Blue Rose Code. Bright Circumstance. Ronachan Songs.

Four years and a pandemic later, Ross Wilson returns with his latest iteration of Blue Rose Code on Bright Circumstance, an album which surely should cement his standing as one of the foremost (and most passionate) songwriters performing these days. The album builds on the succinctness of its predecessor, With Healings Of The Deepest Kind, itself a sterling effort, and touchstones, especially Van Morrison, are still in motion but Wilson has not rested on his laurels as Bright Circumstance positively brims with emotion, exuberance, anger and loss on a set of spectacular songs.

Jericho opens the disc with a hi-energy jolt which seems to have been beamed in from Stax Records, the horns riffing as Wilson channels his inner Otis Redding and his testifying is ably assisted on vocals by Naomi Stirrat. It’s a short, sharp and joyous shout out to love and mercy. This exuberance is maintained on the later Never Know Why, another song which finds the horn section blowing freely, this time over a jazz like rhythm as Ross celebrates life in all its small absurdities. Easy As We Go drops the horns while adding Donald Shaw’s accordion and Conor Smith’s pedal steel to the mix. As the title says, it’s an easygoing and very enjoyable ramble suffused with optimism allied to the annual rebirth of spring. The mandolin and pedal steel solos which close the song bring it dangerously close to Americana territory. The horns are back in full force for Wilson’s forceful rendition of Amazing Grace, a somewhat surprising addition to the album given that Wilson is not prone to covering songs on his albums. Here it’s given a full throated gospel soul rendition with church organ and massed voices (courtesy of a multi tracked Eddi Reader) and it’s tempting to consider that Wilson had Van Morrison’s Caledonia Soul Orchestra in mind (and the live album It’s To Late To Stop Now) in mind when he recorded this given the dynamism and interaction of his vocals with the horns.

The yin to the more joyous yang here is a brace of songs which find Wilson in darker territory, albeit with his characteristic sense of humanity. Sadie is a bittersweet ballad, sweetened especially by Smith’s pedal steel playing, which delves into addiction while Peace In Your Heart, apparently written as we emerged from the pandemic, is the latest of Wilson’s most naked pleas, following in the footsteps of Pokesdown Waltz and Grateful, songs which can pierce straight to the heart. Thirteen Years meanwhile is a strong diatribe against our current government, the lyrics direct and buttressed by a quite magisterial performance which is cloaked in a Celtic folk rock miasma, all the better to damn those down south.

The album closes on a personal note as Wilson pays tribute to a close friend who died as the album was recorded with Now The Big Man Has Gone On. It’s typical of him to imbue as much passion into this very personal message as he does when railing against injustice or hymning the simple joys of life. The album title, Wilson explains, “Comes from a moment in meditation when the kalyana-mitta talked about being aware of now, of being present, of ‘this bright circumstance’….it’s about joie de vivre, it’s about trials and travails, it’s about the gamut of experience, one day at a time, this Bright Circumstance”. Anyone who has seen Blue Rose Code live will know that each gig finds Wilson living that moment and giving it his all and on this album much of that energy and passion is captured in the grooves.

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Jill Jackson Curse Of The Damned

After delving into the hinterlands of Americana and her personal memories on her two previous albums, Are We There Yet and Yours Aye, Jill Jackson returns with an album which is much brasher and, at times, poppier, than its predecessors. As she says of herself, she’s been considered “too Country for Pop or too Pop for Country. I’ve never fit the mould.” On Curse Of The Damned Jackson simply breaks out of that mould as she ranges from the pummelling rock of Knock Next Door to the mid sixties Nashville themed regret which is portrayed in the excellent Avalanche.

The album opens with the title track, a glossy song with a radio friendly chorus which doesn’t hint at the subject matter which is the cost of living with ADHD. Several of the songs on the album allude to mental health and wellness -and Jackson is quite open about her struggles – but here she rises above them on a storming song which features Ron Block (of Alison Krauss fame) on banjo. Standing At The Edge is another song begging to played on radio, a dramatic ballad with Jackson’s voice quite intense as she sings about a toxic relationship while Wake Me Up is a  jaunty, almost rockabilly roustabout with Jackson tackling those nightmare dreams we all have sometimes.

For this reviewer it’s the more stripped back numbers which stand out. The plaintive piano and pedal steel layered lament of Misunderstood is a mature reflection on overcoming obstacles and Back When I Was Wilder finds Jackson looking back on her pop stardom days armed with her present day wisdom. She sings this over some lovely pedal steel, piano and strummed guitar which add a resigned country rock air to the song. The closing song, Kaleidoscope, has a gospel like structure with Jackson’s voice multitracked in the opening refrain on a song which we reckon is destined to be an audience favourite.

We should mention also Jackson’s Lonesome Lament, a song dedicated to the late Rab Noakes with its glistening guitar and lonesome harmonica (played by Fraser Spiers). It’s a wonderful send off to a man who had struck up a fruitful partnership with Jackson over the years and it’s echoed in Jackson’s liner notes where she pays tribute to Rab.