New(ish) music - February 2023

Every month me and six other pals create a playlist for each other consisting of 14 tracks. Now and again, when we cannot meet to talk through our selections, I send some mini reviews. Below are my comments on the playlist for February 2023.

At one stage this evening I was simultaneously watching the FA Cup Rooneys on television, picking my way through the Electric Light Orchestra’s back catalogue on my acoustic guitar and, every now and again, listening to G ruminating on why he doesn’t like Wild Man Fischer. Is this what the technological determinist Neil Postman was talking about when he said we were “entertaining ourselves to death”? Anyway, on to the main monkey business of reviewing this month - gonna hit shuffle and scribble down my thoughts in the order they’re spat out. Only two things at once - why, I’ve practically become a 21st century minimalist!

Not Needed Anymore - Louis Cole

Wiry acoustic guitar paired with peculiarly airless singing - one is left with the impression of some mid-sized rodent with asthma. Still, there’s a nagging quality to the song in the best way - it’s the chorus hook that lodges itself in the brain like a bubblegum-flavoured shard of shrapnel. And then - whoosh! - it’s gone, just before the catchiness mutates into a maddening irritant.

Don’t Dance - Anthony Green
There was a moment in the midst of G’s review where it was just words - something about Coho Labs and a bunch of bands I’ve never heard of - genuinely, you could be transmitting code to your CIA handlers at that point and I’d have been none the wiser. I always thought this was a dude singing, because it sounds like an emo Daniel Johnston. Well, this is pretty good; I’ve long been a sucker for rock ‘n’ pop that employs a decent brass section. My beef, and it applies to a fair amount of music of this ilk, is that it sounds just a wee bit antiseptic. 

stream of silllver - the ollam

Whoever thought to combine the audio palette of New Romantic synthpop with Irish folk music was having an inspired day. This track had me kicking myself, because every time it started up I’d think “huh, I don’t recall any Kajagoogoo on this month’s playlist”, and then the pipes would start up and I realised I’d been hoodwinked. Every time. So where does this fall? Has anyone come up with a portmanteau phrase like ‘Celtic fringe synthwave’? Because this is it, right? This is Celtic fringe synthwave. Expect the Spotify playlist soon.

Leviathan - White Ward
Thirteen minutes plus of heavy atmosphere, with some really interesting musical twists chucked into the mix. If any track can be described as - pass the sick bucket - a ‘journey’ this month, here it is. Y’know, I had my dose of bleakness earlier this month at Winter Assault IV, Brighton’s annual black metal festival. It strikes me that nothing I heard that day was as accomplished or ambitious as this. I mean, around the seven minute mark we get a trumpet that could come from Bernard Herrman’s Taxi Driver soundtrack, yet it doesn’t sound out of place. Very impressive. You’re all coming to Winter Assault V next year, right? 

The Lost Souls - AFI
Wow, thanks for reintroducing me to the oeuvre of Davey Havok, I really appreciate the opportunity to relive the “single shitty earphone running from a Discman in GCSE Latin” experience that I was so desperately craving. But seriously, ain’t nothin’ wrong with this bad boy - it balances sugar ‘n’ spice in the mix very nicely, and you know what? If I was getting heated at reading about Caecilius for five straight years, I’d want to break stuff to AFI too.

Witness (1 Hope) - Roots Manuva
I pretty much love everything about this joint. Charismatic toasting from the main man, coupled with by turns some alternately fuzzy and bubbly synth sounds, all underscored with a mesmerising, unyielding beat? This is the business, and certainly in contention for my pick of the month’s tracks. Reflecting on the individual elements of ‘Witness (1 Hope)’, I don’t think there’s anything particularly sophisticated going on - it’s just fun sounds and a big spunking dollop of attitude.

Woodstock - Matthews Southern Comfort
Speaking of sophistication, this has what, two chords? Three at a push? But fuck me, if this isn’t the best-sounding song in the playlist. It’s right in that expansive, golden production sweet spot of a certain era that feels like being wrapped in a duvet stuffed with marshmallows. All from the guy kicked out of Fairport Convention for having a wimpy voice. A Joni Mitchell song originally, this is the most hippy-dippy jive from the Age of Aquarius (aside from, er, ‘Age of Aquarius’ by the 5th Dimension) imaginable, but by god, I want to believe. Were musicians just better back then? There’s a vibration running through this song that quantized, ProTools-filtered junk just doesn’t possess. Absolute catnip for this erstwhile Classic Gold radio fan.

Glass - STIFF RICHARDS

What’s with the name in all caps? Is he Japanese or…? Anyway, this has the single nastiest guitar sound of anything on the playlist, so points for that alone. It’s used relatively sparingly too, so I’ve often got something to look forward to. I can always get behind a track that’s a bracing slap around the chops; my only gripe here is that the waspish music is not being met with sincere, existential angst. This dude sounds like he’s miffed that he had to wait for a parcel being delivered in a 9am to 7pm window, and guess what? It’s already 6.30pm, bro.

Merry Go Round - Wild Man Fischer
Interesting - as someone who read a lot about Frank Zappa (and these days, probably enjoys reading about Zappa more than listening to his music), Wild Man Fischer was a name that cropped up every so often. Never heard his music knowingly, until now. I could’ve suffered to have gone on longer. I have a relatively high tolerance for ‘outsider’ music - Wesley Willis, the Shaggs, Jan Terri - but this really tested me. Its artlessness charmed me for a couple of days, but very quickly became grating. Not sure I could’ve made it the entire month without skipping if this was a leap year.

Hidden Knives - AFI
I mean, this shit just straight up sucks. Very much the neutered version of AFI on the playlist. Why, in the verses, does this sound like “baby’s first punk record” if it was being played by Johnny Hates Jazz? This only avoids being bottom of the slop bucket because someone else elected to take up space with some deranged acapella performance. What’s the deal here? What simulacra of human emotion are you hoping to coax into existence when faced with this? Do you ever ponder as to whether you’ve lost the mandate of God?

Silver Spoon - Faim
It turns out there’s a bunch of Australian pretty-boy showponies called The Faim, and this ain’t them. This is great though, a proper blast furnace of a tune. My goodness, though, that singer is going to do herself a damage if she keeps that up. Hence, amidst the churning hardocre sturm und drang, I am also given to images of Lemsip. Really fucken’ brutal Lemsip though, like you’d shotgunned a packet of the stuff in someone’s backyard whilst listening to Municipal Waste.

Hey Allison! - Jeff Rosenstock
Do I overuse the word ‘candyfloss’ when describing music I quite like that nonetheless lacks any degree of stickiness? Absolutely. Do I also think it’s one of the more apt metaphors I have at my disposal? Yeah, obviously, because it’s basically every other word that comes out of my mouth. Case in point - ‘Hey Allison!’ is a perfectly cheerful pop-punk track that pops into the old brainbox without overstaying its welcome. In that sense, it’s the ideal of disposable pop music. Songs like this act like the memory wiping devices in the Men In Black films; I emerge slightly dazed, unable to recount what just happened for the last three minutes yet completely untroubled. And that’s Two for Joy, baby!

John Barleycorn Must Die - Traffic

 

Provenance: I bought a few albums whilst I was on holiday in Canada, and John Barleycorn Must Die was one of them.

But why this, eh? Did I just reach into the secondhand sales bin like a pier arcade mechanical arm game, scooping up anything within my grasp? No! As regular readers will know, my finely honed sensibilities mean that some discernment went into this selection.

The first of the 'pull' factors is that I remember hearing a version of 'John Barleycorn Must Die' years ago; it's on one of my dad's folk-rock vinyls, though unusually for me I cannot recall whether it's the version by Steeleye Span or Fairport Convention. I could just pick up the phone and ask him now, but nah.

The second thing drawing me to this was that I have been fortunate to see Steve Winwood live, supporting Steely Dan at Wembley Arena. Although he didn't play anything from this platter, I was (and remain) deeply impressed by his performance. Nobody's voice from that era has weathered the years better than his.

Finally, I do possess a version of 'John Barleycorn...' by Traffic on the fantastic Electric Eden Brit-folk compilation. It's not the cut that appears here, but it's one of the most gorgeous, atmospheric takes I've yet to hear, so if this comes close I'll be a very happy punter indeed. 

Review: Why should I bother when altrockchick has written this excellent overview? Not only does she actually analyse the music, she also provides much more background shading than the Swinetunes "uh, I think my dad has a copy of this somewhere?" brand of context. She's got a great taste in music overall - you should probably ditch this blog and migrate to hers, honestly.

However, if my particular viewpoint happens to float your boat (it's all subjective, yeah?), crack on. I confess, my expectations were subverted somewhat by the opener 'Glad' - I was anticipating gentle pastoral folk, and instead I'm treated to some lightly swinging jazz-rock with kicky piano interpolations thrown in for good measure. Nonetheless, in the best traditions of the late 1960s / early 1970s, its multiple sections and careful orchestration signal ambition and no little ability.

Does this album feature some of that weird, breathy jazz flute playing that has almost entirely vanished? Absolutely. Do I like it? Abso-damn-lutely. Flute is one of those instruments I am adamant should be part of rock's firmament (alongside the much-maligned saxophone), and 'Freedom Rider' would form part of my evidence submitted humbly to the jury and m'lud. Just as the era 1967-72 seemed to be a time when folks simply played the shit out of their bass guitars, circa. 1968-75 is also a primo time to hear some major dude wailing on the flute, be it in prog, fusion or soul. 

I am also fully in favour of the piano work on this album. As a novice ivory-botherer myself, who has only really got a grip on the minor pentatonic, I am cheered by the bloody-minded determination to play rolling New Orleans piano irrespective of the track. In this sense, Traffic are like a harbinger of a future to come where Squeeze's former keysman plays boogie over whatever his guests are serving up; John the Baptist to Jools Holland's Jesus Christ. Still, it does add a pleasing cohesion to proceedings - I dig albums that sound like the songs 'belong' with each other, even if they touch upon different styles and genres.

What of the title track then, eh? Well, it ain't quite as magical as the 'first version' that is on Electric Eden but it's still a fine, fine progressive folk testament. Where the 'first version' opts for sparseness, this one is fleshed out with more guitars, percussion and voices and ups the tempo a smidge. One wonders why the joint that ended up on the album was preferred to the earlier stab. There's a good chance that I'm in the minority here anyway, considering some of my other opinions. Regardless, it's a lovely, evocative track, the best thing on here and quite likely one of the better musical allegories about growing and harvesting barley out there (sez I, whose shelves are bulging with barley-related releases).

Solid stuff, then. Nothing here, 'John Barleycorn...' aside, has completely fried my synapses, but there is certainly a time, place and space for this kind of music. Traffic, at least on John Barleycorn Must Die, are certainly better at invoking mood than they are at writing memorable songs. It's pleasant to hear Winwood and co. 'going to church' on tracks like 'Empty Pages' and 'Every Mother's Son', and as per previous, I'll always go to bat for hyperactive rock flute. Always.

British Steel - Judas Priest

Provenance: Having been inducted into the cult of Judas Priest by way of Painkiller, this way my second album. I guess I got this because it's considered a landmark album, containing as it does the relative commercial successes of 'Breaking The Law' and 'Living After Midnight'.

Review: I've spent much of the past week reading Rob Young's excellent chronicle of British folk music (and its mutations) Electric Eden, for which an attendant compilation was put together. Through this, and the magick of Spotify, I've been conducting something of a listen-along, and frankly I need a palate cleanser. I never need much prodding to revisit Fairport Convention's Liege and Lief album, but my patience has been worn thin by the likes of Oberon, the Round Table, John Renbourn and Dr Strangely Strange.

It's all fun and games for a while, and it has certainly enhanced my experience of the book; but there's a point where the tablas and sitars start to grate, and you're listening to yet another lysergically-tinted version of 'Nottamun Town'. Once they fey warbling and brushed acoustic guitars begin to fug your mind like a cloud of dragon's blood incense, you know it's time for a palate cleanser.

Thus, British Steel, an album that couldn't be more diametrically opposed to The Hangman's Beautiful Daughter (good album) if it tried. Instruments are wielded like power tools, and in place of lilting, amorphous minstrelsy is a clenched ripsnorter of an album, delivered by men with ice chips for eyes and molten iron for blood. Spawned from the dark heart of the industrial Midlands, this album spews smoke and diesel as guitars and drums pound away to the jackhammer of beat of heavy machinery. The imagery is right there in the heads-down charge of opener 'Rapid Fire', with talk of furnaces, anvils and corrosion; the iron giant of technology sung into being. Also, the first lines sung (spat?) on British Steel are the following - "Pounding the world / Like a battering ram", a statement of intent that I don't think has ever been bettered.

In fact, so much of this album has the timbre and texture of heavy metal and heavy industry, you wonder why it took so long for Judas Priest to put it all together - it's more or less the same bunch of guys responsible for the cookie-cutter psych-blooz of Rocka Rolla after all. Certainly, Priest would toughen up their sound almost immediately - within a few albums they'd be onto the razor-sharp brilliance of Stained Class and Killing Machine, but British Steel is a different proposition altogether. Here, the songs are shorn entirely of any filigree or flourish, stripped back to the essential constituent elements of heavy metal, bar the odd siren ('Breaking The Law') or clanking of cutlery (yep, that's what provides the robotic stomp late on in 'Metal Gods'). Perhaps it was the back-to-basics kick-up-the-arse courtesy of punk that inspired this approach. Whatever it was, it's one tuff sounding record - no romance, no wistfulness, no wizards or demons; just laser-cut stompers with names like 'Steeler', 'The Rage' and 'Grinder'.

There's one fly in the ointment - 'United'. A friend of mine was once serenaded with 'United' from a toilet cubicle by the Viking Skull drummer as an example of why Judas Priest suck. Well, you can't blame Priest for trying for a big anthemic hit, having managed a top twenty with 'Take On All The World', a recent track in a similar vein. But, my friends, it blows chunks. 'United' slows the pace, and its rather sunny message of togetherness is at odds with the four blasts of pure aggression that precede it. However, in 2004, seeing Judas Priest in the Netherlands (Rob Halford having just returned to the fold) I sang along to 'United' like every other heavy metal maniac in that crowd. Apparently 'United' had been a minor hit in some parts of mainland Europe, and that's mercifully the only time I've seen them perform it live.

One interesting choice is that the greatest metal frontman ever, Rob Halford, hardly deploys his trademark banshee scream. It's hinted at towards the end of 'Rapid Fire', and he bothers the dogs now and again during 'You Don't Have To Be Old To Be Wise', but that's it. I wonder whether this was a conscious choice to fit in with the mid-range punch of British Steel's overall dynamics? I'm sure I can find it out via a quick Google, but it's Sunday afternoon and I can't be arsed. Anyway, as a consequence most of the vocals are delivered in a kind of mad-eyed bark, which resonates perfectly with British Steel's testosterone-to-the-gills, pedal-to-the-metal, she-cannae-take-any-more-captain ambience.

British Steel is by no means my favourite Priest album. Over-familiarity with some tracks, the lack of sonic variety and fucking 'United' all add up to a collection that's a notch or two below perfection. But when it does land its haymakers, boy does it connect. A consequence of Priest's back-to-basics approach makes the whole album very easy to play on guitar, and that's precisely what I did before sitting down to crap up this review. There's an unfettered joy to be had hammering out the power chords (the dominant sound on British Steel) to the likes of 'Breaking The Law', 'YDHTBOTBW' and my personal favourite, 'Grinder' - three minutes of gritted teeth and straining sinew distilled into song form, each note of the riff feeling like the winding of a clockwork mechanism already vibrating with tension. What a track. What an experience. And the guy who played bass in my last band has the temerity to call it boring!

So - compared with the likes of Screaming For Vengeance, Killing Machine or even later efforts such as Firepower, British Steel may sound a little monochrome. On the other hand, it possesses a focus and purity that is hard to deny, plus a boatload of excellent songs. Sure, a couple have been on every dad rock drivin' compilation for two decades now; but can you truly resist when Halford is stood there, bedecked in chrome and leather, revving the crowd up, bellowing into the microphone - "it's time that we were breaking the - what?! BREAKING THE FUCKING WHAT?!" Magic!!

Liege And Lief - Fairport Convention

Provenance: My memory is fuzzy on this, though I recall buying Liege and Lief for my dad at some point. That's how I first heard it; and it obviously left an impression, because I bought it for myself many years later.

Certainly, if it wasn't for dad I wouldn't have an inkling about the folk rock scene. The first band of that ilk I remember hearing were Steeleye Span, probably their Below the Salt album. I was less familiar with Fairport Convention but distinctly recall Babbacombe Lee being in my parents' vinyl collection. In a slightly odd twist, during my MA I would live a few yards from the prison where they tried to hang John "Babbacombe" Lee - three times, if I recall correctly - before a halt was called to proceedings.

But enough rambling about Babbacombe Lee, it says at the top of this article that I'm reviewing Liege and Lief, so I'd better start paying some attention.

Review: Iconoclastic. Before getting into the nuts and bolts of Liege and Lief, it's worth noting a bit of context. I would direct any reader with the slightest interest in the British folk scene to pick up a copy of JP Bean's oral history called Singing From the Floor. This book both manages to dispel and enhance the perception that folk is an austere, scholarly pursuit riven by purists and gatekeepers of the worst kind. I say enhance, because a few major figures certainly fit the bill. Ewan MacColl in particular comes across as something of a martinet, obsessed by the technicalities of folksong and running the rule over which songs were 'acceptable' to be performed at his clubs. I should say that despite his stated orthodoxies and the faintly ridiculous 'finger-in-the-ear' style of singing that entered popular culture, MacColl and others like Bert Lloyd did much to preserve a dying tradition, and in MacColl's case to contribute some fine songs of his own.

Where Singing From the Floor dispels the notion of folk as altogether too stuffy is in its depiction of the Soho scene. Here, young British performers mingled with American counterparts such as Paul Simon and Jackson C Frank; ideas around tradition and authenticity were a little looser, and I don't think its surprising that the more innovative musicians in folk - Bert Jansch, John Martyn, John Renbourn, Roy Harper et al - emerged from this crowd. This is also the crowd that gave birth, in stuttering form, to Fairport Convention.

Liege and Lief is Fairport Convention's fourth album. Founding members Simon Nicol, Ashley Hutchings and Richard Thompson were here joined by fiddler Dave Swarbrick, singer Sandy Denny and drummer Dave Mattacks, the replacement for Martin Lamble after his death in a road accident in which every member of the band at the time except Denny were involved. Whilst coming to terms with loss and injury, bassist Hutchings buried himself in researching traditional music archives housed in Cecil Sharp House. Denny was already familiar with much traditional music, and Swarbrick had a knowledge of folk that Thompson would describe as 'encyclopaedic'. What they subsequently did - take music that stretched back centuries in origin and electrify it - would prove to be a game changer.

From the perspective of 2019, where it feels like every genre has been run through the electro-wringer (though electro-swing definitely shouldn't be a thing), Liege and Lief might be considered quaint. Certainly, some early rock 'n' roll sounds a bit tame to my ears, even as I strain to discern its importance in the development of popular music. Given that folk already has a somewhat unthreatening patina to it, I was worried that a reappraisal of Liege and Lief would be full of caveats. I'm happy to say that they're not necessary.

In some ways, this record is wilder than anything floating around at the moment, even in the edgier 'hard folk' circles. Firstly, the electric backing to songs that already sound unearthly transport Liege and Lief into the realms of psychedelia. This weirdness is heightened by the fantastical nature of some of the lyrics - 'Reynardine' and 'Tam Lin' being standout examples of songs that read like trippy, twisted fairy tales. The playing is exemplary - Mattacks' backing to 'Reynardine', for example, which consists of little else than slow swells on the cymbal, is breathtaking in its simplicity and ability to create a sense of otherworldliness. The truly mindbending element in the mix is Swarbrick's electric fiddle, which at times drones away like John Cale's viola in the Velvet Underground's 'Venus In Furs'; at other times, it simply kicks free from gravity and takes flight. The mid-album medley of 'The Lark in the Morning / Rakish Paddy / Foxhunter's Jig / Toss The Feathers' is a blistering showcase of Swarbrick's enormous talent, but the band behind him is no less facile with the shifting tempos and time signatures.

And yet, in my opinion Swarbrick's incandescent talent is eclipsed by that of Sandy Denny. Hands down, Denny is my favourite female vocalist. My dad might argue for Maddy Prior's powerhouse vocals, others might highlight Annie Briggs' almost bell-like purity. Both excellent singers, but neither could inhabit a song with the same expressiveness as Denny does on Liege and Lief. Tender, strident, doleful, commanding, playful - whatever the song - hell, whatever that particular lyric demands, Denny delivers. The most dazzling example is the murder ballad 'Matty Groves', which Denny tackles as if it's a play and she's somehow wound up acting as every character.

Furthermore, just in case you weren't convinced, she repeats the trick on 'Tam Lin', a 16th century ballad that's transformed here into a spiky, ominous, lysergic rocker. There comes, at around two minutes, the moment where Swarbrick's violin opens up in delicate counterpoint to Denny's vocal melody and the feeling it engenders can only be described as blissful. The constantly changing dynamics of 'Tam Lin' means that the song seems to morph around Denny's moods, making it the most sophisticated track on Liege and Lief and the one that, for my money, packs the most wallop. I don't think that I've ever heard anything quite like it anywhere else.

Have I convinced you? Do you still automatically associate folk with fustiness, beards and real ale? Or can you begin to imagine it - at least in the guise of Liege and Lief - as a gateway to that which is inherently and indigenously strange about British folk ways? Folk can sometimes seem hobbled by its homeliness and rather old-fashioned insistence on telling stories; Liege and Lief serves as a startling reminder as to the power, vitality, violence and peculiarity of British traditional song. Hell, it should be on the National Curriculum. A peerless, important work.