Favourite Listening of 2015

It’s that time of year again, and 2015 has provided a particularly diverse and exciting range of new (to me) musical listening. My favourite half dozen albums of the past year are detailed below for your consideration, and hopefully enjoyment.

As an aside, my listening was briefly interrupted this year by the final expiry of my trusty hi-fi, after 23 years sterling service, as the amplifier died and the attached CD player made an increasingly alarming range of noises. So what to do? I’m as impressed as anyone by the clever new ways of listening to music; my credit card sized iPod containing 250 CDs-worth of music still amazes me, providing tolerable sound quality and a handy ability to be plugged into the car stereo, and networked and blue-toothed options abound. But still nothing comes close to a decent hi-fi with a couple of reasonably-sized high quality speakers, fed by good quality source material, for fully appreciating a piece of music in all its detail, mood and subtlety. It frequently even trumps live music when focussing purely on the music, as the latter is at the mercy of remarkably common dodgy sound systems, engineers and acoustics that can leave you deafened and/or puzzling over the lyrics or the crudeness of the sound.

Reports in recent years of the impending death of the CD in favour of the download, streaming, or some such internet-enabled nebulosity, left me wondering if it would still be sensible or even possible to invest in a replacement CD-based system. It became necessary to take a deep breath and plunge briefly into the rather disturbing world of hi-fi magazines (£200 for a 1m cable anyone?) to educate myself. The message I got from this little exercise was strangely reassuring; buried in many of the reviews of weird and wonderful digital audio devices at absurd prices was the frequent referral to CD-quality sound as the standard that many new devices still aspire to, but frequently don’t reach. And since I’ve also detected a renewed commitment to the issuing of new music of the sort that interests me on physical CD (not to mention my existing collection), I decided I was going to stick with it for as much of the next 23 years as possible. So a couple of shiny new boxes have been installed at moderate expense, the sound quality is even better than before, and I can get promptly back to thinking about the music rather than equipment (very much the opposite, I fear, to regular readers of those magazines - I believe it’s largely a male thing)...

 

The Gloaming

The Gloaming are the new band of the profoundly impressive Irish sean-nos singer Iarla O Lionaird that I was fortunate enough to see perform in great style in 2014 (see 19May2014 post). On this, the bands eponymous first album from 2014, the deeply moving Gaelic songs performed by Iarla on the first and final tracks would alone justify its purchase price, yet there is so much more to it than that. Indeed more than half the tracks of the highly coherent whole, more like a symphony of movements rather than a collection of disparate tracks, are instrumentals. And these, including both fiddle and guitar played respectively by the formidable Martin Hayes and Dennis Cahill, but also fine sensitive piano from Thomas Bartlett, are measured, consequential, and often semi-classical in range and flow, though always with a traditional Irish core that is occasionally allowed freer rein. Overall this is a serious, magnificent, timeless piece of work that will always reward the thoughtful listener.

Olivia Chaney: The Longest River

So at last the long awaited debut album arrives, and has to immediately run the gauntlet of the sky high expectations that have been given too much time to accumulate. On initial listen it’s a pretty good piece of work: crystalline, emotive, intricate, elegant and polished, with material centred on youthful growing pains that the recording label, witness promotional tours in Australia and the US but not the UK, have clearly decided is best suited to an offshore/transatlantic market. Good yet measured and caveated early press reviews however, prioritising timely publication perhaps, suggest that those high expectations have not been exactly met. After a couple of listens I tended to agree, there seemed no immediate wow-factor of the sort perhaps we were all expecting, knowing just how uniquely talented and engaging Chaney is - based on live performances and the 5-track EP of a couple of years ago. And yet. This album has refused to let go and has drawn me back again and again, and has grown in stature with every listen in a way I recall of the best of the likes of Joni Mitchell. I’ve finally had to admit that this is actually a very fine and often poignant work, with sufficient depth and quality to provide substantial and sustained rewards, and am left pondering whether some of the writers so keen to be first with a review would actually write something different given a later opportunity.

Attwenger: Spot

23 tracks in 40 minutes from Austria’s finest alpine duo delivers a quick-fire Germanic accordion/ drums/ synthesizer based object lesson in rampant creativity and sheer beguiling entertainment that leaves many other established artists looking comparatively shabby in those departments. See my previous (15Nov2015) post on this splendid, criminally unsung outfit for far more.

Stick In the Wheel: From Here

This is not a nice album. It’s brash, in-yer-face, Essex. Raw down-to-earth contemporary stories are mixed with almost brutal no-nonsense reworking of traditional folk standards for an effect that some of a nervous disposition might find offensive (“the antidote to twee” has been one description, “punk-folk” I might almost suggest). Somehow evocative of many current injustices and with an air of not-so-quiet desperation; but boy is it bracing! They still call it folk, but it seems to have blown guys in Arran jumpers with fingers in their ears to kingdom come. fRoots magazine Critics Poll Album of 2015. Awesome. Nuff said.

Moriarty: Epitaph

I picked this up while stranded at Orly airport, nudged by a vaguely remembered favourable review and, yes, its exquisite hardback book format. Moriarty are a well-established French-based band fronted by distinctive singer Rosemary Standley, who sing in English but have been strangely absent from British soil for some years. Whatever their origins, the bands core sound is, if anything, gusting towards American traditional (blues, ballads, hillybilly…), though always versatile and, as I’m discovering, always compelling. Epitaph indicates an album whose central theme is death, and how it is variously coped with, yet this is not the complete downer it might sound – Moriarty have a talent for originality, atmosphere and for getting the feet tapping, and spirits (pun intended) can’t be kept down for long. They also put a high value on craftsmanship, evident both in the sheer quality of their performances and their beautifully presented albums – Epitaph comes in a cloth-bound book full of intriguing and elegant drawings and hand-written lyrics.

The White Stripes: De Stijl

OK so this is catch-up time for the old codger who is just 15 years late on this one. Based on the well proven rule that 90% of current mainstream pop/rock music is mutton dressed in myriad different ways as lamb, I don’t really track it very much. This obviously runs the risk of missing the odd gem, which is a pretty good description of Jack and Meg White, alias The White Stripes. This is the first album of theirs I picked up, and I was immediately blown away by the power of rock music being performed with greater charisma, originality and sheer competence than I’ve heard it for a very long time. Superficially some of it may sound like much that has gone before, but this is somehow considerably superior to most, with some great classy musicianship, and very very addictive. It’s a while since I bought three albums by the same outfit in as many weeks, and it was also rather novel to be twice congratulated on my choice by young music shop staff; respect!

The White Stripes also have an irresistible ability to tease you into nudging the volume up, and up, and even to wonder if perhaps some slightly bigger speakers might be in order…  Hmmm, where exactly did I put those magazines?

Happy listening, however you do it.


See also: Favourite Listening of 2014 

A River, an Exhibition, and a Concert

It’s perhaps one of lifes underrated pleasures to simply sit outside the Royal Festival Hall, overlooking the Thames, sipping a good coffee on a summer Sunday morning with a cloudless sky and a cool breeze, before the crowds arrive and the heat builds. The place and the day are full of potential and we have a simple but interesting agenda, but there is no rush, yet; bliss.

A peaceful morning coffee before the culture and the crowds, Royal Festival Hall (18May14)

 

The perfect cooling-off facility, South Bank (18May14)

 

Loaded and ready for the onslaught, the outside bar at the Royal Festival Hall (18May14)

In the fine weather the Thames looks glorious, despite the tide being out. Folk are down on the “beaches” hunting for history or building sand castles where it’s not mud. Strolling eastwards along the South Bank it’s hard to stop taking pictures like all the foreign tourists, it all looks so damned good. The skyline continues to evolve and to be pecked away at by myriad cranes; it’s accumulating an increasing number of massive oddly shaped buildings all striving to be different. It’s getting a bit like grannies overcluttered mantelpiece full of nick-nacks, with even the splendour of St Pauls looking increasingly marginalised and lesser churches lost long ago in the deep canyons between the big new boys, with just the odd spire or tower top peeking out.

Looking downstream to Blackfriars Bridge and St Pauls (18May14)

 

Assorted new stuff on the skyline, solar-panelled Blackfriars Bridge in the foreground,  River Thames (18May14)

Arriving at the relatively modest Bankside Gallery, we dip inside out of the shadow of the looming monster of Tate Modern next door. An hour of soaking up the Original Prints exhibition by the Royal Society of Painter-Printmakers is inspiring and good for the soul, so much diverse good work. Top quality original art doesn’t come much more affordable than this and I have to lock my wallet away and fight multiple temptations; I escape unscathed. The father-in-law’s work looks good and has a sale denoted by a red dot, so some good news to report back on.

On the beach at Gabriel's Wharf (18May14)

Lunch under a tree outside the gallery and the tide is clearly starting to come in, those shores will soon disappear. By 1pm we realise we need to scoot, we have an afternoon concert to get to at the Barbican that starts at 2pm, and we haven’t been there before. Zig-zagging through the crowds on the now non-bouncy (booh) Millenium Bridge, past St Pauls and down narrow streets to the Guildhall we finally reach the huge, confusing yet strangely appealing Barbican. It’s a rather wonderful high and low-rise complex of offices, housing, schools, and concert venues with embedded lakes, fountains and plantlife – but a real struggle to quickly assimilate how to navigate to our desired Milton Court concert hall, which proves to be out the far side of the main set-up. Fortunately we get there with fifteen minutes to spare.

The foyer’s hot and we’re sticky, but it’s now time to chill out again and get ourselves into the right frame of mind for a very novel and varied concert. Fortunately the auditorium is cool and we have prime seats at the front of the circle.

US-based Nonesuch Records are a pretty discerning and eclectic bunch as music labels go, with high-brow signings such as Philip Glass, Steve Reich and the Kronos Quartet, which have not been my natural territory to date; but also the more accessible likes of Emmylou Harris, Natalie Merchant and, most recently and intriguingly, Olivia Chaney (see my first blog of the year). To celebrate 50 years in the business Nonesuch pretty much took over the Barbican last weekend to run a sequence of five concerts where they deliberately mixed up a considerable number of the artists on their books in various experimental collaborations, to force both musicians and audiences to reconsider their musical boundaries. And so to our concert, the fourth out of the five, with an impressive line-up that at least contained some known and partially known quantities, but also plenty of unknowns…
 

First up were the extraordinary Dublin-based Crash Ensemble, a “contemporary music ensemble” who I groundlessly feared might be of an irredeemably  “squeaky bonky” persuasion but who were actually utterly captivating in their 25 minute rendition of the wonderfully novel, varied and creative piece Gra agus Bas, with riveting gaelic singing from Iarla O Lionaird throughout (for whom the piece was originally written). I have previously encountered Iarla’s unique singing style (largely the much maligned traditional Irish sean nos style) from his work with Afro Celt Sound System some years ago but this performance brought home just how versatile and powerful it can be and the whole integrated performance brought a solid much-deserved ovation from the audience.

Then followed the main part of the concert, anchored by the impressive four piece Kronos Quartet who were themselves celebrating their 40th anniversary, and who kicked off with a wonderfully quirky piece where all members simply plucked rather than bowed their instruments – terrific funky stuff. The session then developed with individually capable singers and musicians Rhiannon Giddens, Olivia Chaney, Sam Amidon and finally Natalie Merchant coming on in turn to perform folk songs in conjunction with the Kronos Quartet. These performances had their highs and lows for me with the clear stars being, somewhat surprisingly, the newcomer Chaney and Giddens. Chaney in particular, perhaps because of her classical training, seemed to totally get how to gel with the Kronos Quartet and brought to their joint performances a compelling singing style which writhes and emotes in the most unique and creative manner - hers were performances that resulted in that very special magic you always hope for on these occasions. Giddens almost matched this with her versatile southern US sensibilities and styles and clear powerful voice, and her final gaelic mouth-music piece was particularly impressive, if a little disorientating – having previously heard the song many times but only via Scottish gaelic singers. Apparently North Carolina had the largest immigrant Scottish population in the US at one time and so she legitimately claimed the right to sing this piece.

 

For me young Sam Amidon’s engaging folky singing and guitar/fiddle playing, which I think in its more normal contexts would be a winning combination, appeared to struggle a little at times to fit with the string accompaniments of the Kronos Quartet. On a few occasions his playing seemed to clash directly with the accomplished Kronos sound and his voice sometimes didn’t seem to have quite the heft required to get the desired impact out of the songs. But hey, this was an experiment and success is not always complete or unequivocal in such situations, nothing ventured nothing gained.

And so to Natalie Merchant. Her name on the bill was probably responsible for a fair number of ticket sales and as a long-term devotee it certainly influenced my decision to attend. As such her arrival on stage was keenly awaited and, reflecting this, she was held back until last. Rather surprisingly however, it turned out (for this member of the audience anyway) to be the low point of the afternoon; not only did she do the shortest of cameos with just two rather downbeat songs but she tripped over the words on the first one and had to sheepishly restart it –something you and your audience can recover from if you’re doing a full concert but more tricky within such a brief appearance. And talking of appearances (and I’m not one who normally worries much about such things), Merchants dress sense continues to confound even me, coming on as she did in what can best be described as a Nora Batty influenced combo (non-UK readers may wish to Google this name – a key British sartorial reference point). I was genuinely trying to discern for a while if she had rollers in her crinkled hair!
 

And so we strolled back out into the sunshine, and through the narrow London streets back to the river, with much to cogitate on. It was a brave, adventurous, stimulating concert with many different things to appreciate and contemplate, which is rather more than most performances achieve, …which I think makes it a considerable success.