Talking Elephant 2025
Stupid Says Run
“The ghost soil sings her secrets”: a long overdue emergence on the British folk-rock scene of an imposing, impressive, impassioned force of nature.
“Stupid says, ‘Run!’; smart says, ‘Wait!'”: the refrain from the second song on Dorie Jackson’s sophomore solo offering may simultaneously communicate motile urgency and static expectancy, but there’s no better characteristic for the balance this album strikes on multiple levels. Of course, the English performer – a prodigiously talented vocalist, in Judge Smith’s avuncular words – followed the advise of the wise and has been taking her time since “The Courting Ground” saw the light of day back in 2007. Still, once the chanteuse decided to provide an alternative perspective to the finely electrified “misery of love” theme of her full-length debut, she dove in as recklessly as the immediacy of a mature woman should dictate.
That’s why this record is so deep and that’s why the references to the artiste’s association with ex-members of IT BITES and SQUEEZE, to Dorie’s palpable presence on such platters as "The Murder Wall" by KAPREKAR’S CONSTANT whose members support her here as co-writers and accompanists, and to Jackson being a daughter of VAN DER GRAAF GENERATOR’s reedman must become a thing of the past. So don’t look for progressive rock on this dozen of enchanting pieces where arresting tunes and phonetically engaging lyrics conspire to transport the audience to a finely detailed rustic world, the acoustically driven microcosm of the lady’s innermost feelings. Once insistent opener “Sun Horse” immerses her crystal-clear soprano into a blend of guitar strum, piano ripples and violin spots and splits it into sun-dappled harmonies to turn the ballad into a reel, the doors into the singer’s magical place delicately close to trap the listener inside for an hour of quiet rapture, of which “The Photo” is a perfect snapshot, with the stained-glass sonics of “The Daylight Gate” masking the immense strength of her sentiments.
However, while the mesmeric, nigh on orchestral “Wild Thyme” and the playful “Red Sky” can’t conceal the gorgeousness of Dorie’s tone, the whistles-washed “Rise Again” and “Remember Majuba” – that feature Jackson’s pater, David – find her voice weaving entrancing imagery, intimately romantic on the former and historically panoramic on the latter, on both verbal and melodic levels. But if “The Visitor” and the epic finale “The Hypnotist’s Watch” seem histrionically dramatic, they’re too rooted in reality – our reality, despite the allusions to “Arabian Nights” and Scilly naval disaster – to not resonate with the aural spectator, and if the ear-caressing “Halfway To The Moon” flows rather mellifluously, it holds enough flame to incinerate one’s reveries. Even “Skylark” will not serve as a refuge for dreamers – those not ready to drink honesty packed in the songstress’ honeyed lines stressing the importance her “stories of uprisings, revolutions, calm” bear – especially after “Paper Chains” keeps repeating, “I ran”: more than mere escapism, these links to the album’s title reflect the futility of fantasies which are detached from familiar markers of modern life.
So prepare to be delicately returned to the here and now when a brief burst of silence sees Dorie Jackson return with a haunting a cappella farewell. She might warn her flock of impending peril earlier – stating, “If the devil’s got a crush on you, it’s time to be afraid” – yet with her as a daemon, or demon, guide, horrors are apt to stay at bay.
*****
