The Davidson 2025
Cougar
Newcomers on British twelve-bar scene serve up a blistering, if brief, set of incendiary cuts that point towards fame and fortune.
It may not seem so, but the number of blues-bent three-piece collectives, who are emboldened enough by their “nowhere to hide” vulnerability to bleed righteous bravado, is limited, and this English ensemble, strutting as heavy as befits their home base of Birmingham, belong to that rare breed. Rather young yet quite experienced, and thus well aware of their chosen genre’s preference of tradition over originality, the trinity of singing bassist Owen Davidson, guitarist Ben Bicknell and drummer Ellis Brown come up with a brilliant array of melodic moves to tune into the album’s title and make “Cougar” full-on seductive. And though the songs on the band’s debut run short in terms of overall time, there’s a lot of substance to latch onto and get away with it.
Appearing unpretentious but clearly knowing their worth as performers, the players exude class throughout, although the roots of the trio’s method are exposed only at the record’s end. The lads reveal the entire amplitude of what they’re capable of on the admiringly boisterous bonus reading of “Catfish Blues” where Owen’s vibrant rumble is bared for his compadres to flesh out, and via conscious repurposing of the “I Don’t Need No Doctor” riff for this staple’s sequel “The Cure” where Davidson’s honeyed wail is steeped in groovy, funk-infected swagger and delicious tenderness and washed with six-string licks which support such turns of the mood. That’s why a hard rocking opener “Medusa Touch” might just as well suggest the Midas touch, especially when followed by the jaunty “The Deep” whose loose sway and call-and-response give a good impression of how the group sound onstage, and the titular track whose impressively predatory dynamics feel utterly arresting. How often the listeners hear the phrase “toxic masculinity” in a song, anyway?
So there’s this: an uncharacteristic stance for bluesmen eager to progress beyond stylistic boundaries on multiple levels. They will go lyrical on the luxuriant “Blue River” which begs for brass to elevate its romantic transparence and tight electric weave, but let “Hold On” rage, picking up where David Coverdale‘s “”Crying In The Rain” left off, with Owen’s vocals reaching for the same degree of despair and Ellis’ solid beat locking into Ben’s expansive figures. They also allow “Bad Moon” to rave on with equal passion, and the passion is the key to the Brum trio’s method: if they keep the flame burning, fame and fortune ain’t far away.
*****
