Abi Bliss meets the pitch-perfect post-folk Lancastrian

“So long as I can remember I’ve always had tunes going round in my head. And then when I got older, it made sense to make sense of those noises, to put them out in some kind of form, because I always used to just hum constantly and not [...]]]>

Abi Bliss meets the pitch-perfect post-folk Lancastrian

“So long as I can remember I’ve always had tunes going round in my head. And then when I got older, it made sense to make sense of those noises, to put them out in some kind of form, because I always used to just hum constantly and not remember anything or record it.”

A familiar story for most, if not all musicians, perhaps. But for the young Nancy Elizabeth Cunliffe, there was one major obstacle: “I was convinced that I couldn’t sing,” she reveals, as FolkingCool tries to stifle snorts of incredulity at the other end of the phone line. “I knew I could sing in tune, but I felt that the sound I made was horrible. But I’d written these songs so I was in a real dilemma. I used to sing really quietly, to try and get the song across but so hopefully no-one would hear my voice. That went on for many years.”

“Now I still don’t sing that loudly,” she adds, “but I’m very confident in my voice; I know what it does and what I can do with it.” And happily more and more of us do too, now, with Cunliffe currently touring in support of Danish post-rockers Efterklang (her buddies on the ever-impeccable Leaf label), a headline show at London’s Borderline scheduled for November, and the recent release of her second full-length album, Wrought Iron.

Following on from her 2006 debut EP, The Wheell Turning King, and 2007’s Battle and Victory LP – for which she dropped the surname – Wrought Iron finds Nancy Elizabeth a more assured-sounding and distinctive voice than ever. If the bracing cascades of crystalline harp on Battle and Victory drew a few backhanded compliments of the “Wigan’s answer to Joanna Newsom” type, then this album reveals the much darker, starker side that was hinted at in its predecessor’s quieter moments.

Although too uneasy with the precise definition of “folk” to place herself squarely within its bounds – “I take it to either mean the old stories that were sang and passed down through generation after generation [or] another meaning, that folk is just music that people make without money, and without a big record deal” – the 25-year-old singer confesses to a teenage fascination with Pentangle, “Which is strange because it wasn’t fashionable at all. I had to keep it quiet from all my friends,” before adding that she was equally into Radiohead and Aphex Twin.

From the sparse upland atmospheres of its opening track Cairns, featuring just piano and the merest breeze of voice, Wrought Iron draws you close to whisper its secrets in your ear, its stark, raw passions and quiet endurance anchored by Cunliffe’s unaffected but versatile voice.

Admitting that she’s “quite sociable. I’m always chatting, and when there’s lots of noise going on around me I find it hard to write”, in order to compose the songs on Wrought Iron, Cunliffe hid herself away in some of Europe’s most peaceful spots: the Faroe Islands, the Lake District, and a small village in Spain where she was the only English speaker.

“It’s quite an introverted record because I was on my own. I wasn’t speaking to anyone much, so I went a bit mad,” she jokes, before going on to explain that the album’s shift to having piano as the dominant instrument was mainly because, “I didn’t take my harp to Spain. I forgot it!”

“When I’m in Manchester, I don’t have a piano but I can often go into churches and make friends with the vicar and go and use the ones there, because vicars tend to be quite friendly, so that’s how I play piano here,” she says.

“I thought it would be the same in Spain, but of course, it’s not. I was disappointed, but then I got drunk one night with the man who had the key to this old music school. I tried to speak to him in my broken Spanish and I asked him if there was a piano in there. He said there was, but that it was out of bounds, that the place was being demolished next week. I was like, ‘Oh god, this is awful; there’s a piano there and it’s ready to be played but I can’t go in.’ But the drunker we got, the more I appeased him and he ended up giving me the keys and telling me not to tell anybody.”

Fortunately, the Spanish stereotype of mañana held true in the case of the demolition date, which finally arrived not a week, but a month later. “I used to sneak in and I was dead paranoid that everyone in the village would know. Maybe that’s why it’s so quiet, as I was scared that people would hear me!”

When the time came to record the songs, Cunliffe kept the stark piano bones at the centre of many of the songs, with just touches of understated accompaniment: nimble, urgent drums that sweep through the centre of Bring On The Hurricane; icicle-sharp vibraphone chimes on Feet Of Courage and stoic, unsentimental brass swells on Divining.

“I’m quite keen on arrangements and I like making the decision to leave things out rather than put things in. I came at it like that: ‘What does this narrative need? What is the song about?’ And I naturally built it from there,” she says.

Playing most of the parts herself allowed her to keep control of the album’s spare, still presence: “I tend to be quite respectful of people so if I ask someone to play with me, it’s because I like what they do. So I’m not going to then try and make them do what I think they should do, because I might as well get a robot or do it myself,” she says. “But I did most of this album myself, because it’s easier and I understand what I need, and other people don’t.”

With the songs revealing a range of emotions from steadfastness (Feet of Courage) to the unabashed, greedy lust of The Act – “Then we followed desire and kicked her towards death / As our bodies engaged in unhindered redress” – is she ever fearful of exposing herself in such an apparently personal way? “I do worry sometimes, but at the same time I have to really trust that I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. I think it’s good to be really honest, but if you were honest with people just over a cup of tea, it would probably ruin all your friendships. But you can be like that in songs, and people pick up on it and I think they like it.”

She adds, “I love storytelling as well, though, but I think it’s a blurry line between the two. You couldn’t say either it’s personal or not because you bring your personal opinions and experiences to everything.”

Still, there must be that slightly uncomfortable feeling when playing to a hometown crowd, that somebody might recognise themselves in a song… “If someone wrote a song about me and I was thinking, ‘Is that about me?’ I’d never have the guts to say it. So some people might have an inkling, but they’d never say it to me, and I think if they did I‘d probably die,” she laughs. “I’d hide forever!”

Abi Bliss

www.nancyelizabeth.co.uk

He wrote and sang one of the best-known British folk songs of all time, has been a pivotal figure in British folk for 45 years and was one of the main reasons I took up playing guitar as a teenager (the other was inevitably to do with girls). [...]]]> Ralph McTell takes Simon Heptinstall by the hand

He wrote and sang one of the best-known British folk songs of all time, has been a pivotal figure in British folk for 45 years and was one of the main reasons I took up playing guitar as a teenager (the other was inevitably to do with girls). Now I’m a grey-haired middle-aged writer with a ridiculous collection of eight guitars cluttering up my office. So I tell Ralph McTell that he is to blame.

“I’m so proud to hear that!” he laughs in the familiar deep baritone boom. “It’s great to hear I may have inspired someone to start playing. More people should be playing the guitar.”

With his own 65th birthday arriving in December 2009, one of the godfathers of British folk is certainly showing no signs of swapping his guitar for a pipe and slippers. I was granted an exclusive interview with McTell for FolkingCool just as he starts a hectic UK tour (see www.ralphmctell.co.uk for full dates). He was spending a morning working on “polishing”14 new songs for a rare studio album to be recorded in the new year (his first since 2001).

“You’ve continually got to renew in this business,” says McTell. “I’m proud to be a small part of the New Folk Movement. The level of folk musicianship has never been higher in this country. I love the general brio and enthusiasm of young musicians, although I’m still waiting for the great songwriters to emerge.”

McTell describes himself as a guitarist first, songwriter second, and “never a singer”. “When I write I get the ideas for tunes first on the guitar or piano and they give me the idea of a sentiment. Then the words come last.”

Nevertheless he is best known for one song. Streets of London was originally recorded in 1968 in one take by McTell on guitar and vocals. More than 40 years later it has become such a middle-of-the-road standard that many were shocked when McTell revealed recently to The One Show’s Myleene Klass that the song was originally going to be called “The Streets of Paris”. He wrote it when he lived in Paris in the sixties by busking. “I reworked it for London but it would not have been written if I’d not been in Paris,” he said.

McTell confesses he feels “a little bit weird” that the song was written when he was part of an alternative folk underground but it has now become a mainstream pop song. “I would have liked it to be a bit more left field,” he says. “But lets hope that it’s thought of as a pop song that at least makes people have a think. I’m reconciled to the fact that it will be the only song of mine that’s ever played on the radio.”

Streets of London has been covered by more than 200 different artists, won an Ivor Novello Award (“it’s not on my mantelpiece… it’s on my windowsill”) and sold millions of copies around the world. Streets’ cheesy familiarity often overshadows McTell’s amazing career. The singer-songwriter from London has played on the same bill as Hendrix at the Isle of Wight Festival, topped the bill at Montreux Jazz Festival, presented two folk series on Radio 2, and worked on several TV children’s programmes (because his hero Woody Guthrie had written lots of songs for children). He has also written songs for Skol TV adverts, TV theme tunes and a specially-commissioned evocation of the life of Dylan Thomas in words and music broadcast on BBC, that he refers to as his “grown-up work.” His two-volume autobiography has also been widly-acclaimed.

“I’m still working as hard as ever on new songs,” he says. “My criteria are still the same. Is it original, is it worth saying, is it poetic but short and punchy? I rarely tick all those boxes but I believe that if you record something it should be as good as you can do.”

Although he is “delighted” to be recording a studio CD again, McTell says he is always drawn back to playing live. “One of the nicest things you can do in life is being on stage performing,” he told us. “I was chatting to Tom Paxton about this a few days ago, and he’s in his seventies. We agreed that we didn’t set out on the road to arrive anywhere. It’s the Romany inside. The road just goes on and on. He still loves it… and I do too.”

Simon Heptinstall

Joziah Longo, or Joziah Of The Circus as he signs himself, is a hard one to pin down. Not in person – he’s surprisingly amenable – but as a performer. The bandname – Gandalf Murphy And The Slambovian Circus Of Dreams – is tricky enough to [...]]]> Hazel Davis meets the baffling, bonkers force behind Gandalf Murphy

Joziah Longo, or Joziah Of The Circus as he signs himself, is a hard one to pin down. Not in person – he’s surprisingly amenable – but as a performer. The bandname – Gandalf Murphy And The Slambovian Circus Of Dreams – is tricky enough to get your tongue round and this, it transpires, is no accident.

Quite apart from making them sound like an Irish gimmick band, the moniker, so the story goes, was invented to stop them being harassed by major labels. This was for good reason, says Longo. “In my early days I was approached by major labels when I had just become disillusioned with a lot of my musical heroes (after having the opportunity to meet or hang out with some them in NYC). Even though I could play and sing pretty well I felt I didn’t have much to say at that point and I didn’t think the world needed more artificial sweetener.”

This combination of self-awareness – some would say blind arrogance – is breathtaking, especially in a market as niche as hillbilly folk-psychedelia but it’s pretty much the hallmark of this eclectic and uncategorisable outfit from Hudson Valley.

“Later when I felt I had something to say and I was being approached again, the labels were in a state of not even being faithful to their own,” he adds, “Bottom lines were more important than relationships, it seemed. Not even label presidents knew when the axe might fall on them. It seemed too neurotic to me. I think it’s hard to make music or art that has any positive fortune in that kind of environment so I blew them off again. People thought I was nuts. Maybe.”

Nuts is a word that springs to mind having seen the band live. Yodelling, witch-doctoring and happy-making, the influences are evident from Pink Floyd to Hank Williams.

How to describe them is a journalist’s nightmare. Says Longo, “We are just trying to be non-linear about things and steal from every style that we love without worrying about fitting any particular category.”

The influences are clear though. Longo says, “A lot of them came from growing up playing many different styles of music with my father. He loved and played hillbilly-tinged country music and I grew up singing it with him. He was a library of songs almost any era of popular music.. His father played and sang too, so the library has been expanding through the generations. My mother was a big influence too. She used to grab me and dance me around the house singing the hits of the 20s through the 50s – Elvis, Doris Day, show tunes. You name it…”

And the music that excites him now? “The stuff that came down in the sixties mostly from over here in the UK still excites me. Bands like The ‘B’ Word of course, Stones, Kinks, The Who, Jerry and the Pacemakers’ Don’t Let the Sun Catch You Crying still has a big influence on stuff I write as does early Zombies and The Kinks. There was magic happening in the sixties that took the whole world to places of hope and mystery. Then later Cream, Incredible String Band, Fairport with Sandy Denny. The Bothy Band’s Maids of Mitchelstown has brought me to tears many times.”

A biopic in the making, Longo’s childhood was a textbook riot of music and activity. “Every Friday night our little row house basement was the hangout for my parents friends. All my ‘aunts and uncles’ would show up to shoot pool and darts and chill out after their week in the factories or on the docks. The best part of every Friday night was a long jam that always happened from about nine on to the wee hours where everybody got to sing lead on their favorite song or encourage my dad to play whatever obscure song popped into their heads and they’d all sing along.
It was magic.”

He’s been quoted in the past as receiving his self-penned songs fully formed from another world. “Yeah sometimes they do,” he says enigmatically, “I think the ghosts help and sometimes other more primal sources. Other times it’s just hard work and sheer stupidity.”

His inspirations, says Longo, are, “The desire to connect with the infinite creativity that generates the universe. The hope that when the bullshit and ‘isms’ all unravel (which I think is starting to happen now) we can re-calibrate and get more organically connected to that source.” He adds, “I want to start to build a world where we can begin to do really great lasting stuff that benefits everybody and everything. Zippidy do da day.” And it all sounds completely reasonable from his lips.

Forming his own record label, says Longo, was “as easy as saying Slambovian Records or whatever other names we’ve used. Our labels have just been us and our friends. We do everything ourselves.” But they’ll never sell out to the big guys: “We are courting allies these days,” he says, “There’s a lot more we’re being asked to do and a lot more I feel we could be doing with a few more components so we’re looking for the right enlightened people to work with.”

It’s the fans who’ve kept the Circus going, says Longo. “When things have been tough they’ve paid for album pressings, given us cars, helped us pay rent. I guess they think what we’re doing has some good in it and so they want to keep us doing it. They’re why we always try to do our best at shows. Live shows are a good place to collectively tap ‘the more’. You kind of dream and hope in unison and a lot of times something comes down and you all walk away with more gazoot to face the coming week.”

The Great Unravel is out now on High Noon Records

“Gobsmacked. Surprised. Never imagined it.” This is folk musician Lisa Hannigan on her recent Mercury Prize nomination for Sea Sew, her self-embroidered debut album. I call her a folk musician but she balks at the term. “I wouldn’t really describe myself as that,” she [...]]]> Hazel Davis meets Mercury Prize nominee and honey-voiced songbird Lisa Hannigan

“Gobsmacked. Surprised. Never imagined it.” This is folk musician Lisa Hannigan on her recent Mercury Prize nomination for Sea Sew, her self-embroidered debut album. I call her a folk musician but she balks at the term. “I wouldn’t really describe myself as that,” she muses in her deep Irish growl, “I keep hearing I am the token folkie on the Mercury list but I think I am more plinky-plonk rock.”

If calling her a folk musician jars, then mentioning Damien Rice surely must. But on this the 28-year-old is refreshingly candid. For those not in the know, Hannigan’s is the ghostly voice on Rice’s 2002 debut album, O. The two met at university in Dublin where Hannigan was studying art history and worked together until 2007 but split seemingly acrimoniously.

But Hannigan, who was born in County Meath, doesn’t mind being known as that bird wot sang with Damien Rice. “It’s just the truth really,” she says, “I am sure I wouldn’t have so much attention if I hadn’t sung with him. It is what it is. It was a great few years of working together. It was his songs and it was his thing and I sang backing vocals. I wouldn’t have wanted it to be My Thing.”

But all the while she was working with Rice, Hannigan was crafting her introspective, ethereal tunes. “I was very slow,” she says, “It was only when I had the time that I sped up.” She explains, somewhat disingenuously,  “I am not very good on the guitar and piano, you see, and I was trying to write the songs on the guitar and piano. So I started writing songs to a drum pattern and sort the music out afterwards. Once I freed myself it was easier.”

The words-and-music process for Hannigan, she says, is a simultaneous one. “I do have pages of words that I like,” she says, “but I don’t sit down and say ‘what metaphor will I use for this?’”

Though she didn’t know she would end up here, Hannigan always knew she “wouldn’t get a proper job.” “I was always singing from an early age, in different genres,” she says, “We all wouldn’t be sitting around playing together or anything but my parents would listen to a lot of music and there were musical people in the family. At school I wanted to be an opera singer and I entered a lot of competitions,” she says, “and then I did a few singer-songwriter nights.” Her early influences were Nina Simone and Joni Mitchell, both of whom are in evidence on songs such as Venn Diagram, which showcases her sparse breathiness. “Everything you listen to seeps in to the music you write,” she laughs, “it’s very easy to just copy a song without realising it…”

Meeting Rice on the first day of college, however, changed everything. “After a few months he said he was looking for a backing singer for a gig and I stepped in.”

She’s been described as being a cross between Bjork and Suzanne Vega. “That sounds awesome,” she laughs, “I’m well happy sitting there…but you never sound how you think you sound anyway…”

Having established herself as a live favourite, Hannigan says she particularly enjoyed her performance at the Latitude Festival in July. “I was blown away,” she breathes, “It lashed with rain – I’ve never seen it so heavy but people stayed right till the end. It was really heartwarming.”

It’s early days for the next album, says Hannigan, who seems to view the songwriting process as a fairly passive one. “I have a couple of songs and I am going to get working on it. But I will take my time until the songs have gathered themselves together,” she says, “The last song I wrote was definitely a folk song, one of my favourites. It’s called Looking Passenger and it’s just me and a mandolin.”

And we may be in for a treat when the album does come out. “I’m learning the violin,” she announces, “My poor housemates… I am put to shame by people who can really, really play things. Singing is my thing….”

Ain’t that the truth…

Hazel Davis

Sea Sew is out now. Visit www.lisahannigan.ie

Alessi Laurant-Marc, who’s just [...]]]> Jenni Stalmach is charmed

Chatting to Alessi’s Ark is like a little ray of sunshine on a dull day. “I’m not like anyone else,” chuckles Alessi Laurant-Marc as we natter about the release of her debut album Notes From The Treehouse. And after speaking to the teenage songbird I can’t help but agree.

Alessi Laurant-Marc, who’s just turned 19, is part of the capital’s flourishing nu-folk movement and the London-born teen has quickly caught the eye of the UK folk scene with her honeyed, indie-rock, fairy tales.

She happily chats to me about her new album and enthuses about the final product. “I’m so, so happy with how the album turned out,” she says, “There are special things that I love about every song but I must say I’m supremely pleased with The Dog. I’ve had chance to work with so many special people on the record.”

Despite Alessi being a fresh addition to the bundle of acoustic songsters touring the UK, she has already had the chance to record with one of her musical heroes on her debut. Notes From The Treehouse sees Alessi collaborate with producer and Bright Eyes guitarist Mike Mogis, much to her surprise.

“When I signed with EMI they said ‘who would be your dream guy?’ and I said Mike Mogis, but I didn’t know what my chances were. At the time he was on tour with Bright Eyes in London so the timing was more than amazing. I got to meet up with him and I liked him straight away, he’s a warm guy. He managed to find a block of time towards the end of that summer to start recording. I was extremely lucky; in fact I couldn’t believe it!”

After their initial meeting in London, Alessi travelled to Omaha in the summer of 2007 to start recording the album with Mogis. The result is a breathtaking brew of sugary sweet melodies laced with harps and hushed vocals.

“At the time of recording I was just 17,” she explains, “I was a minor so my mum came with me to Omaha. We set up camp there but came back and forth for my dad’s birthday and things like that. The whole process was maybe about half a year.” She adds, “Nebraska is such a great place you should definitely visit.”

As Notes From the Treehouse gently trickles from your speakers you are invited into Alessi’s dream world. Her psychedelic lullabies tell tales of enchanted creatures, freckles and space. However her lyrics are not as twee and innocent as they first appear. Although the majority of her tracks remain untarnished by the outside world, songs such as Over The Hill depict heartache and melancholy, surprising subject matters from someone so young.

“I’m definitely not old enough to have experienced a worldly amount of things so some of my lyrics I completely make up,” she says, “At times though I do base my songs on my own experiences and things that have happened to friends and family.”

A homebody at heart, Alessi’s not your typical teenager. She confesses, “I don’t really go out that much maybe I should! I go out to see bands sometimes but I spend a lot of time with my family. We go out to eat or to the cinema. I like to go for walks I don’t really go out clubbing to be honest.”

Softy spoken, witty and engaging Alessi is eager to chat about her favourite bands, her artwork as well as her friends and family.

“Mainly I listen to guys,” she says, “I do like some women but I mostly listen to men. I like Graham Nash and Neil Young and I like some really early T-Rex. My dad, he likes The Jam, Paul Weller and all these mod bands. Whereas my mum really loves David Bowie. She introduced me to things like Crosby, Stills and Nash.”

After completing her GCSEs Alessi left school to pursue her music career. Her parents granted her permission to continue with her music under the condition that something happened within a year. She explains how her parents’ continued support is the key to her success:

“I did my GCSEs and we agreed that afterwards they would just let me play,” she explains, “They said if nothing comes about you will have to go back and that seemed more than a cool enough deal. I was daunted by not having any kind of routine though because at school you’ve got homework, timetables and revision I just thought
‘argh I don’t know what I’m doing!’ You can go through waves of having a definite plan of the week and other times I’m just pottering around. She says enthusiastically “My parents have been amazing and I know that this is all down to their support”.

Whilst at school Alessi began creating a fanzine entitled The Brain Bulletin which she packed with music and film reviews and illustrations.

“I started writing The Brain Bulletin when I was 14 and I did it for a few years,” she explains, “I used to make up names so if anyone ever picked one up they thought that more people were involved in it,” she giggles. “I started drawing in it and writing about films and books and slowly people started to submit.” She adds, “I now try to do a digital version of the fanzine but it’s not tangible. I prefer to have things that are handmade.”

DIY culture is something which the young folkstrel is extremely passionate about, so much so that this month she launched her own exhibition of line drawings at Riverside Studios in London.

“The exhibition is curated by a friend of mine,” Alessi explains. “She puts on events in a secretive way under the name The Velvet Sneaker. The theme is handmade. They’re all black and white line drawings that have been collected over time. The oldest one in the exhibition is one that I drew for The Brain Bulletin.”

Alessi feels her art and music are connected: “A lot of the drawings that are up in the exhibition came to me whilst I was thinking about songs. I’ve incorporated lyrics into quite a few of them. I do think there’s a definite kind of theme that gels between the two. There’s an owl with me tucked up in the wing, I drew that with my Nana in mind and there’s my interpretation of what the ark looks like from the inside. A lot of the drawings I did whilst on tour and posted them out to people that were joining the mailing list. They are quite special prints, I like the fact that they are just roaming
around in the world.”

Alessi’s Ark has just come back off an extensive UK tour to promote the release of her album. She speaks fondly of her time in Middlesbrough, which was her favourite gig of the tour.

“I’ve played in a few strange places but they’ve always been fun,” she says, “I played in a bookshop in Long Beach, California once which was really cool. It was a really nice place to hang out. This week I’m playing at a bird hide in Stoke Newington as well. This really cool organisation called Hunger Munger are trying to protect and restore the reservoir there by raising money.”

Despite her originality Alessi finds it difficult to brush off comparisons to the likes of Laura Marling. “Our music is pretty different we get pigeon-holed together because we are of a similar age, we don’t live far from each other each and we both play the guitar and sing. She’s a nice girl but she does do something different to me. Everyone loves to say that you’re doing something like someone else”. When asked to give her opinion on the lashings of ladies currently occupying the UK charts, Alessi remains the epitome of all things lovely and keeps schtum. “I don’t think it’s fair to judge! I haven’t gone out of my way to give any of them a listen so I’m going to sit on the fence.”

So far Notes From the Treehouse has met with a glowing reviews. Over the next year Alessi hopes to travel with her music, serenading her mushrooming fanbase with folk fairy stories. “My mum is half French so I would like to play there, perhaps in a nice café. I want to keep on playing and working on different incarnations of the ark”.

Jenni Stalmach

Check out Alessi’s Ark blog at: www.brainbulletin.blogspot.com

For more information about Alessi’s exhibition ‘Handmade’ visit:
www.riversidestudios.co.uk

Hazel Davis meets a quiet revolutionary

Pete Molinari is a man with a passion. Quite apart from his obvious passion for talking, rendering hapless interviewers little opportunity for interruption, he has a passion for real music, for authenticity and honesty.

Luckily, those who speak to him seldom want to intercept, so engaging and [...]]]>

Hazel Davis meets a quiet revolutionary

Pete Molinari is a man with a passion. Quite apart from his obvious passion for talking, rendering hapless interviewers little opportunity for interruption, he has a passion for real music, for authenticity and honesty.

Luckily, those who speak to him seldom want to intercept, so engaging and enthusiastic is he.

The earnest Kent-born, Egyptian-Italian singer-songwriter marches to his own vintage country-blues tune with his  brand of soulful, plaintive old-school Hank Williams-style songs. For this, it would be easy to consign him to the novelty dustbin. But he’s no Duffy. Like Amy Winehouse – for want of a better comparison – he’s managed to produce a sound from another time in a way that feels entirely relevant.

Molinari puts this down to – simply – “being authentic”.  He adds, “everything I do is deeply rooted in authenticity. Billy Childish doesn’t care that his paintings are influenced by Van Gogh, Bob Dylan was besotted with Woody Guthrie, the Beatles were obsessed with Chuck Berry. You can tell when something is a novelty because it has no substance and that’s the difference. I feed off the records I listened to – and loved – as a child.”

“Probably about 75%” of these records featured the legendary Nashville backing singers The Jordanaires, with whom Molinari has just recorded a new EP, Today, Tomorrow And Forever. It’s a four-track disc of gorgeously rendered covers, with Tennessee Waltz sitting alongside Jim Reeves’ Guilty in a melodic melancholia fest.

Like much of his life, he says, this partnership happened quite spontaneously. “We went out to Nashville in June to record the EP. I was with Chris Scruggs (grandson of the legendary Earl) and I said that the one thing missing would be a proper gospel group. I knew we wouldn’t have the budget and I thought perhaps we could go into a church and round up some singers. Chris just said, ‘I know the Jordanaires’…” At this point, says Molinari, “we all fell on the floor laughing but they turned up the next day. Only in Nashville…”

Whilst he doesn’t like to wallow in fandom, Molinari says the experience of recording with Nashville royalty was pretty bonkers. “You still can’t help but be in some awe,” he says, “it was quite easy to almost forget what they were there to do, once we got talking about Patsy Cline and Roy Orbison…But they were as amazing as anyone in the ‘outside world’ would imagine.”

Molinari, who relocated to New York a few years ago, is now making the move –via London – to Nashville permanently. “I never look at something definitively,” he says, “but it’s where I want to be for the immediate future at least. I am signing to a label there and I love the musicians and studios.” He says that New York is home though: “I feel like a New Yorker more than anything. But then I might like to live in New Orleans…”

Rather than feel like a small fish in a big pond, Molinari feels he stands out like an unexpected sore thumb. “The Nashville music of now is so far removed from what I grew up listening to,” he laughs, “It’s more like Bon Jovi now. In fact, it’s the same in New York. Despite its amazing heritage, you see all these James Blunt types playing in cafes. If I were a session musician on the other hand,” he laughs, “I would be really daunted. They are – though I don’t like the word – all virtuosos here. As far as having people play on your record, they are what I want.”

Molinari’s recording history has been an interesting one. His first record – Walking Off The Map (Damaged Goods) – was recorded in Billy Childish’s kitchen on a Revox tape in 2006 and the second one – A Virtual Landslide – was released on Damaged Goods in 2008 and recorded at Toe Rag Studios renowned for using analogue equipment.

To a girl born and raised in Kent, despite his obvious Americana purity, Molinari sounds somehow uniquely Kentish in the way that Richard Hawley still sounds like he’s from Sheffield. Molinari laughs at this assertion. “Chatham is always going to be a strong influence on me but I think Richard Hawley has a real love for Sheffield. I realised that going from New York to Memphis is a bit like going from London to Chatham. It’s not a pretty place. It’s dark and it’s hard but in those places there are things to be found, certainly. I have a spiritual feeling towards it and it’s a place I go to but there’s as much hate. The need for escape comes across in my music, I think.”

He refuses to be drawn on what his next project will be: “The road always takes a diverse turn here and there,” he says enigmatically, “I have worked on songs, I am constantly writing new songs. But I might do more covers. It’s as exciting to reinterpret old songs as it is to write new songs. There is beauty to be found in the interpretation…”

Today, Tomorrow And Forever is released on August 24 on Damaged Goods

Jason Ringenberg is probably the most profound man in music. “Never go to the UK,” he opines, “without your wellies.”

And with that pithy sentence the alt. country pioneer and man of a million Stetsons pretty much nails it. His advice to any musician who might usually reside in the [...]]]> Hugh Wilson meets his teenage hero

Jason Ringenberg is probably the most profound man in music. “Never go to the UK,” he opines, “without your wellies.”

And with that pithy sentence the alt. country pioneer and man of a million Stetsons pretty much nails it. His advice to any musician who might usually reside in the Nashville area (or anywhere, to be honest) is to be prepared for the weather. Whatever your over-optimistic British contacts may tell you, the UK in August will be like the Bible Belt in December. An umbrella is probably a good idea, too.

But despite the weather, Ringenberg loves it here. He’s been coming for the best part of 30 years, and speaks with the passion of a genuine anglophile.

“Any musician you speak to will tell you they love playing, you know, wherever they are,” he says, “But I genuinely love it here. No matter what you’re after from an audience, you get it. That can be a physical reaction during a rock show but then you come as a singer-songwriter and the audience gets the jokes, gets the nuances of language. It‘s great to have that. And then there’s that distant cousin thing too. We’re kinda related…”

Ringenberg is currently touring as both singer-songwriter Jason Ringenberg and as alter-ego kids’ entertainer Farmer Jason. Farmer Jason plays to families in the afternoon. Jason Ringenberg plays an adult show in the evening.

But mention of a “rock show” is a nod to a third incarnation of Jason Ringenberg, the singer and main songwriter for “cowpunk” rabble rousers Jason and the Scorchers. The Scorchers hit the UK in the mid 1980s as part of a short-lived invasion of indie Americana, along with bands like REM, The Replacements, the Meat Puppets and Green On Red. I’ll declare an interest. In 1985 and 86, I thought the Scorchers the coolest band on the planet.

If you don’t know them – and there’s every chance you don’t – the nearest British equivalent to Jason and the Scorchers is probably The Pogues. Not that the two sound alike but they share a formula that mixes traditional folk music with punk attitude and produces something entirely new. The Scorchers wrote gorgeous country tunes and played them very fast indeed. Their songs made you want to cry into a whiskey glass and jump into a bouncing crowd, pretty much at the same time.

But though their sound was unique, the band’s trajectory was not. At their creative height, the Scorchers produced two albums of brilliant, melodic, sometimes anarchic country rock (1984’s Fervor mini-album and 1985’s Lost and Found) and a live show with the energy of an early Clash gig (though none of the gobbing). They won plaudits, a hardcore fan base and the admiration of contemporaries. And of course, they didn’t make much cash.

“For a while there we thought we might go mainstream,” Ringenberg admits. “But looking back, there was no chance. Could you see a voice like mine on pop radio? No, it was never going to happen.”

And inevitably, after a couple of less well-received albums, the band drifted apart. He is, nevertheless, proud of what the Scorchers achieved, in a modest kind of way. “It was an explosive, happening event and you maybe only get that once in a lifetime. I have fond memories of that time and a few bad ones too, but yeah, I think some of what people said about us was true. We were a pretty good band.”

At best, they were a great band and their influence on what’s now called alt. country is, perhaps belatedly, being acknowledged. Last year, they were honoured with a Lifetime Achievement Award for Performance by the Americana Music Association. One critic recently noted that, “the band and Ringenberg are the closest things Nashville has to rock ‘n’ roll legends.”

And their story is not quite over. Next year Jason and the Scorchers are releasing a new album, their first new material for the best part of two decades. It could be a triumph or it could be a disaster – the recorded equivalent of your middle-aged uncle pogo-ing to the Sex Pistols at a family wedding.

Ringenberg admits to a few nerves over the project. “But you know, it’s turned out much better than I expected it to,” he says. “I kinda wondered if guys around 50 could make a rocking record. But it’s good.”

Halcyon Times will be out in February and the band will be touring next spring. Anxiety about the quality of the album should be assuaged by the quality of Ringenberg’s solo material, recently celebrated with the release of the Best Tracks and Side Tracks compilation. It showed again what a good songwriter and fine balladeer Ringenberg is. Mix that maturity with a bit of the old Scorcher’s fire and Halcyon Times might just be a very fine record indeed.

In the meantime, he’ll continue touring his excellent solo material, and promoting the increasingly popular Farmer Jason. If the overall-wearing originator of songs like Punk Rock Skunk and He’s A Moose On The Loose started out as a way for a hard touring musician to make a little extra on the side (and I don’t know if it did), it’s now become something of a passion.

“I think Farmer Jason has legs,” says Ringenberg. “We’ve won a regional Emmy for it, and it’s one of the few areas of music where America is a little bit ahead of the UK. There’s a tradition at home of making really cool music for kids, and that doesn’t seem to exist here yet. I’m touring Farmer Jason all the time now and he’s getting a great response. This is what I’m focusing on at the moment.”

The kids probably don’t know how lucky they are (in my experience, they never do). But in February, the adults are borrowing Jason Ringenberg back.

www.jasonringenberg.com
www.jasonandthescorchers.com

Hazel Davis gets her Americana kicks in Beverley

When the recent expenses scandal hit the headlines, sales of ink at Billy Bragg’s local stationer must have hit an all-time high. Luckily we’re in folk festival season and that means a slew of willing audiences ready and willing to hear his thoughts on the subject. And, if [...]]]>

Hazel Davis gets her Americana kicks in Beverley

When the recent expenses scandal hit the headlines, sales of ink at Billy Bragg’s local stationer must have hit an all-time high. Luckily we’re in folk festival season and that means a slew of willing audiences ready and willing to hear his thoughts on the subject. And, if the opening night of Beverley Folk Festival was anything to go by, boy does he have some.

Bragg topped the bill on the main stage, supported by up-and-coming Sunderland loop folkster Paul Liddell and Belinda O’Hooley and Heidi Tidow. Liddell gave an impressive, if slightly worthy performance, which went on a little too long but indicated that he might be one to watch.

Liddell expressed surprise and delight at being asked to support Billy Bragg. This surprise might have been better coming from Belinda O’Hooley and Heidi Tidow whose cabaret Victoria Wood-meets Billy Joel set was completely inappropriate, about as far from folk as you can get and boring as hell.

Huddersfield-based O’Hooley was fantastic in the Winterset, not only musically but also providing a vaudeville foil to the hardcore north east folk Winterset. Here, her talents are wasted with the po-faced Tidow and “wimmin-music” repertoire. The audience seemed to agree and there was relief all round when Bragg stepped up to the mic. He was on fine form, hectoring us about MP’s expenses, failing to prevent the BNP from getting in. “You can hard-boil eggs too you know,” he quipped, in reference to the egging of Nick Griffin. He had a small pop at James Blunt too, for good measure. It was a good-value Bragg set, heavily political with the usual favourites, Which Side Are You On, Between The Wars, and so on, but with a few lighter numbers such as Ingrid Bergman and Greetings To The New Brunette.

Later that night in the Wold Top Marquee, Miles Cain hosted his late-night festival club and over in the Children’s Marquee there was the nightly silent disco.

This year’s 26th festival was bigger than ever before. New additions include the on-site Concert Marquee (replacing the Memorial Hall as a venue) and the Acoustic Marquee (or “Moonbeams Tent”).

This writer spent much of her time in the Moonbeams tent where the irrepressible Leila Slater had programmed a great selection of local and national acts interspersed with open-spots. Highlights here included York singer Jess Gardham who blew the audience away with her folk-soul. East Yorkshire Edwina Hayes sang some lovely lilting numbers including the recently Nancy Griffith-covered Pour Me A Drink and York student Holly Taymar sang through the driving rain with a voice as sweet as honey.

It was a festival debut for New York artist Curtis Eller who baffled and delighted the crowd in the Concert Marquee with his bonkers banjo-playing, yodelling and tales of Buster Keaton, Elvis Presley and Abraham Lincoln. “This one’s in the key of E minor if anyone feels like dancing,” he leered, before leaping into the audience legs akimbo and references to elephants and pigeon-racing. At one point, a crazed fan called in from outside to proclaim her love for him. She hadn’t paid to see him and wasn’t allowed it. “Aw let her in guys, don’t be assholes,” Eller entreated, making us all love him just a little bit more.

Eller performed a number of times including as part of the Saturday afternoon American Party in the Concert Marquee, for me the festival highlight. He followed Gandalf Murphy and the Slambovian Circus of Dreams, the shamanistic Sleepy Hollow “punk-classical-hillbilly-Floyd” outfit. Lead singer Joziah Longo was at once terrifying and delighting with his promises that yodelling would heal all. By the end of their heartfelt and uplifting set, it really did feel like music would be our saviour.

A sweet and surprising high point was the Appalachian duo Jeni Hankins and Billy Kemp. Singing songs from the Southwest Virginia coalmines, the pair melted hearts with songs like Tazewell Beauty Queen and Back Then, a heartbreaking tale of tragic love. Jeni Hankins’ smile-infused Mother Maybelle voice was the perfect antidote to some of the more polished and hand-wringing (read: dull) singer-songwriter folk elsewhere.

The spoken word was also well represented with everyone’s favourite bespectacled Luton poet John Hegley in the Concert Marquee. Flanked by Rory Motion and Subterranean Homesick Yorkshire Blues, he chastised children for coughing, singled out glasses wearers and expertly rhymed Nottingham with the phrase “re-allotting ‘em”, for which he was worth watching alone. He popped up later in the Wold Top Tent for an eye-wateringly brilliant version of his Jesus Isn’t Just For Christmas rap (“He had a path, it never had a fork in, he made a lot of sandwiches but none of them had pork in…”).

For some of us the festival peaked at the American Party but for others it was all building up to the Peatbog Faeries at the Midsummer Party and Dance Night in the Leisure Complex Main Hall. Featuring Skavolution, the Lonnie Donegan Band featuring Peter Donegan, the show saw the usual standard of light-show gaiety from the multi-membered Celtic fusion band. Missing Adam, the charismatic fiddler but presenting two new ones in his place, the band romped through a stomping set of dance numbers, complete with red and green club-lights, warming us all up and drying us all out after a heavy day of festival rain.

From a few years ago when events were a bit disparate and patchily organized, Beverley Folk Festival has evolved organically into one of the friendliest festivals around, capitalizing on its extraordinarily warm atmosphere and ability to attract world-class folk and Americana acts. Do come next year, people. Given its trajectory so far, it’s bound to be even better, if that’s possible.
www.beverleyfestival.com

Hazel Davis