo and Johnny Come Down To Hilo for starters; and then there’s a fiery (if measured) Alabama and a welcome Stowing Sugar, with John Cherokee not far astern. The hoary old Mingulay Boat Song, Bob Webb’s setting of Cicely Fox Smith’s Tow Rope Girls and the spiritual God Moves On The Water all receive way-better-than-reliable performances alongside old favourites like Bob Watson’s Shantyman and a slightly (rhythmically) wayward Old Maui.
But perhaps best of all is the crew’s sparky rendition of Stan Rogers’ Barrett’s Privateers (led by John again) – absolutely magnificent! Joe’s collaboration with Pete Seeger, Darkest Before The Dawn, also comes off well, as (inevitably) does the crew’s celebrated Don’t Take The Heroes and John’s solo turn Old Man River, while Dave’s tribute to Stan Hugill is both heartfelt and memorable.
However, although there’s a good measure of contrast within the whole sequence, it doesn’t all quite hang together I’m afraid, and thus, artistically and musically, it doesn’t quite do the men justice. It’s frustratingly inconsistent, giving the occasional impression that it could almost be two different groups performing, at least partly since some of the lead-work is rather variable (is this why the otherwise exemplary, lavish foldout insert coyly avoids crediting the individual lead singer on each item, I wonder?)… And sometimes the instrumentation is a touch over-obtrusive, as on Little Pot Stove, which here comes across as just a little too “nice”, with both passion and affection sublimated to the singalong element. Worst of all though, the should-be-inspirational Row On is here an unmitigated disaster and a serious miscalculation, being both unsuitably metrical, drained of all life or feeling of involvement, and appallingly dreary (this is meant to be a message of hope, after all).
But if you’re prepared to ride out that dire becalming and some other (more minor) misjudgements along the way, you’re still left with a generally invigorating voyage through the charted and uncharted seas of the maritime repertoire. The In Port set is well packaged and sports some extremely attractive cover art (although there’s an unfortunate miscredit of Jack Forbes’ fine modern-day shanty Rolling Down The River as trad.!). The set is available for the very reasonable price of £15, a proportion of this being automatically donated to the RNLI (and what better reason to invest?).
David Kidman January 2010
The Waiting is a welcome follow-up to the Cheddar-based duo’s well-received 2007 debut Legends And Lovers, following a similar pattern and providing a natural continuation of that disc’s charms. Again virtually all the material emanates from Issy’s own pen, but I think this time the songs are both stronger in character and even more in keeping with the generally traditional feel of the musical settings, and if anything the performances themselves seem a shade more assured, while the greater consistency of the material ensures that the album flows better as a whole. The internal distribution of roles is broadly as before, with David doing most of the singing and playing guitar, bouzouki and bodhrán, Issy contributing melodeon, English concertina and vocal harmonies, and Kate providing the sublimely lyrical cello counterpoint.
The tracklisting may at first also occasion a distinct sense of déjà-vu, for (in common with its predecessor) midway through the sequence we find a traditional song entitled The Mole Catcher – although it’s a completely different beast: this particular West Country song was gleefully popularised by Peter Bellamy, and David here gives a zestful account of its bawdy frolics (hey, careful with that rhyme, Eugene!). Once again though (and this is no reflection on the fine quality of David’s singing), the two items on which Issy sings the lead are among the album’s highlights: Song For A Young Man is a simple, poignant tale of a life cut short before its prime, whereas the CD’s title track, a twist on the standard “maid waiting on the shore” scenario, is linked with that which follows (The Bristol Sailor, which conveys his feelings of deep longing for the hills of Somerset and his sweetheart).
I’d also single out The Bird Scarer’s Song – a piquant, if doleful depiction of one of the less unspeakable jobs children in Victorian times were called on to do – and The Gypsy Countess, a creative prequel to the familiar Raggle Taggle Gypsies tale, sung here as a duet. The vocal selections are interspersed with Issy’s lyrical original tunes, pleasing and gentle in nature, including a delightful air she wrote for (but unaccountably didn’t get used in) BBC TV’s Lark Rise To Candleford series; then it’s back to tradition as the Jenny Lind Polka provides the springboard for a stylish uptempo finish to the disc.
Reservations? There are a couple of instances when Kate’s desire for audible theatrical effect intrudes with a certain air of contrivance-cum-gimmick (on the over-emphatic “devilish” characterisation towards the close of The Three Men, for example); and I’d repeat my comment on the duo’s earlier release – ie. that I’d like to hear more of Issy’s singing.
Nevertheless The Waiting is still a very attractive disc that is certain to bring Issy and David more admirers.
David Kidman January 2010
The stovepipe is well and truly rattled here by this versatile and spiritful trio comprising Dave Arthur (guitar, banjo, vocals) and his compadres Pete Cooper (fiddle and vocal) and Dan Stewart (banjo and guitar), the latter having now taken the place that guitarist Chris Moreton filled on the previous ROTS CD Eight More Miles.
Like its predecessor, No Use In Cryin’ proudly presents a wide-ranging collection of tunes and songs that through history have crossed back and forth, here given appealingly and refreshingly in versions from either or both sides of the pond. In healthy juxtaposition, we encounter fiddle tunes from Kentucky, West Virginia and Seattle nestling companionably under the same roof as that good ol’ O’Carolan morris tune Princess Royal and a fun medley that bestows a “transatlantic melodic overlap” on D’Ye Ken John Peel, all played in the easily-expert, deft-yet-passionate manner of the genuine old-time enthusiast eager to share his discovery of a good rousing tune.
The instrumental items on the disc (six out of the 14 tracks) are neatly balanced by a satisfyingly varied complement of songs that includes country/jugband standard Red Apple Juice, ballads both broadside and Child in origin (Willie Moore and The Two Brothers respectively), and an unusually upbeat, genially swinging treatment of the shanty-crew classic Roll Alabama Roll. There’s also a couple of items of more recent provenance: the Carter Family’s mid-30s classic You’ve Been A Friend and Dick Connette’s affectionate tribute to North Carolina singer Dillard Chandler (which, interestingly, Dave acquired from a Roy Bailey recording).
As on Eight More Miles, Dave and Pete each take roughly equal turns with the singing, and both (albeit in contrasted vocal styles) invariably prove themselves well up to the task of authentically and enthusiastically conveying the essence of the texts without any sense of contrivance. The winning formula of the earlier disc is reprised with the approach taken to the provision of the liner notes, for once again these are both succinct and splendidly informative.
This disc possesses a winning combination of erudition and informality in its delightful music-making; in doing so, it proves a real treat for lovers of that fertile territory where old-time traditions from both sides of the Atlantic collide.
David Kidman January 2010
Enoch was brought up in working-class Glasgow, subsequently becoming a key member of the Revival through his founding of the Reivers and the Exiles, these involvements being then further developed by his co-founding the Critics’ Group with MacColl and Seeger; and yet, he’s also probably one of the least known or acknowledged of the members of that illustrious conclave. This is probably because he emigrated to Canada in the mid-60s and has visited these shores but infrequently since (he was last seen at Celtic Connections a couple of years ago). Over the years, Enoch has accumulated a massive repertoire of traditional material and also written a large number of songs of his own inspired by the tradition. His recording career, however, has been rather sporadic – for there was a massive hiatus of 36 years before 2002 heralded a more prolific phase which has since seen the release of no fewer than five CDs, of which the magnificent One More Round is the latest.
Enoch is a very special performer whose singing will charm all and sundry. Listening to him today, you’d swear he’d never even left Glasgow, for his deep accent and gruff, smoky, juicily gritty delivery are preserved as in the finest single malt. His is an absolutely unmistakable voice, brimming over with earthy integrity; it’s been variously described as “full of piss and vinegar” and “brother of Rab C. Nesbitt”, both of which are very apt and if nothing else would definitely indicate that in Enoch we have a singer of real character. You really can taste the intense relish with which Enoch caresses each and every syllable, since he clearly completely understands the emotional implication of every last word and textual nuance, and while there’s never a dull moment there’s also never a feeling that he’s over-reacting or over-emoting. A perfect balance, then, and one to which every singer should aspire (indeed, espousing the very dictum of the aforementioned Critics’ Group).
Enoch’s voice receives some judicious accompaniment from Kelly Hood (on uilleann pipes, Scottish small pipes and whistle) and the disc’s producer, Irish musician Pat Simmonds (on accordion, guitar, bouzouki, fiddle and whistle), these backings caringly applied (although I thought I detected a couple of instances where the musicians seemed slightly out of synch and rather obviously playing in a different room entirely).
But to the songs themselves: these encompass a range of emotions and subject matter that will ensure something for every taste. One of the highlights is Enoch’s version of Ian Walker’s Some Ha’e Meat, which intelligently incorporates Robert Burns’ Selkirk Grace for the chorus; also impressive is the pair of Enoch’s original compositions that frame it – nostalgic reminiscences-cum-observations of childhood (The Dancing Fool and Children’s Games) performed with what I can only term a slightly old-fashioned air. Elsewhere there’s a generous helping of comic songs, culminating with a “personalised” adaptation of The Crematorium Song (from the Glaswegian tradition of Sean Tierney), while Enoch’s sense of humour extends to laconic little commentaries like the booklet note for the part-impenetrable McFarlane O’ The Sprots O’ Burnieboosie – “I translated this from Aberdeenshire dialect into near English, trying not to spoil the story” – priceless!…
Enoch also makes a very fine job of the traditional items, particularly the stirring murder ballad The Butcher Boy (heavily inspired by the singing of Jeannie Robertson), the battle narrative Harlaw, the acappella Johnnie Lad and the pipes-accompanied Bonnie House Of Airlie, and even the more well-known items come up fresh with Enoch’s deliciously rich tonal input. There may be one or two moments where he seems at first to have pitched himself a shade too low, as on the music-hall ditty Itches In me Britches, but by and large when the instruments come in behind him his choice of key tends soon to be vindicated.
The extent to which Enoch really cares about the effective communication of his chosen material (whatever its origin) is conveyed in the exemplary, and refreshingly unpatronising, presentation of the whole package, whose neat digipack encases a wonderful 10-page booklet which for each song gives full text, a brief background note and (where needed) a helpful glossary of dialect or other words that may be unfamiliar to the listener. Excellent – no other word for it.
David Kidman January 2010
Tyger’s latest project (which has been several years in gestation, we learn) is subtitled A Celebration of English And Italian Cultures In Music. A grandiose epithet that might seem a touch pretentious at first sight, but there need be no worries for it’s all perfectly accessible to lovers of folk and folk-rock.
The project’s genesis lay in the meeting between Ashley and Italian musician Ernesto De Pascale, which led to an early discovery of a mutual enjoyment of music-making, a communal love of popular music of all kinds and a common interest in the preservation of traditions, which in turn readily spawned the idea of producing a collection of original songs that variously depict and celebrate these shared passions. In detail: embracing each nation’s love of music (inevitably), also the countryside (A Place On Earth), architecture (The Song Of Two Bridges), and even taking in food and football!
My Land Is Your Land adheres to Ashley’s own approved practice, in that it presents a sequence of such songs interspersed with occasional speech interludes, the latter elements being particularly well integrated on Come Join Together, an affectionate and gently compelling marriage of Dante Alighieri and Shakespeare. Its performance here features, in addition to what might be termed the core ensemble (effectively Ashley’s Rainbow Chasers with Ken Nicol, Neil Marshall and Joe Broughton, Pete Zorn and sundry Albionites past and present) and a handful of Italian musicians, with Ashley and Ernest themselves taking more of a back-seat steering role.
The project also employs a small complement of guests (mostly in one-off cameos) that include Chris Leslie, Marian Trappassi, Vin Garbutt, Lester Simpson, Judy Dunlop, P.J. Wright and Clive Bunker. Ernesto takes lead vocal on Family Ties, which disseminates obvious but universal truths, and The Guv’nor sings the nostalgia-for-the-music-themed Working Underground. Other highlights include the lovely wandersome Ten Miles Going There And Ten Miles Coming Back (featuring Jo and Joe), and the bouncy Come And Buy/Street Sellers’ Dance, which counterpoints hot potatoes and ice cream in an almost morris-friendly setting!
The common factor that unites the songs is their undaunted spirit of artistic dignity, whatever the milieu or topic, while the protagonists’ careful avoidance of nationalistic stereotyping is also notable. My Land Is Your Land certainly proves a persuasive addition to the Hutchings portfolio.
David Kidman January 2010
The latest series to arise out of the TS concept has not long since ended transmission on BBC Scotland and BBC4, and here it is already on DVD (and not before time for those of us who are unable to receive those TV channels!…). Critical and viewer reaction has, I understand, been a little mixed, but to my eyes and ears Series 4 is pretty much an unqualified success, for it both celebrates and creatively develops the basic original concept and widens the envelope already proudly stretched during the course of Series 1 through 3.
The bar is raised with each new series, and expectations are high; the house band gets tighter and more accomplished, yet somehow the series’ trademark guiding spirit and spontaneity are retained, probably as much due to the enormous respect the musicians have for each other’s talents as to the convivial atmosphere of the location (Glen Lyon) both acoustically and scenically. The concept still makes for excellent music-television and is significantly superior to most other programmes in that category, even though there are still instances of (slightly) over-zealous trimming of starts and (more especially) finishes of individual items in order to include scenic snapshots and their accompanying sounds – but that’s a very minor point in the scheme of things, for the unerringly high quality of the music-making, the sympathetic and involving camerawork and the above-the-call-of-duty excellence of the sound are what makes TS so very special (still), compulsively watchable and listenable.
So I guess it only remains for me to draw your attention to some of the standout experiences that await you on this well-nigh-impeccably-presented double-disc DVD set (the only glitch I found being a transposition error in the booklet’s sequencing credits for the bonus tracks). And what better way to kick off than with a pull-out-all-the-stops fearsome fiddle-foursome-led ensemble piece Fiddle Blast, summing up the whole TS ethos admirably! But thereafter, the mix of music on offer tends to veer a little further from the country/oldtime ambit and steer back closer to Celtic, with dashes of contemporary songwriting. In this regard, and aside from the obvious familial connection with previous TS, I’d not have imagined that Martha Wainwright would fit in with this milieu, but she turns out one of its biggest successes, delivering not only stunning lead performances of two of her own songs (be prepared to be stopped in your tracks by a majestic, towering - sorry! - Tower Song) but also some superb vocal harmonies on several other numbers over the course of the programmes. Rosanne Cash, perhaps an unexpected choice, stylishly recreates both 500 Miles and Motherless Children, refusing to be swamped by the support crew in the largish-group setting, and the pick of Karan Casey’s three radiant solo features is an intelligently original approach to Black Is The Colour.
James Taylor’s easy command of his art and his ready embrace of the session ethic combine to give outstanding, magical renditions of Belfast To Boston, Copperline and the all-time classic Millworker (as well as an unexpected bonus with a handsome duet with Karan Casey on The King’s Shilling). Emily Smith proves more than worth her weight in gold, notably on The Silver Tassie; James Graham’s mellifluous tenor is a real delight; while Dan Tyminski’s epic rendition of The Boy Who Wouldn’t Hoe Corn, attracting some fiery instrumental work, provides another showstopper.
Of the instrumentalists, star turns come from the pipers Allan MacDonald and Ronan Browne (the latter’s Black Black Black, one of the bonus tracks, is a wailingly intense goosebump-moment if ever there was one – and the expression on his face at the end says it all!), Stuart Duncan (with two seriously note-spinning mini-extravaganzas), and Jenna Reid (with her gorgeous Bethany’s Waltz). And the pared-down trio led by Niall Vallely on his own composition Muireann’s Jig (one of the bonus tracks) refreshingly takes us back to intimate session-basics.
But to be fair I should also turn the spotlight on the undersung Russ Barenberg’s constant and exceptional playing, and the sensitive contributions of “house band” members Mike McGoldrick and Donald Shaw (has anyone else noticed the strong twin-resemblance between those two in profile?!), while also not forgetting James Mackintosh’s well-judged percussion work. My omitting to namecheck any other individual performer should not be taken to imply their contributions were of any less value – whereas the expert guiding hands (or should I say fingers?) and unrivalled musicianship of co-directors Aly Bain and Jerry Douglas run unmistakably right through virtually every bar of the enterprise. Their key enthusiasm (and that of all participants and helpers – an especially honourable mention for engineer Iain Hutchison here) is well communicated in the set’s bonus features: a 28-minute “behind-the-scenes” documentary and mini-slide-show. And as I’ve already hinted, the four bonus tracks from the cutting-room floor deserve far better than their relegation to mere “also-ran” status.
However, I’d be less than honest if I didn’t admit having some reservations, moments that I didn’t feel quite gelled; Allison Moorer’s various contributions (though well up to TS standard and entering into the overall spirit true enough) don’t really seem to fit with the rest, and I could’ve done without Liam Ó Maonlai’s tedious Worry Not (even though by contrast his Work Song brings the house down at the close of the final programme). There are instances too where I feel there may be too many musicians in the room (it’s a bit like a marginally over-subscribed pub session where you simply can’t ideally appreciate every strand of the activity). Finally, the exercise of playing through the entire series in one sitting seemed to emphasise the comparatively lower voltage of programme 2 especially and the more uneven sequencing of a couple of the other shows.
But none of the above comments should be allowed to intrude on, or underplay, the attractiveness of the enterprise or the immense rewards the ongoing TS concept brings; the liner note informs us that a fifth series is already hopefully under consideration if not yet at the planning stage, and it’s clear from the health of Series 4 that there’s plenty more mileage in the TS brand. And by the time you read this, the dedicated TS website should be up and running too.
David Kidman January 2010
The first of a projected three volumes providing the audio soundtrack to Series 4 of this redoubtable franchise, this disc primarily concentrates on the early part of the series. The entire contents of Programme 1 are included (albeit reshuffled slightly – the running order for the audio disc probably works better), along with all but one item from Programme 2 and one each from the fifth and sixth programmes (of course, that leaves a good spread of highlights to look forward to on volumes 2 and 3).
The stupendous opening all-hands-to-the-bow instrumental Fiddle Blast is nothing less than the archetypal TS experience and serves as a perfect illustration for those listeners who might’ve been wondering what all the fuss was about, with Jerry Douglas’ brilliant Glide later equally persuasively presenting the other side of the tempo-coin. The selection for this first volume from Series 4 also highlights the recent integration of some what might be termed more contemporary artists into the TS arena (notably James Taylor, who contributes Millworker, and Martha Wainwright, whose own song Bleeding All Over You appears here). At the same time, another strand of musical activity that’s becoming increasingly prominent of late within TS, that of Gaelic song, is represented by Julie Fowlis, James Graham and Mairéad Ní Mhaonaigh (the latter’s Mo Níon Ó is a cool highlight of this disc’s selection).
I’ve already commented on some other individual tracks in my review of the Series 4 (complete) DVD (released concurrently), so won’t repeat myself here! So all I can usefully add is that I eagerly forward to the release of volumes 2 and 3. And, doing a swift calculation of the likely playing-time considerations, I sincerely hope that the second and third volumes will manage to find room for the four (non-transmitted) bonus tracks from the aforementioned DVD release, which are far too good to be consigned to also-ran status therein.
David Kidman January 2010
The music of the Irish in America has been a preoccupation of folklorist and tenor banjo player Mick Moloney for the past 30 years, and his skill in bringing together players from both sides of the big pond in order to explore its connections is legendary. He gets to explore this heritage in some depth for this latest recording project, on which he’s gathered round him a host of musician-friends including guitarist John Doyle, fiddler Athena Tergis, singer/guitarist Robbie O’Connell and button-accordionist Billy McComiskey.
The central theme of the project, naturally, is the Irishman’s migration west to America, and the balance of the disc is admirably even-handed between instrumental medleys and songs (seven of each). There’s a lot of relatively little-trodden material here, with some particularly delightful tunes I’d not previously come across, regarding the provenance of which we learn a useful amount of detail in the well-researched booklet notes. Well-researched but not drily academic, I might add - matching the wonderful playing, which combines a supremely intelligent degree of arrangement with spirit and fire a-plenty in its musicianship. At times it’s very much like a drop-in Transatlantic Session, with brilliant yet thoroughly unassuming contributions from guests Jerry O’Sullivan and Ivan Goff (uilleann pipes), Tim Collins (concertina), Mac Benford (five-string banjo) and Brendan Dolan (piano). And Bruce Molsky, no less, gets to join in the hooley on a delicious closing set that mixes Appalachian and Irish variants culminating in Waynesboro.
The context of cross-continental musical connections is continually emphasised, in fact; so within the disc’s abundant treasure trove of musical gems we discover a tune that was written by Percy Grainger (Molly On The Shore), an unusually enigmatic variant of the ballad Across The Western Ocean, a vigorous take on Stephen Foster’s Glendy Burke (with the ensemble’s two banjoists trading vocals!), and an outrageous escape-yarn (The Catalpa, which comes complete with rousing chorus), while at one point we even encounter a barndance version of Paddy McGinty’s Goat! Another standout track is Robbie’s powerful original song The Islander’s Lament.
In truth there’s no letup in the sparkling energy and excitement, and the disc’s 54 minutes just fly by. If you want to experience a demonstration record of Irish American culture at its finest, then look no further: for you’re bound to enjoy the listening as much as the musicians obviously did playing.
David Kidman January 2010
This is an exceedingly enchanting record, bringing together the amazing talents of two Canadian artists, ukulele virtuoso James Hill and cellist Anne Davison, in a heavenly collaborative venture.
Cards on the table first: for just to imagine hearing that particular instrumental combination sounding together gives virtually no idea of the delicate richness of the whole tapestry of delights conjured by the two musicians with just a smidgen of creative multitracking here and there (adding their own brush-strokes of percussion and the spare contributions of a handful of well-chosen guests to the mix) – all of which is but a cool backdrop for their attractive singing voices. These can be turned to folk, old-time, gospel and bluegrass with virtually equal facility, as the contrasting modes of the beautifully sanctified Ev’ry Night (on which Cathy Fink and Marcy Marxer guest), the tender Frank Teschemacher standard Because (which includes some equally sweet and tender harmony work), the let-it-out cathartic Obedience Blues (this cut featuring some stunning harmonica work from John Kavanagh) and the rousing jazz-gospel number Travelin’ On all demonstrate to perfection.
I’ve mentioned the unique quality and character of the duo’s specific instruments, but their distinctive expressive quality and overall gentleness of gait doesn’t necessarily give rise to an entirely unhurried pacing: witness the supremely deft energy and forward drive they generate in the fun song One More Lie To Love and especially the instrumentals Richard’s Reel and Ode To A Frozen Boot (love that title!). There’s a quirky sense of humour in evidence too, a determination not to let things get too serious (this in spite of some serious virtuosity on display here). And an almost cheeky innovativeness (who’d think of scoring a juicy little ragtime number for soprano uke, pizzicato cello, a pair of tinkling music boxes and finger-snap percussion?).
Yes, James and Anne have been quite a discovery for me, for there’s a freshness, an originality in their whole attitude that really hits home. The deep rightness of their gut instinct to just do what they do (without any concessions to evangelism or attention-grabbing) comes out in everything you hear: a key life-changing moment comes with their decision to approach that hoary old chestnut Oh Susanna from a completely different angle (that one’s eerily scored for slide-uke and jingling bells): nothing short of masterly. And right at the epicentre of the disc time’s made to stand still all over again with the truly exquisite traditional Japanese sound-picture Sakura Sakura.
James and Anne have produced an altogether charming disc, one that would’ve leapt right into my top-of-2009 list if I’d only managed to get down to hearing it earlier!
www.ukulelejames.com
www.annedavison.net
David Kidman January 2010
Robyn’s newest album first appeared on the Yep Roc label toward the close of 2008, and it’s recently been taken up by Proper. Its title cryptically refers to two long nights spent in Oslo in 1982 by Robyn H with former Soft Boys colleague Morris Windsor and some other friends; exactly why that particular episode was especially significant is the cryptic part, it would seem… Whatever, the album presents ten new compositions steeped in Robyn’s trademark playfully whimsical yet intrinsically hopeful stance; lyrically, Robyn explains, they deal with breaking out of a negative cycle and believing that change can happen.
Musically, they’re couched in that distinctive post-punk psych mode that’s formed such a feature of his particular s/s styling, especially of late with his work with the Venus 3 (that trio of US alt-rockers comprising guitarist Peter Buck, bassist Scott McCaughey and drummer Bill Rieflin, all of whom share the illustrious REM connection too of course). The alt-rock Stateside ambience doesn’t really over-show, since the vibe is more classic late-Beatles (or Hollies even) Britpop, with occasional tinges of Byrds (on I’m Falling) or breezy sunshine psych (on the resolutely cheery Saturday Groovers). Sixteen Years (the album’s only co-write, with Peter Buck) is a bit of an exception, with a marginally doomier (Magazine?) ambience, and TLC seems to invoke, if not quite reference, both Syd Barrett and Lou Reed, but in the end these are all more convincing than Intricate Thing, which tries too hard to be charmingly quirky for its own good. Guest musicians (trumpet, sax, cello, violin and harmony backing-vocals) add further spice to the proceedings, with more exotic colourings of oud and santoor edging in percussively on the carefree romp of Up To Our Nex.
The six-minute title track, which closes the album, somehow manages to bring all of the rest into focus majestically, leaving one with the impression that generally this is a pretty strong set, and (if not quite cathartic or breaking any major new artistic ground I guess) still no letdown; long may Robyn continue to mine such a fertile seam.
www.myspace.com/robynhitchcock
David Kidman January 2010
It's hard to believe that Luther Allison died over 12 years ago as I remember reviewing him just around the day he died. This latest set, recorded for Canadian Television just 4 days before he had to cancel his tour in 1997 and never to return to the stage again, runs for 90 minutes on CD and 56 minutes on DVD.
Cancel My Check has a long guitar intro that sets the scene. Luther then adds his dulcet tones to his outstanding guitar for a storming start to this CD & DVD set. Living In The House Of The Blues is a standard electric blues performed by an above standard musician. What Have I Done Wrong (an often asked question) has Luther funking it up a little and he plays with such energy and Will It Ever Change has some superb guitar work as he sets the fret board on fire.
You Can, You Can is a swinging blues whereas There Comes A Time has a bit of audience interaction as Luther virtually talks his way through the song. The latter adds some funky keyboards and a bit of swing. Allison's guitar always reminds me of BB King and sometimes even his voice does too. He even makes his guitar talk towards the end. (Watching You) Cherry Red Wine is a big, powerful instrumental that shows Allison at his best. Low Down & Dirty, written by his son, Bernard, is energetic and adds to a great build up to the end of the album It Hurts Me Too is a famous old song and Allison treats it well and he finishes with the funky and gritty Serious, keeping it short, unlike most of the others.
David Blue January 2010
Few readers will be unaware of the significance of the music of Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band in the late 60s/early 70s; but less widely acknowledged, even though an integral part of the Magic Band's sound, has been the contribution of its drummer John French (aka Drumbo). His signature was a nervy energy bolstered by a massive kit, his patterns calling forth an often iconoclastic inventiveness with awkward, metre-splitting time-sig shifts. He's not been idle since the original demise of the band in 1982, working first with Messrs Frith, Kaiser and Thompson and subsequently on solo projects, but in 2001 he reconfigured the Magic Band (minus the Captain, necessarily). They went down a storm at Glastonbury in 2004, this providing the impetus for Drumbo writing a bunch of new songs infused with the spirit of the original Magic Band, and finally set down for posterity on City Of Refuge.
Together with those other Magic Band alumni – guitarists Zoot Horn Rollo (Bill Harkleroad) and Ella Guru (Greg Davidson), and keyboard-bassist John Thomas (who'd played on Bat Chain Puller) – Drumbo has come up with a fairly uncompromising set of tracks which for the most part credibly revisits the idiom and ethos of the Magic Band over various components and aspects of its 15-year existence. It also comes perilously close at times to parody or at the very least cautiously bestriding the barbed wire fence that marks the boundary between tribute and pastiche.
A lot has happened in music since 1982, and whatever City Of Refuge sounded like it could never give "the shock of the new" or truly recapture the impact of the original Magic Band. But it does have its musically challenging moments and is never exactly predictable. Tracks like Bogeyman and Blood On A Porcupine Quill trade off and around typically Beefheartian gestures like off-kilter time-signatures, Wicked Witch Of War taking these traits into Edgar Broughton territory, while Get So Mean and Maybe That'll Teach Ya (the latter sporting some guest bass guitar from Rockette Morton) spring right out of the swamp-blues groove and the title track smacks more of the my-o-my.
During the course of the set, Drumbo's vocals veer between natural-born authentic Beefheart/Wolf growl-alike and the edge-of-parody delivery you might well get from a tribute-band. His integrity wins through in the end, but there are still moments when you don't feel you can quite trust him (The Shirt Off My Back, for instance, which could be construed as a parody of Black Sabbath riffery and histrionic vocals). He blows a mean harp on Bus Ticket Outa Town, and also picks up a soprano sax from time to time, notably on the episodic instrumental To The Loft Of Ravenscroft (this referencing DJ John Peel, who doggedly championed the Captain's music, and to whom the whole album is dedicated), inspired partly no doubt by one of those Pachuco Cadaver-style workouts.
So let's not be too harsh in judging City Of Refuge: it contains much that's genuinely invigorating, and its sincere better-than-approximation of the rough yet honest spirit of Van Vliet rings very true. Once you get used to this being Drumbo's own personal statement rather than an at times slightly self-conscious homage, additional plays reveal more in the way of individuality.
www.myspace.com/drumbojohnfrench
David Kidman January 2010
Here’s another spirited Irish-American release from the good folks at Compass. It’s blessed with a wonderfully natural ambience that suits that very quality in the playing. It’s one of those releases that you just know, from the sound of the first few bars, that it’s going to be self-recommending - and so it proves. It’s also one of those releases whose entirely natural-as-breathing top-drawer quality renders a review almost superfluous. So if you’re a fan of Irish traditional tunes played from the heart, straight-but-proper in an honest-to-goodness good-time fashion by musicians with years of solid experience and that vital spark informed by the legacy of the great traditional players down the ages, then recorded artefacts just don’t come any better.
Simply, these four musicians, the cream of the New York Irish scene, were just born to play together! Their brimful-joyful musical bonhomie, as captured here on this splendid and vivid recording that, although supremely rich in texture, enables every line to be heard with exemplary clarity, forms the best possible illustration of the quintessential New York style of playing Irish music: hence, of course, the entirely honest album title. No false modesty here!… as the liner note good-humouredly points out, the New York playing style is a mongrel of influences from various traditional rural Irish styles all driving together in the solid-state steel and concrete of NYC. The way the individual musicians come together and respond creatively to each other’s playing, whether in unison on the melody line or providing delicious counterpoint, is breathtaking – they take no prisoners, yet at all times they acutely observe the parameters of the tunes. You can taste the sheer pride they take in their music-making! These are four of the finest exponents of the music you could imagine, and the classic flute/whistle, fiddle, button accordion, piano lineup is both time-honoured and genuinely timeless.
If I could just pick out some especially enjoyable moments: Billy’s ebullient solo lines on the Steeplechase reel, Brian’s equivalent on The High Level Hornpipe and both of them taking turns on the final reel-set, the lovely solos from both Joanie and Brendan on the air Slán Le Máigh, the fiery drive of the slip-jigs set (track 9) and the oh-so-slightly-cheesy second tune of Sean McGlynn’s Waltz (I wonder why they keep us waiting for that one!). But it’s that snappy spring-in-the-step lift to the rhythms underpinning the whole shebang, that arguably proves most irresistible to the reviewer’s tired old feet, particularly on the three vigorous sets of hornpipes (I liked the sparkling track 11 set the best) - but hey, not to underplay the excellence and camaraderie of all of the musicians throughout, of course.
The tradition’s in very safe hands here, then. And the disc’s presentation is top-notch, with extensive notes. This CD is nearly an hour long - but feels like less than half that length and is immensely cheering to the weary soul.
David Kidman January 2010
The Hut People is a relatively new outfit pairing just two (but they make a sound big enough for many more!) virtuoso musicians Sam Pirt (accordion) and Gary Hammond (percussion). Both names should be familiar from other contexts - Sam initially as a member of The Pack, then a key driving force in the band 422 who won a BBC Young Folk Award as long as ten years ago, and Gary as a jazz and world music specialist who then spent 12 years in the pop sphere with The Beautiful South. But together: dynamite!
I might describe The Hut People as a very "hut" property on the folk-world circuit. The first time I saw them perform live, around two years ago, they’d only been playing together a short time, but what an impression they made, with a very high wow factor. Their live presence was characterised by an enormous ebullience, an absolutely hyper off-the-scale level of sweaty hi-energy, and total (ok, 200%) commitment. Their talents are undoubtedly larger-than-life, and that distinctly in-yer-face quality is brilliantly conveyed on this their debut full-length CD; but any likely misgivings engendered by this are quickly dispelled simply because the two lads’ musicianship comes across so naturally and infectiously - they’re not showing off for the sake of it, but genuinely communicating their enthusiasm and desire to share the music with you. It’s impossible to find fault - neither with the playing or the arrangements, which, though invariably attention-grabbing and ultra-busy, are also unstintingly ingenious and listener-friendly - nor with the selection of tunes, the sequence and the pacing of the menu. The tunes originate from all over the world stage (Shetland to Scandinavia, Brazil to Belgium), but even the near-ubiquitous strict-folky Princess Royal gets an invigorating Latino-Caribbean-style makeover. The common denominator is that each and every tune sounds great fun to play! It’s a particularly happy disc, moving from a cute introductory Basque and a thunderous schottis Morfars to the cajun Happy One Step and several tunes from Helsinki (including, inevitably, one to "Finnish" the disc in resounding style!).
There are times when you feel that Gary’s throwing the proverbial kitchen sink into the recorded mix in an attempt to compensate for the true “live” dimension, but the sheer physicality of the performances wins you over every time, even on record. And sure – though at the risk of sounding mildly im-pirt-inent (sorry, couldn’t resist that!) - it’s possible to tire of the unyielding timbre of the accordion (even if Sam does bring four different members of the family into play), simply because it can’t avoid being used as sole lead/melody instrument over the disc’s 50-minute timespan, and this is bound to give rise to a certain homogeneity even considering the immense variety of percussive effects bestowed on the texture by Gary. So I guess all I’m inferring here is that this may not be a disc to satisfy everyone. But at the same time it proves pretty hard to resist these guys.
David Kidman January 2010
Scottish-born and exiled Australian from 80s band Men At Work, Colin’s since found fame in his new home (the US) as a part-time movie star and, more importantly, a solid singer-songwriter. Colin’s latest CD is a smooth, considered portrait of what might be considered artistic freedom in contentment that’s tempered with a slight and not always altogether convincing degree of cynicism, its ten new songs couched in convivial, accessible musical settings that place their ringing clear-textured quality at the service of Colin’s lyrics. Gentle electric guitars float around a pleasant acoustic base, and the reliable musicianship of his backing crew is unchallenged. Colin currently lives in the American sunshine of the state of California, whose intrinsically sunny climate and image permeates the genial, honest lyrics and their pleasing crafted-pop settings with the occasional dash of country. The closing track, a rolling instrumental, seems quite successfully to capture the bittersweet bustling atmosphere of the Californian experience. But there’s much to like in the songs nevertheless; the most catchy of these are probably No Time, I Can’t Get Up Out Of This Bed and Baby Can I See You Tonight? - all of which tend to gently and affectionately stick in the memory afterwards. Only the overt rock crowd-pleaser Pleased To Almost Meet You feels out of place. But with its neat riffs and pure uncluttered expression, the whole project mostly has a nicely immediate, easy-going feel, which however leaves it in danger of passing you by much as an enjoyable dream you’d like to revisit someday - which of course you can any time you wish. And there’s the rub - it’s probably all a little too easy in the end, in several senses of the word.
David Kidman January 2010
English Rebellion is a four-piece ceilidh band playing dance tunes mostly English in origin. Not exactly an orthodox ceilidh-band lineup, it comprises two couples – Mary and Nick Barber (fiddle/viola and melodeon/French horn/recorder/”baritone” respectively) and Mary Humphreys and Anahata (piano/English concertina/banjo and melodeon/anglo concertina/cello). These are well-respected musicians who are clearly every bit as happy playing their hearts out for formal dances as in informal sessions that might often go on into the night.
Every single one of the disc’s 15 tracks, whatever its tempo or metre, possesses that happy quality whereby you don’t actually want the music to stop even though you’re too tired to continue dancing but you still want to carry on listening, such is the sheer exuberance of the playing. You might not think the recording studio English Rebellion’s most natural environment, but on the band’s first visit the ensemble’s empathic musicianship makes an excellent dancing partner for Doug Bailey’s sympathetic engineering. The piano springs the rhythm deliciously without resorting to dull vamping, while horn and cello provide a dual-purpose (rhythmic and harmonic) counterpoint to the fiddle and box melody lines. The disc presents a varied selection of tunes, many not all that familiar: it can be a case of spot-the-join where stylish recent compositions by John Kirkpatrick, Colin Cater, Flos Headford and John Sommerville superbly mirror pieces sourced from tradition and early manuscript collections.
I realise this is a ceilidh band album, but it might have been able to court even wider sales/appeal outwith English tune aficionados if there had only been more than a paltry two vocal items on the entire disc (and I speak as a big fan of Mary H’s singing!): a magnificently jaunty Gypsy’s Wedding and a swaggering (if perhaps not entirely appropriate) take on Bonny Bunch Of Roses-O. So it says much for the infectious quality of the music-making that I didn’t grow impatient or bored when confronted with wall-to-wall tunes here, simply because the little band is expert at ringing the changes with clever variations in instrumentation and texture while keeping things upbeat and involving.
There’s a friendly feelgood village-band feel to the proceedings, with vigorous hornpipes and polkas a-plenty to get those dance-muscles twitching (La Fête De Village or the Merry Month jig, for instance), while even the slower selections exhibit a joyous momentum. So there’ll be never a cross word while Four Across is in the player!
David Kidman January 2010
This charismatic North Devon songwriter (and protegée of Show Of Hands), now in her twenties (just!), has evidently thought long and hard before releasing her followup album to 2007's more-than-promising Barefoot And Eager, taking further guidance from her mentors and peers. Barefoot's telling maturity of expression is even more a feature of Brother, both in terms of her singing (which was already significantly accomplished) and her songwriting. The latter, although still very much free-spirited and fresh and largely embodying similar thematic preoccupations to before (freedom, life, love and loss), is now more deeply informed by her own personal development since that debut, especially in terms of increased life-experience.
The album is sequenced carefully and intelligently. The title track kicks it all off with a purposeful, chunky riff that at first seems over-dominant and partially obscuring the words, even more so as the song progresses, but then think about it, the four-square beat also serves to reflect the militaristic theme, directly comparing the loyalties of soldiers on the front line with their brotherly duty. The next song, Bring Me News, resonates with added poignancy in the context of Brother, while The Wreckage naturally connects by continuing the theme (sadness at the loss of someone close) and at the same time bringing in the feel of oceanic ebb-and-flow that recurs in Jenna's music as a bit of a trademark (tidemark?). This is then brilliantly evoked on the ensuing song Lundy Tide, the only song on the album for which Jenna didn't write the lyrics (they were penned by her science teacher Martyn Hocking); even so, she provided the musical setting herself out of some chords Steve Knightley had shown her a few years back!
The album itself proceeds to rise and fall with the tides of emotion, and Blinded takes Jenna into the hitherto-uncharted territory of fear, anxiety and betrayal, underpinned by a sinister heartbeat-riff, the ominous and apprehensive mood continuing into Entwined, which heralds mixed feelings at the return of the loved one from Bring Me News. Maybe the folk-stories of Fellow Traveller and Soul Sellers and the career-path dilemma of No Escape don't quite engage to the same extent, but the album picks up again for a timely revisit of Dawn Wave, the haunting and inspiring ode to freedom that Steve had originally sung on 2004's Western Approaches collaboration, and Alive is a laudable attempt to write an honest love-song.
The closing track, Keep Me From The Cold, is an intensely felt entreaty, sung acappella to a gently throbbing drone. Here, as indeed throughout the album, is persuasive evidence of Jenna's increasing vocal assurance. This is captured well by the bright and forward nature of the recording (a typically alert Knightley-Tucker production). Arguably too forward in places though, I felt, for although the musicianship of Jenna's support crew is keen (Steve and Phil guesting, with Mark Tucker and Andy Tween providing the rhythm section), there were occasions when I felt Jenna's writing demanded a more intimate, less commercial and rhythm-driven setting. Also, some production touches (like the over-much use of reverb on Keep Me From The Cold and hints of over-sibilance in the close-miking vocal compensation here and there) are a slight irritant.
But what's most important is that Jenna's developing artistic personality shines through abundantly, and the ongoing fine-tuning of her craft is clearly bringing serious dividends. Jenna says that with Brother she wanted to make an album that stayed true to the way the songs are performed live - and you can judge for yourself whether she's achieved that if you can catch her while supporting Steve Knightley on his own current solo tour, which stretches up to the end of February.
David Kidman January 2010
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