It has long been established that the nearer to a pole you live the madder you are. It’s the magnetotron rays that do it. Eskimos build houses out of snow and throat sing at each other until they summon the aurora borealis. Scandinavians split neatly into groups that venerate either Black [...]]]> Review by Stephen Taylor

It has long been established that the nearer to a pole you live the madder you are. It’s the magnetotron rays that do it. Eskimos build houses out of snow and throat sing at each other until they summon the aurora borealis. Scandinavians split neatly into groups that venerate either Black Metal and then burn churches, or Eurovision and wear fluorescent pop socks. Penguins look shifty. Inge Thomson makes grin-inducing, cynic-melting, accordion-soaked tunes peppered with electronic bleeps and African thumb piano boings.

Hailing from Fair Isle from off of the shipping forecast she’s about as polar as you can get without falling off the edge. And. She’s. NUTS. Shipwrecks and Static is about as good as a description of itself as it could be. The whole album has that island kookiness and tiny town eccentric edge that could be anywhere between Lost, Northern Exposure and the Clangers. Inge plays with the Karine Polwart Trio when she’s behaving herself, presumably playing mad scientist in a sonic shed somewhere the rest of the time, preparing to launch her solo efforts onto a more molecular-audiology ready landscape.

Most of the songs are fairly traddish, folky numbers augmented with a synth backing that is sometime a subtle replacement for percussion, sometimes a full-on Boards of Canada romp through vistas electronic. John is wrinkle-your-nose cute. Almost a round sung with herself it’s speckled with banjo twangs and anklet jangles. Tin Man is an instrumental tearjerker that, along with an unironic helping of sunshine, countryside and the prospect of pretty company, jerked more tears than was strictly decorous on British rail. Scoundrel Clouds is a bit of a rant about the weather.

Childlike whilst avoiding naivety, when the experimental stuff doesn’t add anything it doesn’t detract. And when it hits the mark it’s perfect and new to the point of pinching its cheeks and going wubba wubba wubba.

They say it was a brave man who once tried an oyster. I bet it wasn’t. It was a loon from the Shetlands who wanted to try everything to see if it was nice. Good luck to her.

When You’re Real is John McKeown’s ‘official’ debut album to be released in August 2010. In 2009 he released an unofficial debut album. I’m just as confused as the rest of you. It’s annoying to have to always have age mentioned, but it’s a valid point that [...]]]> Review by Max Wallis

When You’re Real is John McKeown’s ‘official’ debut album to be released in August 2010. In 2009 he released an unofficial debut album. I’m just as confused as the rest of you. It’s annoying to have to always have age mentioned, but it’s a valid point that McKeown, at forty-nine, is releasing the album at an age when most musicians are winding down their career.

He has a very soft smooth voice, incredibly rich and very seductive; however although his technical ability stands up to his younger counterparts, the later songs on the album fall short and leaves the record feeling flat. Accompanying him he has varying other instruments such as the banjo, tambourines and fiddles buit these are never used to their full potential.

From Treat You Like a Woman with its gorgeous duality and brass accompaniment, the love-letter Till the Towers Fall and the upbeat Candy Girl he maintains his momentum. The problem with the album is that he just isn’t as strong on the songs where he isn’t accompanied. His voice is rich enough, don’t get me wrong, but amongst the scene of Mumford and Sons and Laura Marling – with their roaring tunes, and ensembles there is a demand for more encompassing songs.

It’s a perfectly lovely album, very summery– it’s just not phenomenal or groundbreaking. It’s competent, it’s enjoyable and definitely should be commended – it just isn’t amazing. Part of me is glad that it isn’t a last hurrah – there’s plenty of tip top stuff here to keep McKeown in business. I just can’t help thinking that he would have showed his range and ability better with an EP.

www.johnmckeown.net

Traditional yet thoroughly contemporary, The Northern Road is an accomplished album with much to brag about. Jack McNeill and Charlie Heys’ follow-up to their 2008 debut, Light Up All the Beacons, offers a mature collection that oozes warmth and honesty through its sparse and uncluttered arrangements.

Jack’s uniquely percussive guitar [...]]]> Review by Glen Liddle

Traditional yet thoroughly contemporary, The Northern Road is an accomplished album with much to brag about. Jack McNeill and Charlie Heys’ follow-up to their 2008 debut, Light Up All the Beacons, offers a mature collection that oozes warmth and honesty through its sparse and uncluttered arrangements.

Jack’s uniquely percussive guitar style underpins Charlie’s effortless violin to dazzling effect, creating harmony and momentum throughout. The two become almost as one, each instrument working together rather than against each other. This is evident nowhere better than in the hauntingly beautiful instrumental The Knots/Comets. Excellent tracks such as The Wooden Boy, Coastlines and the title track itself do not fail to inspire.

McNeill’s voice – a subtle blend of Damien Rice, Seth Lakeman, Christy Moore and, to some degree, Ben Ottewell – has an endearing, almost timeless quality, suggesting a world-weariness that should not really be possible in one so young. Vocally, he is a very commanding presence.

Lyrically, there are moments of beauty. Like the short story writer or the poet, painting emotion with words, honing in on a particular image with a fine torch beam, the duo seem to capture moments of tenderness with great clarity: of course I will watch you/ and I promise not to wake you/ when your skin catches hold of the sun/ I’ll let the fire take you / and I’ll let your colours run/ two leaves falling to the ground/ spinning in a burning winter breeze/ I hope that somebody’s near me/ when I finally take my leave… (Leaves).

Praise, I feel, should also be heaped upon percussionist Tom Chapman, for his dynamic work on Cajon and frame drum throughout, along with Helen Lancaster and Samantha Norman, for their delightful contributions to The Wolf and the Woodpecker.

Graduating together from the Birmingham Conservatoire, I found it surprising to learn that Jack and Charlie have only been playing together since early 2007 – clearly a pairing written in the stars. Having gone on to become finalists in the 2008 BBC Radio 2 Young Folk Awards, the pair have undoubtedly established themselves on the circuit and certainly seem to have plenty going for them. Appearances at Broadstairs and Bromyard festivals later this summer should help to cement that growing reputation, too. An act to watch out for.

The Northern Road is available now on Fellside recordings. Highly recommended.

www.myspace.com/jackmcneillandcharlieheys

Hotly anticipated doesn’t quite do it. Eagerly awaited? So-longed-for-it-actually-hurt? And that’s just in my house. Ever since Johnny Flynn’s debut album, A Larum, landed in my CD player, life hasn’t quite been the same. It spoiled all other modern folk music and kickstarted the overused phrase, “Hmmm it’s good but it’s [...]]]> Review by Hazel Davis

Hotly anticipated doesn’t quite do it. Eagerly awaited? So-longed-for-it-actually-hurt? And that’s just in my house. Ever since Johnny Flynn’s debut album, A Larum, landed in my CD player, life hasn’t quite been the same. It spoiled all other modern folk music and kickstarted the overused phrase, “Hmmm it’s good but it’s no Johnny Flynn.”

In the way that only an album from the self-effacing 27-year-old can, it quickly took its place alongside Actual Folk Classics such as Joni Mitchell’s Blue and everything by Bob Dylan, with little commotion. I lent it to friends, I forced them to sit and listen, open-mouthed and I smiled smugly when they went on to buy it for cherished family members.

And how frightened I was when this new album, this thing I had been hoping and praying for, landed on my doormat. How could anything replace the disc that is now so battered I had to get a new one?

Been Listening is a departure. But only a little one. In so many ways it’s pure Johnny. There are Huck Finn-esque tales of river adventures and his romantic obsession with battle reemerges. The delicious wordplay is present and correct and the brain-battering catchiness is all there.

But he’s lost his band, the Sussex Wit, and gained a couple of duetters, Laura Marling on The Water (oh JOY) and someone else (I can find NOTHING anywhere which says who it is but I reckon it’s Lucy Farrell – you heard it here first) on the gorgeous Amazon Love. There is the odd bit of jarring electric guitar (on Howl, which at first is a little bonkers but, like all Flynn songs, quickly seeps into the bloodstream). Even the bouyant Kentucky Pill, which I resisted when I first heard it on the radio, makes sense among its brothers and sisters.

This is another wonderful album from one of folkingcool’s favourite artists of all time ever. And, gulp, it might even be better than the first one. Oh Johnny, Johnny, Johnny!!

People will say ‘It’s like Marmite. You either love it or hate it.’ Which is fine, except for the fact that the Marmite love/hate split is roughly 50/50. Jude Cowan will not hang the jury in quite the same way. You’d be better off saying ‘It’s like gently lowering yourself [...]]]> Review by Stephen Taylor

People will say ‘It’s like Marmite. You either love it or hate it.’ Which is fine, except for the fact that the Marmite love/hate split is roughly 50/50. Jude Cowan will not hang the jury in quite the same way. You’d be better off saying ‘It’s like gently lowering yourself onto the point of a kaiser’s helmet.’ or ‘It’s like marrying your nan.’ Yes. You’ll either love it or you hate it, but you’re astronomically unlikely to fall into the former camp.

Coincidentally, this morning I drove through the West Pennine Moors where Jude Cowan grew up. I can imagine, glorious though they are, as a teenager you’d be keen to escape the endless isolation using any vehicle available. As her raft she chose shrieking, mawkish onomatopoeic noises and baffling goth-lite ha’penny-really-fucking-dreadful lyrics. The end result is a hybrid of bottom-of-the-class sixth-form revue and your drunkest, singlest aunt trying to lighten the mood at a funeral.

The title track, a weirdly cringey tale of a war-time bunk up is responsible for serious damage to my office chair as my buttocks munched through the seat, whether out of embarrasment or a concerted effort to escape I don’t know. They’re not talking to me any more. Jolly Roger debates whether a mother should tell her estranged sailor lover about an unexpected pregnancy. Kissy noises, horsey clop-clops, Bobby Shafto innuendo and musings as to whether the babies should be hidden in the potted meat suggest that he’s well off out of it. Naughty Daddy - well, you can guess. Beyond that you’re going to have to find out for yourself. I couldn’t listen further.

The funny thing is that the sort of mock macabre, cabaret of the shit could only ever work in a live setting, but this is surely room clearing tackle. Self indulgent beyond bearing, bafflingly ill-conceived and irritating in whole new ways. I’ll take my chances with the Marmite thank you.

www.myspace.com/judecowan

Crap name, great CD! Watch out Imagined Village, there are some new kids on the block hoping to drag folk music into the 21st Century.

There are many people who think that folk be preserved and stay static, but I’m not one of them. As Chumbawamba say on their new album, [...]]]> Review by Ruth Rosselson

Crap name, great CD! Watch out Imagined Village, there are some new kids on the block hoping to drag folk music into the 21st Century.

There are many people who think that folk be preserved and stay static, but I’m not one of them. As Chumbawamba say on their new album, “that’s not music, that’s a pickle”. PBS6 is a collaboration between former All-Britain Bodhran champion Will Lang, rapper Crystalize, vocalists Tessa Smith and Katie Wighton, Shona Kipling on accordion, Jason Singh doing beatbox, beats and tabla and Tom Wright on guitars, bass and programming. That line up in itself is probably enough to give you a flavour of the type of music that they produce.

Their approach is, if not exactly new, entertaining to listen to and most of all catchy and danceable. It’s difficult to listen to without wanting to dance round the living room. As well as some traditional songs updated, there are some original tracks too, both songs and tunes. There are hints of Adrian Sherwood’s On U Sound on my favourite track, the fabulous Ewan MacColl & Peggy Seeger’s Moving On song complete with a choir from Verne prison and shades of Nitin Sawney on other tracks. But they’ve taken these influences, mashed them up with the folk tradition and created something fresh and interesting. There are a couple of duff tracks, but on the whole, this is a great first album. They’ve only just started, but they could go far. Definitely not one for the traditionalists. File under folky hip hop. Or hippy hop folk.

www.pbs6.com

Ruth Rosselson
twitter.com/RuthRosselson

I’ve always admired – at a bit of a distance, admittedly – country music’s unproselytizing take on faith. All that anything goes, life, grit and the kitchen sink, occasionally pausing for a down-home prayer, cutting through the wigs and the rhinestones with a simple affirmation that the Lord will see things right. [...]]]> Review by Piers Ford

I’ve always admired – at a bit of a distance, admittedly – country music’s unproselytizing take on faith. All that anything goes, life, grit and the kitchen sink, occasionally pausing for a down-home prayer, cutting through the wigs and the rhinestones with a simple affirmation that the Lord will see things right. But I must admit that I let Patty Griffin’s seventh album, Downtown Church, dodge the player for several weeks.

I’m a philosopher in the Patsy Cline mould in these matters: sin if you feel like it, get your heart broken, cry through the night, pick yourself up, set your chin firmly at the horizon with a burst of Just a Closer Walk With Thee and get set to do it all again. Preferably in a throaty timbre. So the prospect of a set of country-style gospel, recorded in Nashville’s Downtown Presbyterian Church, sounded a tad earnest.

More fool me, because I was depriving myself of a multi-textured treat. This isn’t so much a faith album as a life album of many dimensions. Griffin describes herself as “spiritually, a mutt, at this point.” She and producer Buddy Miller have taken a similarly eclectic approach to track selection, ranging feely across the landscape of traditional gospel and roots rock and roll in search of numbers that would suit the deceptively fragile dynamics of her voice.

She sings new life into Move Up, the marvellously ominous Death’s Got a Warrant, the swinging, celebratory Wade in the Water, and the wistful Never Grow Old – all of which would easily descend into cliché in less assured hands.

In many ways, the album marks Griffin’s transition from highly respected songwriter, making records on the side, to a singer of considerable stature in her own right, adept at finding new insights and emphasis in the lyrics of others. Her influences come through loud and clear: The Staples Singers, Regina McCrary (who provides backing on several tracks), the Swan Silvertones, the lyrics of Dorothy Love Coates (The Strange Man), Bob Dylan.

Downtown Church is crammed with contrasts. Check out the way Griffin tears up the Lieber and Stoller cult classic I Smell a Rat with real, rasping venom. Or the way, in the final track, she pares the hymn All Creatures of Our God and King down to a line of such simple beauty that hope is touchingly restored in the wake of so much turbulence.

Two of her own numbers, Little Fire and the remarkable Coming Home to Me – listen to that without unmoved and you’re a tough nut indeed – were inspired by hours of listening to Dylan’s religious songs, and represent Griffin’s characteristically modest signature on an album that largely gives centre stage to the work of other writers. There are curiosities too, not least Virgen de Guadalupe, an absorbingly gentle Hispanic gospel track.

Her collaborators – a first-rate band of Nashville players including John Deaderick on keyboards, Russ Pahl on pedal steel guitar and Doug Lancio on guitar – show restraint and intuitive support for Griffin’s voice under Miller’s direction. The presence of Emmylou Harris, Shawn Colvin, Julie Miller, and Regina and Ann McRary as backing singers gives the production a lustrous patina.

But ultimately, this is Griffin’s moment, and she grabs it with conviction, making full use of the church’s acoustically rich atmosphere to deliver an album that wears its diverse musical heritage with grace and sincerity. I guess that makes me a convert.

The first time I listened to this I didn’t read any of the PR bumf that came with it and it reminded me of when I first heard Mumford and Sons. I thought Matthew and the Atlas must have been a bit peeved [...]]]> Review by Joy Thomas

This EP is TOO TINY. I want MORE. Dammit.

The first time I listened to this I didn’t read any of the PR bumf that came with it and it reminded me of when I first heard Mumford and Sons. I thought Matthew and the Atlas must have been a bit peeved that Mumford got their stuff out first… however… it seems they supports Mumford and Sons on tour! Well a day! What do I know? (Nowt, pet, nowt…)

Matthew Hegarty (who, with some pals, is Matthew and the Atlas) is described as ‘a shy, earthy folk singer from Aldershot’ which made me snort out my tea in laughter. Who knew that Aldershot was the home of both squaddies and shy, earthy folk singers? Not I.

Sneery snobbery aside, this music is an excellent advert for Aldershot if the place can produce this kind of talent. It’s talent with an old soul; I feel like Matthew Hegarty must have been listening to music for aeons in order to select the finest threads with which to create this four-track EP. The third track, Veins Of Your History, really shows the wealth and rich depth of this music. It makes you feel nostaligic for a time you never knew (you know, that feeling that you get from listening to Tom Waits). There’s almost something 1940s about it, like the falsely comforting background music of BioShock. (note: computer game reference. Folkingcool or what, eh?) Then the song almost implies a bit of gospel (if gospel can be implied…) and then some Sigur Ros-esque brass honkings come flying in and you realise you may as well stop whatever you’re doing and face up to your brain being lost and gone forever.

This music makes me think of soil that’s been fed really well with manure. Chocolatey, well-tilthed mud that has loads of fat, happy worms hanging out in it, hiding loads of secrets of the people who have been there before you. Like the rich, old soil that you rub on your lips and wish you could eat, this music feels like it’s been a long time in the making. You feel you can only ever be rewarded with more layers of understanding the more you spend time with it.

Let’s be honest here, I’ve obviously gone a bit funny with love. The vibrato on In Winter makes me all goose-pimpley and feel like I might fancy Mr Hegarty a bit. It’s probably a blessing that it’s only an EP as it ends in time for me to rouse myself and remember that I can’t fall in love with him because I really don’t want to live in Aldershot.

Kicking off the opening track of their debut album with a harmonica melody lifted directly out of Neil Young’s From Hank To Hendrix might suggest that the lazily-monikered country-rock trio Society might similarly (and rather presumptuously) be attempting to write themselves into a cultural heritage that is also far-from-native to their homeland [...]]]> Review by Paul Francisco

Kicking off the opening track of their debut album with a harmonica melody lifted directly out of Neil Young’s From Hank To Hendrix might suggest that the lazily-monikered country-rock trio Society might similarly (and rather presumptuously) be attempting to write themselves into a cultural heritage that is also far-from-native to their homeland – and therefore not entirely theirs to own. Unless I’m mistaken, the ‘West’ in ‘Country & Western’ is not generally understood to stand for ‘West Sussex’. However, if Society are indeed attempting to write themselves into this particular musical lineage, then – despite an occasionally over-affected Steve Earle-esque cowboy twang to their vocals – Songs From The Brickhouse actually rises to the challenge admirably well.

In proficiently blending rugged indie-rock with soaring Byrdsian vocal harmonies and a downhome instrumentation (and visual style) heavily influenced by The Band, it seems well within Society’s ability to convince the casual listener of their authenticity. This is something which might account for their steadily growing fan-base in the US. By adding a cutting little dash of Stones here and a jaunty little swagger of Small Faces there, they also rather niftily touch base with their UK roots and in the process give their music an Anglophile edge which can only further add to their appeal Stateside.

Any lurking fears that the entire endeavour might still turn out to be little more than another exercise in retro-necro musophilia are steadily cast aside as Songs From The Brickhouse progresses. I sense that, whilst Society’s musical knowledge and enthusiasm undeniably run deep, they are at least attempting to tread their own distinctive path alongside their music heroes, an ambition which the eleven songs on the album embody with arguably varying degrees of success.

Fools End blends a little of the aforementioned ‘inspiration’ from Neil Young with some Stereophonics-style indie-rock and a pleasingly bouncy honky-tonk piano bridge to relive a hazy, alcohol-fuelled weekend of escape… although the exact nature of the Fools End into which it inevitably slides remains ambiguous. It’s almost as if songwriter Matt Wise is struggling to resolve two opposing realisations: that dissolution opens up a path for a spirit yearning for a sense of home and belonging, but that it also brings sorrow, heartache and hangovers – and cannot, perhaps, ultimately banish certain cold realities. This tension – between the desire for redemption and ‘returning home’, the desire simply to lose oneself and a fear of the consequences – defines the lyrical tone for much of the rest of the album.

On My Way which follows, is without doubt, gloriously luxuriating in the ‘redemptive’ camp – with its optimistic assertiveness and soaringly catchy chorus reminding this listener simultaneously of both Minnesotan country-rockers The Jayhawks and unjustly overlooked UK indie-popsters Dodgy. Further into the album, the tracks I Do Belong and Back In The Woods, both also exude a similar warmth and sense of harmony – the former, in particular, boasting notably airplay-friendly hooks soothingly tempered by shimmering splashes of melting pedal-steel guitar. A touch of doubt, however, does start to creep into Back In The Woods – its pastoral lyrics are tinged with a faint sense of regret and its 1970s MOR country-rock sound, slow pace and lazy ‘nah nah nah’ chorus betray a certain creeping tiredness… even to this idyllic vision.

Blown On The Breeze however, is more acoustic and features a compellingly beautiful mix of slide guitar, fiddle and mandolin. Sonically reminiscent of the folksier moments of both The Rolling Stones and The Band, lyrically it comes across as a bastard cousin of Kansas’s 1978 US hit Dust In The Wind – with a similar quality of aimlessness collapsing towards a desire to simply abandon oneself to the possibility of an ultimately purposeless fate (another fools end?). Knives, towards the end of the album, also evokes bleaker states of mind – its darker lyrics would not look out of place on any emo, goth or nu-metal lyric-sheet – all of which makes for an intriguing contrast with its sonic backdrop, which is like a Rolling Stones B-side played at 33; like a pedal-steel player slowly falling into a pool of honey.

These highlights (as engaging as they are) cannot, unfortunately, prevent a certain boredom and listlessness from overwhelming the senses somewhere just past the mid-way point of this album. The unvarying pace of the songs (mid-tempo and mid-mid-tempo) starts to become monotonous and dull – and pedestrian efforts such as I Watch The Rain Fall Out Of You, Too Late For Sunrise and Long Train (which even the addition of some colourful daubs of Wurlitzer organ, some funky bongos and a rolling piano line can’t entirely rescue) drag the listening experience down disappointingly.

At this point, flagging spirits may well make it feel like it’s time to quit… but it’s worth holding on for the two cracking tracks that close the album; the stonkingly joyful and uptempo Fit To Bust – which lifts its driving harmonica from Bob Dylan’s I Want You and busks it through some dynamic changes into classic Small Faces territory – and the final, hauntingly beautiful swansong When The Lights Go Down. With its stark, stripped-back acoustic sound, When The Lights Go Down feels like a classic piece of authentic, down-home Americana and points the way to interesting new directions for this promising new band.

Although their sound isn’t ‘new’ and their lyrics aren’t (yet) breaking new ground, in their re-mining of forgotten seams of classic Americana, Society are onto a good thing – and I sense they know this. So… definitely one to watch.
I still think their name’s appalling though (sorry guys)!

http://www.myspace.com/societymusic

Review by Hazel Davis Oh there are SO many things about this disc that make me want to hate it. The title alone – For Whom The Willow Weeps – makes me want to beat myself around the head with a diabolo. I got halfway through the lyrics sheet and I had to have a lie [...]]]>

Review by Hazel Davis

Oh there are SO many things about this disc that make me want to hate it. The title alone – For Whom The Willow Weeps – makes me want to beat myself around the head with a diabolo. I got halfway through the lyrics sheet and I had to have a lie down, chock full as it is of folky clichés (“I saw a girl, so young and pretty, I followed her both left and right”, WTF?, “The mist was my only friend there by myself, My misplaced decisions had me on the shelf”).

But it’s worth saying that I read the lyrics sheet long before I put the damned thing on, having half written the review in my head already.

And now I cant take it off. Gah.

The first track, The River, is seductively Poguesish and irresistibly catchy. The second, Dilemma, is wistful and campfirey (again, ignore the words). Blow Out The Candle has a touch of the Christy Moores about it (I’m being generous but I can’t help it, he’s infected me) and is actually dead cute. Even Morwenstow, with its hammy fake Cornish accent, is lovely. It’s raw, not always in tune and could do with “something” but I’m not sure that something wouldn’t spoil it.

In short, I am SURE I shouldn’t, but I really like this disc. Bugger, bugger, bugger.

www.brianjeffels.com