Reviews

The Bay Area veterans with an envious track record join forces and gently but surely go for the jugular and guts.

Looking like real brothers, spiritual siblings Jimmy Dillon and Lorin Rowan have been there before, as THE EDGE, but individually backing such luminaries as Bruce Springsteen, John Lee Hooker, Stephane Grapelli and Jerry Garcia didn't have enough time to mix their influences and shake it properly. Which they do now, and do it gloriously. Two singing guitarists throw themselves headlong into a milieu of kindred spirits to choose emotions over seriousness, and while there's a tempered drama in the violin-woven Eastern bliss of "Istanbul", the silky trumpet-twined piano of "Te Quiero" burns hot under the flamenco sun as does the organ-oiled opener "Crazy Lovesick Blues" that sets the scene in infectiously twangy way. The inevitable pleasure is wrapped around the 7-minute reggae overhaul of "You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'" yet the skank gets gritty in "Revolutionary Man" dedicated to Jamaica's greatest son and quoting his classics like "Buffalo Soldier" or, more context-consciously, "Is This Love".

"Love Can Be", here in both electric and sensual acoustic versions, can be too transparent to ingrain its message in full, but the title track "Love & Freedom" is a full-on carnival of samba vivacity. And if "Four Winds" harks back to the '50s dancehalls, "Ponchatrain" grooves mildly in the saucy Crescent City style with a six-string duet taken to the fore and encouraged with handclaps and churchy chant, whereas "Perfection" rides the string lace into Mariachi sunset. The layers to peel are plenty here, all of them admirable. A strong contender for the "Album of the year" crown.

*****

An ethereal chanteuse who counts JEFFERSON STARSHIP as fans shatters the waves with her mind-crawling debut.

With a nice backlog of collaborations, LA songstress Page finally grew the wings on her own and, on the strength of high-wired single "This Fire" which hit the charts on Amazon and iTunes serves up a dozen fluttering pieces that lodge themselves into the listener's brain slowly but surely. Co-produced with Warren Huart who, in this project, might find a vent from engineering a new AEROSMITH album, "Breathe Me In" forms tentatively, as the piano of "My Vanilla Sky" pulls in electronic shimmer and trip hop beats over adventurous undercurrent where bass lurks and Mimi's voice harmoniously floats, but insistent, soulful title piece and "Come What May" fills all the space available - emotional and aural.

And if the "Colorblind" spread its erotique purr not as bold as Mylene Farmer's latest fare, Page sounds original when she welcomes folk motifs into the claustrophobia of "Black Valentine" which her vocals inhabits with much gusto. Unlike the rest, and in sharp contrast with the wild, yet soft, guitar-poisoned, yet poised jolt of "Gravity", "Jigsaw" and "New" are pure acoustic ballad, ivories lulling the vocals in a sensual way to show that, stripped of all decoration, Mimi Page has even more winning, if traditional in the singer-songwriter vein, formula up her frilly sleeve.

****

Ex-XTC axe-slinger takes a new flight but keeps a firm connection with a ground control.

Just like a tide, almost four minutes of the melody-stricken seawash of "Glimmer" pull you into the kaleidoscopic vortex to state a point of this being a guitar album. And what else could it be if the axis of TIN SPIRITS' slow wonders is the time-tested wizardry of Dave Gregory? Originally a jam guest, now the veteran tows the Swindon group into timelessness in terms of their music's feel rather than his classic connections. At the same time modern and eternal, long instrumental lines ebb and flow in complex swashes that, in turns, either spread thin as ether or crystallize into surreal, vertiginous architecture one can only marvel at and admire from the inside.

With a healthy dose of wordplay in the band's name and the record's title - quite possibly a reference to "Drums And Wires", Gregory's debut as Andy Partridge's sidekick - the words don't play a huge role here, as bassist Mark Kilminster's singing enrich the texture of the foursome's four original pieces yet doesn't direct their path. There's some good rocking in the closer "Breathe Shallow" but the contrast between mundane verses and celestial ensemble interplay comes frontal on the epic "Broken" the heart of which, "Better Place", marks a soft, if soulful, spot. By the same token, vocal harmonies color up "...And Go" in fine neo-prog fashion where acoustically adorned riffs support the pop crunch before flamenco flash touches aquatic solo spurts in the swirl Gregory sculpts with a fellow grinder Daniel Steinhardt. In the center of it all trembles a cover of GENESIS' "Back In NYC", a fantastic vehicle for this quartet to show their skills on the least obvious, guitar-wise, choice from "The Lamb" that in their hands springs to life, and it's there that voices complement, and complete, the picture.

Point taken, the message is received and the expectations bar is set high. An impressive statement of intent.

****

Four decades on since their kitchen-sink start, the Tyneside bunch cook up their second - and most eclectic - record for a new millennium.

Formed in 1982 and split in 1992 only to go at it again in 2000, THE DAINTEES, led by undaunted Martin Stephenson, are looking for stellar delights now - the delights, as the cover of the band's sixth studio album suggests, in the vein of ''Le Petit Prince'', from the mature point of view. This point is the focus of the record's folksy centerpiece "Boy To Man" that, via the piano boogie "Power That Is Greater" with its "I'm not an orphan anymore" joyous chorus, innocently connects the urban shimmer of the Knopfleresque opener "The Ship" with the eyes-wide-open reggae of closer "I'm In Love For The First Time". As a result, each song creates a buzzing microcosm which the singer inhabits and expands to let his listener in.

It's easy to relate to the reckless rockabilly rumble of "Long Way To Go" or the harmonica-oiled blues riffage of "Ready To Move On", but the flamenco lace of "Streets Of San Sebastian", a fabulous relocation of a certain Ralph McTell's ballad, brings a tragic romance into the picture which is framed with Stuart Macleod's acoustic guitar and Kate Stephenson's marching drum. Elsewhere, the delicate hoedown of "Sweet Cherwine", high on the fiddle doodles, flows down the humorous lane to drink from the timeless source of inspiration and spread the tuneful water around and ooze the class as it goes. Far away from Laurel Canyon, "California Star" shines as one of the best British records of 2012.

****1/3

The slaughterhouse grinder remixes his glorious dirge to give at more weight and woe.

Working up a covers paradox, the English faction of glam splinters go Transatlantic. Block-busting it ain't.

Have you ever been to electric violin land? A master of four-string wonder crystallizes his vision.

The vociferous Flower King serves up his own project's sophomore offering. To which god, that is the question.

While his main band get ready to awake their collective sleeper, Hasse Froberg applies his impressive pipes to a different array of players and follows 2010's "Future Past" with this album which sounds as original as its title. That means we're on familiar terrain here - and in a tangle of paradox as progressive rock is meant to be moving forward, not remain static - and as a fix for the Swedish artful royalty's fans it's as quick as it gets. It's hard to go wrong with epics like opener "My River To Cross", where the singer's voice swims the harmony amidst all the classic elements of Froberg's chosen genre. The problem is, Hasse can't break away from standard moves, although he tries as hard.

An immaculate autumn record, released in spring, signals the return of a warmly missed English ensemble.

Having attracted a good dose of intention between 1999 and 2005, this British band stopped their rise when the leading lady Liz Lenten took a maternity leave. Never the one to limit her action to domestic chores, in the meantime she conducted the London Mozart Players Orchestra and managed Eliza Carthy, but now, with her boy sent to school, Lenten resumed her band's drive. This record is plain beautiful in its perfect reflection of the mood inherent to the album's title and the ensemble's name.

Once the gospel sway of "Shame On You" sets its exotic acoustics behind Liz's sultry voice, there's a fleeting feeling that, in the days of yore, "Indian Summer" would have been no stranger to the Island catalogue, what with the relaxed reggae of "Day Dreamin'" and the cello-adorned flow of "Free Spirit" which invokes the ghost of Nick Drake. Hurry and rush are banned from here. Still, the electrified "Too Far From Home" swings its violin in upbeat, almost Cajun manner, while the singer marries anthemic solemnity with erotic intimacy in "Stop The Clock" that updates perennial "Only You" in a hazy English way. Elsewhere, "All Comes Back To You" brings a bluesy, demimonde vaudeville to the oaken table in your garden. Such maturity is new to AUBURN and the emotional richness that goes with it makes their comeback most welcome.

****1/3

Shooting at various angles, one of the most glorious rock records takes it to the new millenium.

Deutsch prog-metallers flaunt their clean-cut debut but fail to wake up the dead.

"On the floor corpses lie in the blood", goes "Pavement Canvas". They can't be serious, can they? Yet they are: the Nuremberg's quintet's first full-lengther has not an iota of equally gory CANNIBAL CORPSE's patented humor, or darkness for that matter, which might enliven this highly-cliched record. No, it's good, there's no denying, but playing according to the rules runs against the grain in metal that needs a certain dose of hairiness in it, and here compressed drums under somehow familiar heavy riffs just don't deliver. Those are tasty, though, as Dave Mola and Tim Ivanic's guitars knit a tight net for twilight melodies and save the shallow anger "Spectre Pt. I: Zorya’s Dawn", the former's Mellotron coloring the picture where Nicki Weber's voice reigns - and tries in vain to exercise an awkward growl.

Things change considerably when a folk thread enters the frame like in "Swimming Through Deserts", a genuine gem bathed in acoustic waters, while, its subject aside, the opener "Crib" lulls a pop song on its iron pillow. But it's the 16-minute epic "Shuteye Wanderer" where all the band's talents are on display, their attack perfectly balanced for the most part with lyrical, flute-helped clarity in classic hard rock and prog vein. Natural instincts prevailing over trends... That's the way to go to follow the ghosts.

***

The late warbler's lost vault found and restored. The spirit lives on - on boulevard of broken dreams.

1995 is marked in black in the history of SMOKIE. The band's tour bus crashed in Germany, and singer Alan Barton who'd been fronting the English band for a decade - died of injuries. Recently, it became clear that his legacy's richer than everybody thought it was. Al's son Dean Barton was contacted by guitarist Andy Whelan who found Barton Sr.'s tapes in his possession: not in the best of states, those have been salvaged and completed by Andy, Dean and their band, SPIRIT OF SMOKIE, to be out now as an album that could have easily been the original Bradford unit's creation.

From under the radar, one of the best British guitarists returns to the high life.

The Cleveland hero gets back on the rocky track, warts worn proudly on the sleeve. Bill Szymczyk mans the mix.

More than three decades on, the Harrogate moon rises again. It's like a heady moonshine has never been away.

When WALLY fizzled out in the late '70s, nobody paid much attention and lamented the demise of a band who brewed the impossible alchemic concoction of English prog and West Coast country rock. Remembered mostly for being produced by "Whispering" Bob Harris and Rick Wakeman, their two albums became cult items nevertheless, so the group's 2009 return was met with much acclaim, even though nobody hoped for another studio work. Yet here it is - some completely new compositions, some based on the halcyon days' demos, no line drawn between them - and nostalgia trip "Montpellier" ain't, even though "Sister Moon", which connects with the ensemble's cover sign, ripples with silvery celestial sadness.

The deeper the Oxford quartet go the richer the listener's discoveries. A debut to start following the band.

Launching their new label, the Esoteric crew welcome aboard a new band with an album that already snatched accolades in its independent incarnation but deserves a much wider acclaim. The promise isn't so clear on the opener "No More Than We Deserve" which demands its humble due in a slightly grating shoegazing way, yet the further one goes the less aloof Joff Winks' voice and guitar jangle sound. The instrumental department shows what the foursome awesome capabilities in two wordless pieces, the surfy "Coast Of Nebraska" and Zappa-esque bonus "The Eternal Abyss", and when it comes to actual songs, there's nothing rockier than "Circus For A Dying Race" that's as full-on as it gets, driven with Paul Mallyon's punky drums, and nothing gentler than folksy, if quite streamlined, "There's No Hum". Elsewhere, compositions such as the fairy-tale "Nothing Between Us" with its acoustic lining or "Dark Ages" with its jazzy hues channel the neo prog aesthetics - warm and otherworldly in a good way, alienation leading to Wonderland, as Matt Baber's keyboards fill the previously rarefied spaces. The result is a bit disorientating yet the unpredictability keeps the ear's focus firmly on the music which is undoubtedly a good start.

****

An ancient Greek hero as a Wembley-straddling guitar hero: a VAN DER GRAAF originator twists the myth with much verve and imagination.

Lurking in Peter Hammill's shadow, Judge Smith is no less adept with a word and a tune, a string of albums and stage productions under his belt, so his "songstories" gained a certain following which is bound to grow after this, the British veteran's third one. To see Orpheus in the modern spotlight is, perhaps, not that original an idea but to project a dilemma of an artist, who has to deliver his crowd-pleasing money-making hits while longing for creation of something, on the famous "to hell and back" anabasis - where a glance behind one's shoulder means losing the Muse - is interesting move, indeed. That's all theory, yet Smith shaped it in practice as a rock opera, a tag that Judge's quite unwilling to apply, even though one can see similarities between his protagonist being unwell and staying at the hotel instead of playing a big festival and Pink in "The Wall", but there's more experimentation in the George Orfeas near-death experience.

Great librettist as he is, Smith makes unnoticed the absence of rhymes on most of the songs as well as the melodies and recital unison, a result of speech transformation into music so gripping feel the story's peripeties and so strong is delivery - in a broad variety of genres - which involves Lene Lovich plus, in instrumental compartment, another VDGG alumnus David Jackson on brass and guitarist John Ellis, formerly with THE VIBRATORS and THE STRANGLERS. Of course, idiosyncrasy reigns o'er the proceedings, but it's of a tasty kind with Judge as an arresting rhapsode backed by a fantastic band who bend "Seven Yard Promenade" into a classic sax-oiled rhythm-and-blues piece in Act One and don a death metal group masks in dry metal of Act Two's "Carpet Of Bones", a thematic relative of "Carpet Crawlers", and "Tear Him Asunder" from Act Three. There's even a power ballad here, "Orphic Lullaby", whereas "Orfeas' Audition" rides an orchestra-drench twang. Less seriously, "Wolfman George" parodies a famous riff in swinging fashion of a Zappa canon, "In-Flight Movie" comes on in a disco inferno form, and "The Crab Nebula" glides on lounge electronica - all organic, even the Mediterranean fusion and rap of "Don't Deafen Me, Persephone" or theatricality of Smith and Lovich duets in "Orfeas and Eurydice".

An immersive tale that's never boring and bearing a happy end - not to everyone's taste yet daring in its scope and fun to listen to - "Orfeas" might be Judge's best work yet.

****

A laid back groove that's hard to fathom. A Hawaiian master rides the crest of the wave with a Californian elite in tow. Crosby and Nash join in.

Not a name on everyone's lips, Allan Thomas' pedigree is immaculate, including stints with the Adderley brothers and Donald Fagen, so it's not so surprising that his roll call brings only the best under the veteran's banners. What is surprising is how deceptively simple his Pacific glide can be when, under the surface, it's quite complex and rich. With all eyes and ears on the dramatic, if smooth, "The Longest Ride" which features easily recognizable harmonies from the most celestial half of CSNY, the genuine bliss comes from the main man's relaxed yet arresting delivery on heartfelt songs such as the title track where acoustic surf comes underpinned with lower-toned electric charge. But one should go no further than "Everything Happens For A Reason", that in places sound like unburdened Mark Knopfler, to feel the fusion tingle rippling the Kauian cool.

It's there, in silky soul of "Soldier Of Misfortune" and the humorous jangle of "Homegrown", written back in the '70s and nicely colored with Jeff Richman's guitar orchestra on the former and Kirk Smart's six-string on the latter, while Ken Emerson's slide spices up Thomas' warm twang on the highly memorable instrumental "Boyish Man" which is pure Hawaii - sea and sunlight in every lick - just like the drive of "The Downturn" carries a Caribbean jive in its "oy yoi yoi's". Still, you can't take the Big Apple off any NYC-born artist, and the harmonica-spiked autobiography of "Monkey Business" is as urban-bluesy as it gets to make this album a winner on all fronts, even though one could do without a rap on "Other Than That". So take a breath and dive headlong.

****4/5

A logical and tuneful union of two stalwarts of British progressive folk scene - a perfect trip for a snug and bubbly journey down memory lane.