Ali Farka Touré – Savane – 2006

Albums released shortly after an artist’s death usually aren’t very good, but this posthumous release wasn’t cobbled together from incomplete recordings that would otherwise never have seen the light of day. Africa’s king of the blues knew that he was dying and was determined to leave a fitting final testament, and no album could be more fitting than Savane. It is certainly his most traditional album, featuring the one-string njarka (fiddle) and the gritty pluckings of the ngoni (where the banjo has its routes), demonstrating that Touré has found a very comfortable place for blues in the traditional music of Mali.

Savane is as pure and deep an expression of the blues as you will ever hear – up there with the ethereal Robert Johnson and earthy-real Muddy Waters – but it’s also an album of strongly contrasting sounds and textures. When Andy Kershaw chanced upon his first, nameless record in a Parisian bargain bin, he believed he had found music’s rosetta stone. Never mind that this supposed cousin of blues music was hundreds of miles away from the slaver’s coast and located in the severely rural regions of the Peul and Songhai, this was undoubtedly the missing link of music.

As it turned out, Touré was very familiar with African-American music by the time he wrote and produced his first (and nearly Mali’s first) record in Paris, 1976. He was self-taught on a self-made guitar, and on hearing the music of Ray Charles, Otis Redding and John Lee Hooker in a 1960s trip to Bamako, he assumed John Lee was playing Malian music. It’s safe to assume it was this new blues influence combined with the melodies of his Songhai youth that lead to his unique and strangely hypnotic guitar playing. There’s no record of what he played in those years between making his first guitar and his enlightening trip to Bamako, but doubtless his characteristic power and conviction showed up early. The name Farka translates as mule, and as you’d expect is a byword for stubbornness. He never lived off his fame, tending to his farm until his last days. He was elected mayor of Niafunké in 2004 and remained so until his death in 2005, by which time he was an internationally renowned musician and an inspiration to half a continent. His son, similarly stubborn, ignored Ali’s warning that he should not become a musician, and recorded his debut in the same year as Savane. Vieux Farka Touré has captured his father’s formula (Ali also guests) , but it remains to be seen whether Vieux can ever top Savane. Few people could.

If all this wasn’t enough, there’s a tremendously dirty sax.

- Purves Grundy

Download in comments.

Beat the Drum

As I write this, I sit in a central heated room of my own house in front of a computer with a hot mug of tea eating some tasty, tasty oatcakes and cheese.

On Sunday morning, however, I had breakfasted on a packet of Hula Hoops and now stood beside a collapsed, ruined tent, inside which I had discarded a muddied pair of jeans which had been utterly destroyed by 9 hours of standing in the company of 17,000 others in incessant rain and an ankle-deep sludgy soup that had once been a field.

And dear God it was a fantastic experience.

The reason for this seeming madness was nothing to do with us all drinking the Kool-Aid or going all Waco on yo’ ass, but was instead the Beat the Drum festival/concert at Drumnadrochit, beside Loch Ness. Headlined by Runrig, a band with which I grew up and love to bits, it was a festival mainly of Scottish bands, folk, folk-rock, and the like. In an attempt to organise my thoughts, I will name each act in turn and intersperse the recounting with anecdotage about the weekend in general.

1. Torridan, 2pm

I have no idea who this band is. Seeing as I was still in the glacial-speed line to get into the arena while they were playing, I only heard their music from a distance, but it sounded like nothing special. Cheap Flower of Scotland knock-offs.

Observation: festival portaloos are enough to make you vomit, especially the ones at the campsite which didn’t even have chemical flushes, just a sort of pit filled with blue liquid that was not at all sufficient to deal with sanitation issues by the third day.

2. The Vatersay Boys, 3pm

Straight outta Castlebay, these lads from the Isle of Barra are famous for performing drunk and this festival was no exception. When they left the stage they took cans of Strongbow with them. They were, however, very good, at least when they were playing their instrumentals. When they opened their mouths the Andrew Dunn rating for them goes right down to mediocre-to-dire. One hell of a drummer, however. Something you can really jig and clap and splatter mud to. As a postscript, they were staying in the same hotel as me on Sunday night and turned up to their scheduled gig in Inverness an hour late, having spent too long getting pissed up on Tennents Special and plastic 2-litre bottles of Strongbow, undoubtedly.

Observation: Every festival should have stalls selling venison burgers.

3. Aberfeldy, 4pm

Self-described as ‘the biggest thing to come out of Edinburgh’, this band was the low point of the day. Their sound was a mix of folk, rock, pop, country, and blandness. I cannot recall much of what they did except that they had a fondness for the phrase ‘ooh baby’ and having the two female vocalists (one of whom appeared to be wearing a black bin liner) perform shoop-de-shoop backing vocals to the bland lead singer. They didn’t engage with the (substantial) audience at all, and when they walked off, well… the announcement that Moray Firth Radio had reached its 25th anniversary got a bigger cheer. I felt sorry for them, slightly. But they provided nothing to distract me from the biting cold and being soaked to the bone and muddy to the knees, so sod them. The prats.

Recollection: Seeing a friend of mine attempt to drag his baggage (which consisted of a tentbag, two backpacks, a wheeled suitcase, and a bin bag) on a child’s plastic sledge through the mud, with the bags tied to the sledge by luminous green plundered guyropes, and the whole shebang toppling over at least three times and getting covered in mud… well. It will stay with me forever, and my sides still hurt from laughing.

4. Julie Fowlis, 5pm

Sexy sexy Gaelic folk singer from the Uists. Great voice, good tunes, engaged with the crowd, looked good while doing it. Winner all round.

Recollection: This same friend of mine at Morrisons in Inverness before we headed to the campsite. The girls who were with us mostly stocked up on booze and mixers. His basket, on the other hand, looked like a really eccentric weekly shop. Bananas. Clementines. Hula hoops. Glass bottle of Heinz Tomato Sauce. Gordon’s Gin, God knows why, because he didn’t touch the stuff. Nutrigrain cereal bars. The man is one of a kind.

5. Great Big Sea, 6pm

The big surprise of the day for me, this group from Newfoundland played a lovely kind of heavy folk rock, very catchy lyrics and great rhythm and bounce. Singing along to songs you’ve only just heard for the first time is rare with any band but these fellows managed it. Also they endeared themselves to me with the line “Sometimes in life you have to go solo” and matching it by having a solo. God bless ‘em.

Observation: Some people, when confronted by a mass of churned, wet, earth, are simply unable to stop themselves from diving into it and rolling around. Maybe humans have some canine genes or something. Or maybe just a hefty dose of Idiot.

6. Wolfstone, 7pm

The second longest running band at the festival, with 15 years under their belt to Runrig’s 34, Wolfstone are an impressive Celtic rock group with great energy. I tormented a deeply sectarian Rangers-supporting friend of mine by constantly referring to them as the Wolfe Tones, and he was beside himself, thinking that he was going to be assaulted by angry Irish rebel music rather than west coast rocking.

Note to self: When it is certain to rain all day, do not keep crucial things such as bus and ferry tickets and cheques in the pockets of your cheap ‘waterproof’ jacket. Otherwise you will still be paying for things with damp bank notes two days later and it’ll be a miracle if you can actually manage transport home.

7. Red Hot Chilli Pipers, 8pm

A lot of things about this band annoy me. Ever since I saw them on some godawful Graham Norton vehicle called When Will I Be Famous Please or some such shite I’ve been annoyed by them. Chief among the annoyances are their parody name, their costume of black shirts and kilts with red ties and sporrans and in the case of one band member bright red hair, and the sickly nationalism of the twats. However, they do have a fair amount of talent and their conceit of converting famous rock songs into bagpipe tunes is impressive, to an extent. Still. That does not excuse the aforementioned crimson-barneted one, who when introduced did not speak a word but simply twanged out power chords on his (bright red) electric guitar. He communicates through the medium of RAWK. They were the warm-up for Runrig, and probably the second worst act of the day. Still. At least the contrast was all the more stark for this.

Observation: When you’ve stood in the rain for 8 hours, freezing your arse off and watching various artists play and perform in a nice covered stage in pristine clothing, it means hell of a lot to see Bruce Guthro, Runrig’s lead singer, walk onto a little promontory out from the main stage and say “I’m going to sit out here in the rain with you a while” before proceeding to play an acoustic guitar and sing by himself.

8. Runrig, 8.45pm – 10.45pm

The headline band, the band who wrote the song which gave the name to the concert, the only band ever to get a Gaelic song into the UK Top 20 singles chart, 34 years since their debut album and still going strong, with a fair number of the original line-up still present. I love Runrig, and I reckon I always will. Especially after performances like this. Powerful, energetic, engaging. Plenty banter with the audience, as we had every right to expect, the seventeen thousand of us having endured a bastard of a day to see them. Their perforance was incredibly varied, from full-band rock-out songs to the aforementioned solo performance and on one occasion the entire band using nothing but drums (mostly of a pipe-band style) to beat out an insane rhythm. Although it took an awful lot to part Malcolm Jones from his beloved guitars, which he played to hell and back, showboating all the way and carrying it off with panache. If this is reading like a panegyric to Runrig, it’s a simple testament to their style and talent and appeal, because if anyone had asked me if I wanted to stand in the mud and rain for nine hours in a farm thirteen miles south of Inverness I’d have called them a crazy fool. Yet this is what I did.

I’m a crazy fool. But this was one of the best experiences of my life, and to top it all off I’ll more than likely be on the DVD of the Runrig performance seeing as I was very near the front and waving my arms and clapping fit to burst amidst the crazies and Danes.

So. This is Andrew Dunn, signing off. I need sleep.

[Review] Sheet Metal – Push to Open Doors

As I was pondering which album to review first, I realized I had two options; I could review an already established band in my library, and my input would be swept away in the vast waterfall of existing consensus, or I could gird up my loins and troll the vast backwaters of the indie music sites for a rough diamond and, washing it and holding it to the light, present it as a new and interesting find for those who like such things.

I opted for the latter, and was immediately rewarded for my efforts. Visiting amiestreet.com, I found a band called “Sheet Metal” in the new uploads (Hitherto undiscovered and therefore, free!) and, listening to the samples, was immediately intrigued at the sound – one part NWOBHM, one part thrash, and one part their own unique modern “indie-metal”.

But regardless of how you define it, no metal fan will be able to fully resist the clean, sharp guitars pounding out perfect metal rhythms in a manner one would more expect from bands like Iron Maiden or early Metallica.

Best Cuts:

#1 – My Name is Law – Iron Maiden-esque intro leads to a great, rollicking song with fast, unique vocals that play around the classic metal rhythm.

#5 – London – Really illustrates the band’s core sound in a rocking tune.

#7 – Ideology – If you like early Metallica, you will like this. Plus some awesome shredding solos.

These would be my top listens… but if you like them, by no means stop there. The band is pretty consistent in quality, though they do play around with style quite a bit. They sound far more like an established metal band than an indie project, indeed, one of my only complaints is that on occasion they can sound a bit too derivative. But definitely worth a listen (or five) for anyone who likes the genre. And, at least right now, you can’t beat the price.

- The Offbeat Orthodox

[Review] Lard – The Power of Lard

Genres: Industrial Rock, Punk, Hardcore
Track Count: 3 (3 original songs)
Album Length: 44:25
Language(s): English
Label: Alternative Tentacles
Release Date: 1988 (Worldwide)

This is a weird one. Three tracks in three quarters of an hour. Obviously, that doesn’t leave too much room for filler, and indeed this “EP” (which is odd as its longer than many albums) is as tight as the proverbial.

For those who don’t know, Lard are somewhat of an industrial supergroup. Jello Biafra, lisping hardcore legend, handles vocals, while herointastic Ministry axeman Al “Shitbreath” Jourgensen, Paul Barker (formerly of Ministry) and dead guy Jeff Ward back up his vitriolic ramblings. As you’d imagine, the boys crank out a pretty great sound – a bit of a mixture of The Land of Rape and Honey-era Ministry with Dead Kennedy’s punk thrown in there somewhere. Despite the different influences though, its a pretty idiosyncratic sound.

And boy, is it intense. I don’t mean intense as in Swans “in-your-face-aggression” intense, I mean its a heavily cynical, scathing album – even without listening to the lyrics, you can tell what these guys are on about. Its not nihilistic – Jello ain’t a nihilistic guy – but its goddamn angry. It takes several listens, but the pounding, sludgy riffs eventually drive themselves into your brain, and with them the anger. Yes, listening to this album will make you go insane.

The album begins with the title track, the most speedy, searing number. Al blisters through some punky riffs and Jello wails like the redneck the uninformed may see him as. Sample lyrics:

Every time I take a crap
It’s a cosmic experience
Religion and chemicals
Are the key to the future
Next time we have sex
Just pretend I’m Ed Meese
The weasels have it down, man
It’s a whole new age
Lard!

What the hell does that mean? I don’t know, but I fucking agree. Its angry, and its funny. If more bands could get that mixture down correctly, the world would probably be a better place.

The next track, Hellfudge, is a similarly weird beast.

In all the smut rags I pretend to hate so much
Bite down real hard
Smile…SLUT!
I own you… Look humiliated, try to cry
I despise you so much I hate myself
Mmmmmm
Tastes almost as good
As one of them green bubblegum cigars
Yeh! Hellfudge
There’s a whole LOTTA Shakin’ goin’ on in here
But don’t tell my cousin, OK?
Yeeeeh!
Great Balls ‘o’ Fire!
Hellfudge!

With humour like this, who needs raw cynicism? This one is a little more overt in its subject but overall carries the themes of the album – hypocrisies, corporate evil and deceit. But these two tracks to me are making way for the crowning glory of the album, Time to Melt. Many don’t like this track, seeing it as similar to Hellfudge but slower, but to my ears, are more threatening, unsettling piece of music has seldom been created. What helps is that it goes for OVER HALF AN HOUR.

Okay, perhaps thats too long for one track, especially considering it probably has less lyrics than the previous two numbers. And apart from a little industrial freakout around twenty minutes in, its basically the same riff, over and over again. But hearing this thing, its hard to wish it a second shorter. Its immense.

There’s not an ounce of fat on this album, but occasionally the lean is a bit too much to take. Its still one of the most gloriously offbeat EP’s ever waxed. Fear it. Love it. Lard.

Standout Tracks: The Power of Lard, Time to Melt.
Low Points: N/A

L.

[Review] Hedningarna – Trä

Genres: Swedish Folk, Finnish Folk
Track Count: 11 (1 instrumental)
Album Length: 47.4 minutes
Languages: Finnish
Label: Silence Records
Release Date: 1994 (Finland)

Hedningarna is one of the most unique bands I’ve ever heard, even among the Scandinavian folk genre. I divide Hedningarna’s music into three eras — the pre-Kaksi! period, wherein they relied on nearly pure instrumentals (only one album, creatively named Hedningarna), the middle ages wherein they acquired female Finnish vocalists (Sanna Kurki-Suonio primarily, Anita Lehtola and Tellu Paulasto secondarily), and the post-middle era wherein the Finnish vocalists left the band and were replaced by a male Sami yoik singer by the name of Wimme Saari. I favor the middle eras, mainly due to Kurki-Suonio’s rather wild and dark vocals that complement the sound of Hedningarna’s traditional instruments well.

Trä (Wood) fits snugly into the middle era, and is in my opinion probably the peak of Hedningarna’s excellence. Which means it’s packing quite a lot of excellence. The album opens with Tass’on Nainen, which in turn begins with the slowly rising storm of Kurki-Suonio’s lilting chant and soft instrumentals. The chant becomes more complex in the latter half, and the tune will most likely stick in your head for hours to come.

The next song, Min Skog starts off with the sound of a lawnmower (though I’m willing to bet they intended it to sound chainsaw-y) roaring, fading into drums and the fast, weaving tune of what I assume is the hurdy gurdy (wheel fiddle). But I’m no expert on instruments (though a certain Welshmen may know). Min Skog shows off Hedningarna’s talent at creating loud, sometimes even screeching (compared to most folk fare, at any rate), instrumentals that convey as much emotion as vocals can.

VargTimmen is a rather unique track, and the only one to be covered by another band (metal group Finntroll) as far as I’m aware. The lyrics are rather neat if you bother to read the translation — they describe a werewolf who struggles to keep his wolf side in check so that he doesn’t viciously murder the one he loves. Cheery, isn’t it? The music certainly reflects it, as the song could be an avertisement jingle with a little modification.

Gorrlaus isn’t a terrible track, but it is a little repetitive and certainly not the best example of Hedningarna. It’s about riding a stallion through treacherous woods. Or quite possibly getting on intimate terms with it. The translation isn’t too clear, but all things considered I’d rather not know.

SkrauTval is a pure instrumental track. A fairly good one, if you like that sort of thing. Which I do, but chances are, you don’t.

SaglaTen is the blandest of Trä. That isn’t to say it is a bad song, but the sound is more or less “standard” Hedningarna. It carries the least appeal for me

Pornopolka (seriously, that’s the name of the track) is probably the fastest paced song of the bunch. I can only imagine how strained Kurki-Suonio’s vocal chords were afterwards but it sounded brilliant, though very bubbly and enthusiastic. The lyrics are about a woman praying to Ukko (Finnish thunder god, more or less equivalent to Oden of Norwegian myth) for someone to lust after her.

Tappmarschen is more or less a SaglaTen-type track. It’s a little more slow and pondering but I’ve found that it grows on you.

Räven is likely the best song Hedningarna has ever played. It rolls off with rhythmic panting, followed by male and female vocals trading verses back and forth among pounding drumbeats. If there were a soundtrack to wandering around in the woods at midnight, this would be it. Though the translation does no justice to the sound of it in Finnish, this verse (Sanna Kurki-Suonio’s, if I’m not mistaken) is a pretty good example of Hedningarna’s songwriting:

Wild and sly you hunt in time of darkness,
long sleeves hide your tearing claws,
with your prey you play, forever lustful,
mouth in blood, feel no remorse.

Mind you, that sounds a lot more violent than the song actually is. Indeed, the lines are sung rather sweetly and fondly.

Tuuli is closest to Tass’on Nainen in style, but with male vocals. It is another prayer to Ukko, but this time for something I think that is much more within Ukko’s domain — wind, thunder and gale, to tear apart forests and generally bring ruination. Those of you familiar with Māori mythology (which is to say, probably none of you) might note that the prayer could easily be to Tāwhirimātea.

Tina Vieri (Tin Rolling) closes the album. It’s almost an epic, filled with the sound of tinkling water, telling the tale of a daughter mourning her mother, and of traveling through the Land of Shadow, trying to bring her back. It’s oddly touching.

In conclusion, I’m not going to give Trä a rating. There is rarely a song, let alone an entire album, of any artist, that I would rate higher than 50/100. Music, like most things, can always be better than it is, and what is better is entirely dependent on whom you’re speaking to. So rather than attempting to grade the album appropriately relative to a meter that is used for bands and tastes which may be completely dissimilar, I will just say this: if folk with a different sound and pace is your sort of thing, then this album is a gem.

Filler: 1 tracks
Standout Tracks: Räven, Tuuli, Tina Vieri, Tass’on Nainen.
Low Points: Gorrlaus, SaglaTen.

[Rant] A Humble Suggestion

[This is an update of a last.fm journal I posted a few months ago. It was largely brought upon by constantly stumbling on MCR and Sum41 in the section clearly labelled "Metal". Some people ...]

Attention, music shops everywhere!

I am a loyal customer. You may know me as the weird girl with the incomprehensible accent, who used to hang around the classic rock section and has now inexplicably migrated to the metal section.

I’d like to present you with the following suggestions for improving the aforesaid metal section:

• Expand it. Four racks is not enough.
• While you’re expanding it, kindly break it up into a few sub-sections: power metal, death metal, black metal, progressive metal, doom metal, thrash metal and NWOBHM. For starters. This way I won’t have to grab five CDs to sample only to find out that all of them are black metal and I was fooled by the colourful, power metal covers. Nor will I have to stand the sight of Blind Guardian beside KoRn.
• If you have time, break up the sub-sections further. Some people don’t like ending up with a drone metal CD when they were looking for more classical doom.
• Hire staff specifically for that section. Make sure you hire fanatics who know what they’re talking about. They might fight amongst each other once a month and you might have some problems with customers who don’t know that asking a metalhead their gender is taboo, but it’ll be worth it in the end: customers will have someone to actually advise them when purchasing music. This will greatly improve your sales.
• Move the metal section away from the dance, rap and pop sections.
• Stock power metal albums that aren’t by Blind Guardian, Helloween and Iced Earth.
• Stock doom metal and progressive metal.
• File Queen’s first four albums in the power metal section.
• Ban Metallica. Okay, not really. But don’t insist on stocking everything Metallica have ever done and forgetting that Iron Maiden released more than three albums.
• Remove Nirvana and The Ramones from the metal section. The former is grunge and the latter is NYC punk. They belong in their own sections.
• Don’t combine industrial and metal sections. Two different genres. Give industrial its own section.
• Likewise for punk.
• Stock more than one album per band.
• If you have to put the metal section near the rap section, kindly banish rap-metal to rap.
• Nu metal should get its own section. Preferably in the basement. In a tanker made for holding radioactive waste. With a heavy lid and a rock on top. Just in case, you know?
• Emo is not metal. Emo is nothing like metal. Please, for the love of Odin, Thor and Loki, put emo somewhere else. Maybe in a tanker beside nu metal’s?

While this may or may not improve your sales, it will most definitely improve my music-hunting experience (and possibly the music-hunting experience of many other metalheads).

S.

Our Ranks Swell (oh god sul, this is so phallic)

I’d like to take this opportunity to introduce Scwycy, an old friend of mine. He’s going to be covering a vast variety of genres. His taste lies somewhere between mine and Owen’s.

Scwycy is too shy to do his own introduction, hence this brief note.

P.S. Owen, I’m on to your dirty, title-changing tricks!

[Review] Fairport Convention – The History of Fairport Convention, 1972 (AD)

Fairport Convention rapidly morphed from a teenage west-coast group in 1967 playing imitations of the latest hits (ie – singing about going to San Francisco as if it were somewhere off the A12) to the pioneering band behind British Folk-Rock. They are still going strong today, making them one of the most famous names in folk music, one of the oldest surviving bands in history, and this 1972 history almost obsolete for the vast expanse of time it doesn’t cover.

However, no two Fairport LPs had the same lineup, and the era spanning 1968-1971 is widely regarded as their best. This compilation does away with their still talented west-coast era to focus on 1969′s “What We Did On Our Holidays” through to 1971′s “Babbacombe Lee”. In this time they were extremely prolific, recording 6 albums and touring both the UK and USA.

With the album comes a very detailed family tree charting every Fairporter’s progress both in the band and outside of it. The Convention served as a springboard for many enduring British talents, including guitarist Richard Thompson, bassist Ashley Hutchings, drummer Dave Mattacks, vocalist Ian Matthews, and the celebrated Sandy Denny.

1. Meet On The Ledge [Thompson]
Ian Matthews and Sandy Denny exchange vocals on this classic audience favourite, highlighting their west-coast roots and leanings towards both folk and blues.
2. Fotheringay [Denny]
Not exactly folk, not exactly Tudor. Sandy Denny’s talents are most effective in her modest account of the demise of Mary Queen of Scots.
3. Mr Lacey [Hutchings]
4. Book Song [Thompson/Matthews]
5. Sailor’s Life [Trad. Arr. Fairport]
This starts it all. This epic traditional song takes on a whole new life as Richard Thompson and Dave Swarbrick take electric guitar solos and double-tracked fiddle solos to Sandy Denny’s powerful vocals. Robert Plant reckons she was the greatest female vocalist ever, and considering she had a streaming cold when this song was written, he might have a point.
6. Si Tu Dois Partir [Dylan]
Fairport Convention’s only Top of the Pops hit. A Cajun French-translation of Bob Dylan’s ‘If You Gotta Go, Go Now’. Here Fairport inject a new life into the song, proving that Dylan always sounds better covered by someone else.
7. Who Knows Where The Time Goes [Denny]
Sandy’s undisputed masterpiece. One of the most covered songs of all time (oh yes), the royalties became her main source of income when she lapsed into depression and alcoholism shortly before her untimely tragic death in 1978. Reads like a fairy tale, doesn’t it?
8. Matty Groves [Trad. Arr. Fairport]
A famous traditional song, rated r for sex scenes and violence. British folkies don’t seem to realise that the original version of this song, Little Musgrave, is awful and should only exist following this example. This is the only song on the compilation from the famous ‘Liege and Lief‘ album, as ‘Crazy Man Michael’ and the collection of Jigs and Reels were omitted from the CD release due to time limitations.
9. Now Be Thankful [Swarbrick/Thompson]
Sandy Denny has left to form Fotheringay and she isn’t replaced. Ian Matthews and Ashley Hutchings have already left to form Matthew’s Southern Comfort and Steeleye Span respectively. It’s 1970 and Fairport seems to have become both heavier and folkier at the same time in their new album, ‘Full House’.
10. Walk Awhile [Swarbrick/Thompson]
11. Sloth [Thompson/Swarbrick]
An epic piece which serves mainly as a vehicle for Thompson and Swarbrick’s Guitar/Violin wrestling.
12. Bonny Black Hare [Trad. Arr. Fairport]
It’s about sex. An ancient song but it can be grating depending on your state of mind.
13. Angel Delight [Fairport]
14. Bridge Over The River Ash [Trad. Arr. Fairport]
15. John Lee [Swarbrick]
16. Breakfast In Mayfair [Nicol]
Simon Nicol reminds us what folk exactly is with this contemporary story. I’m rather hazy about this era and I won’t pretend to know.
17. Hanging Song [Swarbrick/Pegg]
18. The Hen’s March / The Four Poster Bed [Trad. Arr. Fairport]

This is an aural treat – a comprehensive timeline charting a major band at their creative height. If you’re interested, be sure to check out “What We Did On Our Holidays” [1969 LP], “Unhalfbricking” [1969 LP], “Liege and Lief” [1969 LP - voted 'Best Folk Album Ever' in a BBC poll] and “Full House” [1970 LP].

Download here.
(The last two tracks have been omitted because I can’t find them on my PC. Angel Delight is also gone, solely because it was nothing special and pushed it over the 100MB limit)

Genres: Folk-Rock, Folk
Track Count: 18 (12 original, 1 cover, 5 traditional)
Language: English
Label: Island/Witchseason

- Homo Habilis

No room for what the cautions say when the music starts to play.

“Music is best understood by children and animals.” Igor Stravinsky said as much, and he should know. As I have, at various times in my life, been both child and animal – perhaps more so than my cowriters – there is no one more qualified to guide you through the perilous soundscapes and wonders of the sightless world than myself. I think I’m supposed to write an introduction or something, but sod that. Why educate when I can waste your time with vitriol?

Music is often held as the highest of arts, but until fairly recently it was in high regard for all the wrong reasons. Rather than acknowledging music as the only medium with which to express the inexpressible, it was given the antiseptic glove treatment. Music was a freak occurrence lasting roughly from 1650-1890. Anything before this date was a rehearsal conducted by savages, and anything afterwards was simply an ungodly racket. Anything outside the Western classical tradition was interesting in an anthropological pamphlet sort of way, but none of it was fit for aural consumption.

Then came Jazz. Suddenly, hip young folk were taking the A-train to Harlem, risking life and limb to dance with coloureds. Before you knew it, even farmer’s sons were forgetting their worldly duties, fashioning machines to kill fascists with. You know the rest of the story. Explosion here and revolution there, it’s all been done before.

Unfortunately, the dragon wasn’t slain. Snobbery simply inverted itself and became firmly rooted in the rock and pop establishment. The gloves may have gone, but if it’s not in Mojo, good luck hearing about it. There’s no better example of this sad truth than the events of Live 8, where some of Africa’s brightest talents – from Ugandan singer-songwriters to Saharan rock bands, Senegalese traditional orchestras to trans-continental pop stars – were confined to an untelevised mini-concert in west Cornwall whilst dozens of faceless Didos frolicked around on television sets across the globe.

What a tosser.

The events of that summer still annoy me, because I’m sad like that, and so here you can find me wreaking my very slow, ineffective revenge. Orpheus made the sun rise cause he knew how to play, and all you lucky devils have to know is how to listen.
- Shirley Temple of Doom

Wotcher.

My name is Andrew Dunn and I will be your music critic for this evening.

Well. Not this evening, as I’m not going to review or comment on anything right now. I’m merely introducing myself. So.

Hello. I like music. Shocking, I know, as not many people do in these dark days of ours! Many people prefer crack and gin to having a tinkle on the ivories, unless that is being used euphemistically to describe some orgiastic depravity of people pissing on a baby grand. Of course, this tortured joke falls down somewhat because I am entirely talentless when it comes to being musical myself. But I knows what I likes, dammit, and I likes music. I plan on bringing to this uneven and rather cacophonous table some more niche musical acts and artistes than my compatriots (until the Welsh One appears and deluges us with unpronounceably named South Asians or something) as well as the overwrought wordsmithery that is already apparent in this post. I hope it will be enjoyable and maybe raise a smile on your dull, drug-addled phizzogs, as well as persuading you to seek out some of my own favoured music.

So, without further ado, hello! Again. And goodbye. Kiss kiss, see you soon.

AD