Bearpit Brothers. Something Cruel

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When Blabber’n’Smoke reviewed the first EP from Bearpit Brothers we waxed about their kodachromed 50’s spangled pop. Two years on and their second EP is lined up for release and the brothers themselves say that they’ve moved onto the early sixties. Well, there’s a lot of folk who say that the sixties didn’t really start until 1964 when The Beatles hit global dominance while there does seem to have been a watershed with the advent of the Pill. As Philip Larkin famously wrote,

Sexual intercourse began/In nineteen sixty-three/ (which was rather late for me) /Between the end of the “Chatterley” ban/And the Beatles’ first LP.

We mention this because while the band might be dipping their toes into the rising tide of sixties pop they’re holding on to a lifebelt of innocence, a raft of teenage dreams with the hormones held in check, the songs limited to allusion and portrayed as melodrama. Musically they continue to inhabit a pre Beatles world, crooner vocals, old school married to a pop idiom, think of the Larry Barnes’ stable of brylcreemed balladeers such as Dickie Pride or Vince Eager. Next drop in a dollop of sumptuous guitar draped pop of the type purveyed by John Barry and Joe Meek, both influenced by Buddy Holly but able to add their own idiosyncratic touch. Cap this with Cliff and The Shadows and we’re somewhere near where Bearpit Brothers are at these days although a top notch production and some spectacular guitar playing rises the EP well beyond mere nostalgia.

On to the songs then. Say Goodbye is a pop confection of the first order, pizzicato type guitar underpins singer Robert Ruthven’s warm croon as he evokes tearful railway platform goodbyes. There’s a glorious melange of acoustic and electric guitar midway through which rings to the heavens. Love Born In The City is a paean to young love hit by Cupid’s arrows lifted aloft again by the deft guitar work which does recalls Hank Marvin strutting behind Cliff. Love And Hate moves into Roy Orbison territory, darkly dramatic with a flamenco flourish on the chorus with some low riding twang guitar to boot it sets the scene for the sour title song which follows. Something Cruel has an exotic touch, castanets clicking away as Ruthven realises he’s been taken for a fool, recognising clues too late. Here we’re reminded of Billy Liar, lured by his dolly bird, Liz, only to bottle out at the last moment. This kitchen sink cinematic touch continues on the closing song, Ruby Wine although here it’s the fatalistic element of Poor Cow that’s evoked as Byrne recognises the hopelessness entwined in the relationship.

It’s only 16 minutes long but Something Cruel grabs the listener and is a wonderful evocation of a more innocent time. The EP will be available at the launch gig at Glasgow’s Glad Cafe this Saturday, 22nd August.

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James Edwyn & The Borrowed Band. The Tower. Dead Records Collective

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Guest reviewer Rudie Humphrey is very impressed by this debut from Glaswegian James Edwyn

No biography, no press release, just a brown envelope on the mat when I returned home, understated, standing on its own two feet. The opener The new Arrival is a bare acoustic number, Dylanesque, Edwyn sounds like the best bits of Simon and Garfunkel. You think you know how it’s going to be and that preconception would alone be a good record. On meeting the Man in the Suit, the second number,  is the album clincher. Super radio friendly, a groovy little shuffle with some damm fine guitar, I love the harmony on “if you see me coming, you’d better not stick around”. Emma Joyce on harmony vocals is terrific throughout, but on this track it is all about the guitar picking – the solo is a stormer. There is a delightful undercurrent across the record, an all pervading darkness of the soul, woe, loss, a permissive melancholy. On She Sees Rainbows, again augmented by Joyce’s voice, Edwyn is a British slant on Willie Nelson, beaten down, but not beaten, and the heartbroken piano leaves you sobbing. It’s about dark places but it is far from gloom inducing creating a sense of solace instead. It fills you with hope, vanquishes loneliness, reassures you that we all have these feelings, it’s normal. “We should be dancing off the ceiling, but we’re holding on to nothing, that’s how it works” serves as illustration.

The construction, the subtle, delicate, refined construction is stunning. Only the best is used, the minimum, and it’s the better for it. The day they mixed this record and it was complete Edwyn should have been at his happiest, to know he’d touched perfection. If you played on this record you’ve touched greatness and your pride should be unmeasurable. There is Dylan, Adams, Nelson, Currie, Finn and Costello in this record, in its DNA, it’s channelled and used in an evolved state; there’s a family resemblance to all of them, but he is his own man. Maslow is The Lemonheads, Lloyd Cole and similar 90’s artists Toad the Wet Sprocket brought to the boil, the froth knocked off and just the body savoured. It is a record to remind you life has so many good things, and why music is so valuable, how it can shape a mood. The Last Waltz’s pleading “please” is Hansard, Fray or Rice, done better. “How could you just turn it off, like a light you left on overnight by mistake” is the best heartbroken line of the year, and if this isn’t on their t-shirts they’ve missed a trick – it’s their “guilty feet ain’t got no rhythm”. The flourish near the start of I Figure Son, probably a Fender Rhodes, definitely played by Scott Keenan, is worth the album’s price alone – 3 notes that sum up this remarkable record, Borrowed Band it might be but extend the loan, it’s certainly a worthy investment.

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Jenny Ritter. Raised By Wolves. Fiddle Head Records

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Review by Rudie Humphrey

This banjo driven pedal steel fest is one for true music fans, its production quality, especially of the uncomplicated drums, is a class apart. If this was Jenny Lewis the press would be gushing and fawning, Jenny Ritter does it better. Her sharp high voice means you sail away, lofted up high to some other, better place, soaring over the world below.

Wolf Wife, which gives us the album title, is full of sawing fiddles and throughout its construction is a marvel, let alone the turns themselves. It has a tide-like rhythm, an ebb and flow, pedal steel to banjo to fiddle and return, all in harmony, perfectly attuned. It has lots of subtle, occasional harmony vocal lines, the voice is haunting, a siren, she opens her mouth and the next you know you’re prostrate, dashed on the rocks, hypnotised.

Slide Mountain is proof, if it were needed, of the power of the instrumental, it’s the music of the woods, of the outdoors, chilly, and music of a cold place but a warm soul, and it is time to mitten up. It’s a tune that gives you that feeling of seeing mountains for the first time in a long time, a stark reminder of how beautiful they can be, a jolt to your reality; we get some mediocrity and vanilla, occasionally you get something special, this is the flake in the 99, and probably the strawberry sauce too.

Remember the Life is otherworldly, like a voice calling you from inside a dream. It seems like looking through dust in sunlight to see its own very magical sparkle. This is an album for when it is cold outside and you’re warm inside, it’s an album that makes everything seem just that bit more special.

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Ronnie Fauss. Built To Break. Normaltown Records

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When Another Town, the opening song on Dallas based Ronnie Fauss’s Built To Break came banging out of the speakers for the first time Blabber’n’Smoke had a quick double take moment. Surely this was Scotland’s own Wynntown Marshals beavering away under a pseudonym? Turns out not to be the case but Another Town is a dead ringer for The Marshals, vocally Fauss sounds like Keith Benzie while the song belts along in similar fashion to Wynntown goodies such as Canada with big crunchy guitars and whip smart solos driving it along. Probably not the best way to start a review but the resemblance is striking and as regular readers of Blabber’n’Smoke will know a comparison to The Marshals is praise indeed. However Fauss is at heart a blue collar country rocker and a more apt comparison might be Robert Earl Keen, both documenting the other side of life in Texas red dirt life, case in point, the lyrics of Another Town…”well the neighbours said you made a big scene today Screaming that you would be damned before the state take your baby away And I remember that I swore I’d do my best But now I’m here in this hotel room stacking bottles on my chest.”

There’s more hi octane rocking on A Natural End and on the magnificent Eighteen Wheels, a trucking song where Fauss shares vocals with Rhett Miller (of the Old 97’s) which scoots along splendidly with frantic keyboards and a litany of musical heroes purifying the trucker’s soul as he heads for home. Old Life is a rush of words, fiddle, pedal steel and organ with lyrics worthy of Woody Guthrie which takes the wind out of the listener with its pace and energy. Elsewhere there’s the wild yearning country rock of A Place Out In The Country which has the lurch of vintage Crazy Horse and the dual guitar duelling of the Allman’s all coming to a boil towards the exhilarating climax.

Fauss takes his foot off the throttle on occasion delivering the fine Come On Down, a celebration of the working man and on The Big Catch, a song that hints at a dark secret in a kid’s past. Never Gonna Last is a delightful Dobro fuelled duet with Jenna Paulette that recalls country duets such as Dolly and Porter’s but Fauss goes all out on the subdued cover of a Phosphorescent song, Song For Zula which is just this side of sublime. His vocals and acoustic guitar are gradually joined by guitar and backing vocals over a gentle bass line giving the song a fine melancholic air without losing any of the pathos of the original. In addition it links Fauss again to The Wynntown Marshals who once sang a song about a gorilla in captivity. Weird coincidence.

Anyway, Built To Break is an excellent listen and well recommended.

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Black Vincent. Teardrop Deluxe

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Fronted by Chicago based musician, Coley Kennedy, Black Vincent is a seven piece band which includes several members of Coley’s previous bands, Welcome To Ashley and The Buddies. Kennedy is quoted as saying, “I’ve always wanted to make a ‘rainy-night’ album that’s sad without being depressing” and on Teardrop Deluxe he’s tried his best to do this coming on like Richard Hawley with dashes of Roy Orbison thrown in for good measure. Tremeloed guitar and string like keys sweep throughout the album giving it a forlorn and indeed rain swept night time feel but there are also elements reminiscent of Bowie and Scots post punk balladeer Paul Quinn in the way Kennedy uses his voice while the band ramp up the atmosphere adding a fine sense of melodrama. This melodramatic touch reaches its height on the extravagant flourishes of Sad Deep Inside which unfortunately topples over itself in its excitement ending up as merely a cacophony of guitars and voices. More successful is the Bowie like When We Was Young which opens with a melody similar to Space Oddity while Kennedy actually sounds like Bowie circa ’69 and Friends With Motorcycles which does sound like Paul Quinn and Orange Juice goofing around. There’s even a pumped up romp, It’s All Too Much that heads into Iggy Pop territory with a frenzied riff and Iggy like lyrics.

Kennedy’s at his best on the Orbison like heartbreak of Lonely and Blue singing
“I’ll miss you when I wake I’ll miss you in my dreams and in my grave I cannot change my past I cannot change my tune I’m lonely and blue I’m lonely and blue”
as the band lurch gloomily behind him while Stacy Main is another stand out with a similar feel for old times and places to that on Richard Hawley’s Cole’s Corner. The closing song Gone goes for a climatic ending but serves to show that although there’s plenty of promise here Kennedy needs to loosen up somewhat as the song could do with the swing and passion that someone like Raul Malo of the Mavericks would bring to it. Nevertheless, a fine wee album that marks Black Vincent out as ones to watch.

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The Boxmasters. Somewhere Down The Road. 101 Ranch Records

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It’s a game of two half’s here on this double CD set from actor Billy Bob Thornton’s troupe, The Boxmasters. Thornton (here listed as “Bud”) drums and sings most of the vocals for the band with Teddy Andrewis, keyboards, Brad Davis, guitar and JD Andrew on bass completing the complement. Obviously The Boxmasters are not Thornton’s main gig, busy as he is winning Golden Globe awards for his performances in shows such as Fargo taking up some of his time however they’re far from a vanity project and Somewhere Down The Road stands up well apart from the celebrity in their midst.

Two half’s? Well, for some reason disc 1 here is a well-crafted collection of songs that are hewn from the same quarry as sixties jangled pop and rock with a dash of power pop thrown in, echoes of The Flamin’ Groovies, The Hollies and The Byrds are heard here and there. Disc 2 is darker, contemporary Americana songs with pedal steel from Jon Rauhouse adding some spice. While The Boxmasters have had mixed reviews for their previous efforts here the song writing is well above par while Thornton manages his vocals well, quite recognisable on several of the latter disc’s songs while the poppier demands of the first disc have him managing high notes and harmonies with no difficulty. Highlights include the Everly influenced Kathy Won’t Share which is swathed in tasty guitar licks and garlanded with a fine chorus and the fine pop thump of You’ll Be lonely Tonight which could have graced a Traveling’ Wilburys’ album. Over on disc two things get off to a fine start on the prowling and dark Away, Away. Always Lie is a John Prine like number as Thornton advises the listener that the best way to survive is to be economical with the truth, a lesson learned perhaps from his encounters with showbiz reporters as he sings
“Remember to resist when they grab you by the wrist. You know they’re gonna always twist every word you say. Their world is only black and white, cold darkness and a shining light. They’re a little short too short of sight to see that life is always gray.”
Who Can Tell is a murder ballad of the first degree, a pregnant young girl cut to pieces under a train and delivered with a country stagger. Best of all however is the pedal steel laced Young Man’s Game, a co-write with Rauhouse which is infused with nostalgia for the old days as Thornton lays down his most wearied vocal before an excellent instrumental ending with the pedal steel curling away over mandolin and strummed guitars.

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Ana Egge. Bright Shadow

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Brooklyn based folk singer Ana Egge has teamed up with Pennsylvania trio, The Stray Birds for this, her eighth album having met them at Folk Alliance in Toronto in 2012. Fans of her last album, the Steve Earle produced Bad Blood, The Bird folk expressed an interest in playing with Egge who subsequently wrote the material for Bright Shadow with them in mind, their instrumentation and voices integral parts of the process. To call the collaboration a success is something of an understatement. With Egge on lead vocals and guitar The Stray Birds (Maya De Vitry : fiddle, banjo, vocals, Charles Muench : upright bass, vocals, and Oliver Craven : mandolin, fiddle, slide guitar, vocals) are ever present with fine harmony singing and their usual degree of musical proficiency with a few of the songs sounding similar to their own recordings in style and delivery. It’s Egge who’s in the spotlight however and she shines brightly. Her voice is a wonderful thing, at times melancholic, wearied, elsewhere skipping in its beat, all the while expressive and warm while her songs are finely honed nuggets of delight.

The album opens with the sturdy upright bass line of Dreamer sounding as if it were backing a beat poem before Egge appears, indeed speaking in rhyme. The chorus however is sung with De Vitry on harmony as more instrumentation appears and a short fiery fiddle solo enlivens the piece. It’s a striking opening but Dreamer is the least indicative of what to expect here, the remainder of the album being more traditional in arrangement and delivery. There’s a brace of sparkling up-tempo numbers that skirt on the edge of bluegrass and stringband music allowing The Stray Birds full rein. Flat Top Guitar tells the tale of a neglected instrument, left gathering dust in a corner and recalling its glory days being played at the country fair and the “golden hands that made me wail and cry.”  With a great chorus (again featuring De Vitry), rippling mandolin and curling fiddle it’s a fine song. Jenny Run Away is an adaptation of a traditional song and continues in a similar vein while an excellent rendition of Dolly Parton’s Wildflowers features some fine mandolin playing.

The title song is more introspective, a hushed (and beautifully played) nocturnal musing on dreams of flight with a mesmerising middle eight, it’s hypnotic. On Rock Me (Divine Mother), a number that has gained resonance as Egge’s mother died shortly after the album was recorded, dreams again feature in a song that has a spiritual light at its centre. Egge closes the album with the magnificent The Ballad Of Jean Genet, a tribute to the French author she first heard of from Patti Smith. Here her voice approaches Lucinda Williams’ worn approach while The Stray Birds offer up fine harmony murmurings throughout and swell in the chorus. Laid over sly and sinewy slide guitar it’s a perfect summation of the collaboration between Egge and The Stray Birds and a fine end to an excellent album.

Ana Egge website

The Stray Birds website

Listen to the song Bright Shadow here

Have Gun, Will Travel. Science From An Easy Chair. This Is American Music.

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Florida band Have Gun, Will Travel make no bones about their fifth album, Science From An Easy Chair, being a good old-fashioned concept album. It’s fashioned around the story of Sir Ernest Shackleton’s ill fated 1915 attempt to cross the Antarctic, a venture which failed but with typical British aplomb was turned into a triumph as despite incredible hardship Shackleton and his men survived. An odd choice for an “alt-country” band from Florida to consider but apparently having written a song called True Believers Matt Burke sang it to his fiancé who thought the spirit of the song reminded her of a book she had read about the Shackleton venture. Burke read the book and transfixed decided to write some more songs based on the story eventually leading to the album as it stands. Having said that the album is not a linear telling of the story, rather Burke leads the band through the phases of the expedition, the gung ho we can do it bravado, the reality of being stuck in pack ice and losing their ship, the perilous journey thereafter and the eventual rescue with some songs descriptive, others impressionistic.

The good news is that the band are not shackled by the story and there’s no attempt to have a faux historical feel and no sea shanties. In fact, there’s little to differentiate much of the music here from their 2013 album, Fact, Fiction or Folktale other than the salty instrumentals Surrounded by the Pack and Fortifying The James Caird. Burke’s acoustic guitar and his voice lead the rhythm section while Scott Anderson’s excellent electric and lap steel guitars weave in and out throughout. There’s some extra layers in the form of mandolin, trombone, viola, trumpet, cello, harmonium and flute adding colour to the instrumentals and the opening (overture?) By Endurance We Conquer. Here the voice of Shackleton himself, setting out his aims, is accompanied by attractive rippling guitar and LA canyon harmonies before an insistent cello thrust adds some edge. On the remainder of the songs Have Gun, Will Travel manage to carry the thrust of the narrative while remaining distinctly an American band, singing about the frontier but this one’s the frozen south, not the Donner Pass. Spirit Of Discovery weighs in with some wicked lap steel on a supple Southern rocker that could have come from Tom Petty or the Drive By Truckers while True Believers belts along like a trucking song with the truckers replaced by a one for all and all for one shipshape lusty crew who bellow out the refrain over some turbo charged guitar licks. A banjo and wheezy accordion with sound effects breaks the mood as the ship is Surrounded By The Pack before the nervy thrust of Madhouse Promenade scoots into view. Another fast rocker it’s an adrenaline fuelled yelp which is variously frenzied and defiant as Burke sings
“this can’t be happening, won’t make it home again, we’ve got no chance of escape. We’re off the map again looks like we’ve reached the end, could this be our resting place?”
Despite this the defiant crew repeat their lusty refrain from True Believers and the explorers adjust to their predicament spending their time reading popular science essays of the time (a fact, they had a copy of biologist Ray Lankester’s collected essays which was called Science from an Easy Chair, hence the album title).

The album shifts mood thereafter reflecting the explorer’s experiences. As the ice pack eventually crushed and sank their ship they could only stand by and watch. The stoical farewell is captured to perfection on the sombre Goodnight Sweet Chariot with its curling guitars and organ fills. A beautiful song, its martial drumming and nod to the spiritual, Swing Low Sweet Chariot, summon up peril and death but the delivery is a delicate wonder and reminiscent of bands such as The Jayhawks and The Byrds (in Chestnut Mare times). There’s more delicate murmurings at the beginning of The Rescue Party which is a rich tapestry of guitars and slow weeping strings. The first step to rescue as Shackleton heads off for help, the song picks up pace towards the end as if the wind were carrying the song along with zephyrs of guitar spiralling upwards. For those left behind (read the story here for those who are lost by now) Despair & Redemption on Elephant Island imagines a Morricone styled exile with guitar shards firing over a desolate rhythm eventually giving way to an ecstasy of redemption as the crew again are able to sing their refrain. There’s a wonderful curtain call on the final song Bottom Of the World which retells the tale in summary with a fine folk like feel, spidery slide guitar and accordion along with a memorable chorus allowing it the sense that one might be in a tavern listening to one of Shackleton’s men recalling his adventure.

Overall Science From An Easy Chair is a bold adventure. There are songs in here that stand out well away from any concept with Goodnight Sweet Chariot the main contender. However there’s no denying the skill with which Matt Burke has woven the story into the songs (or vice versa) and at the very least having listened to the album and read the notes one is somewhat elucidated on a small part of polar exploration history. Apart from that it’s a crackingly good album.

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Dean Owens. Into The Sea. Drumfire Records

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Dean Owens recorded his second solo album, Whisky Hearts, in Murfreesboro, Tennessee. For Into The Sea, his latest release he’s returned to Tennessee, this time Nashville, enlisting again the talents of Will Kimbrough along with appearances from Suzy Bogguss and Kim Richey. Although the Nashville connection (and Owens’ past with The Felsons) might lead one to expect a pedal steel adorned collection of country songs, instead, Into The Sea is a mature set of reflective songs that showcase his ever improving writing skills and vocals. As is often the case with Owens he delves into family memories and his roots in Leith. I’m sure someone somewhere must have said this of him; You can take the man out of Leith but you can’t take Leith out of the man.

The album opens with the wonderful Dora, a song that rings with faint echoes of Richard Thompson especially in the guitar chords as Owens delves into his family tree to tell the story of his grandmother, raised in a travelling circus. He follows with the grand sweep of Closer To Home which opens with strummed guitar before a folksy accompaniment adds a lift to the song. A yearning tribute to those soldiers who didn’t return from war the song gains a melancholic piano refrain as it soars towards the end. Owens sparkles when he is in nostalgic mood and Evergreen is a nod to his past as he sings,
“I remember you and me as we were that summer on the beach at Gullane”
on what turns out to be a fine love song with Kim Richey adding fine harmonies. Kids (79) again mines his memories, a school picture leading to recollections of old school friends and their chequered stories. With a degree of resignation and sadness the song gradually gives way to anger with guitar bursting in as Owens recites,
“Jimmy died at 20, Andy’s a drunk. Stevie’s still a good friend, Davy’s on the junk.”

There’s a cosy warmth to the soft acoustic rock of Virginia Street and Up On the Hill vibrates with shimmering guitars that slide and swarm around the vocals. A more subdued feel attends the organ draped It Could Be Worse which has a crumpled melancholic tenderness to it while Owens’ elegy for the late Michael Marra, Sally’s Song (I Dreamed Of Michael Marra) successfully marries Marra’s wearied delivery with more of Owen’s reflections on his own past as he again remembers past friends and times in a recently demolished housing estate. The melody and arrangement along with the lyrics are a fitting tribute to Marra and the closing words are obviously from the heart.

Owens hits a peak towards the close of the album with the guitar undulations that reverb gently through The Only One adding a fifties dreamlike quality to the song. Written for a friend whose partner had a terminal illness the song is masterful and evocative. There’s sadness sewn into the melody while the words convey the loss and sense of emptiness thereafter. Finally, there’s a bonus track tacked onto the end of the album, a reprise of a song from Owens first album, I’m Pretending I Don’t Love You. It’s a wonderfully woozy honky tonk waltz in the George and Tammy tradition and features Suzy Bogguss duetting with Owens and some insouciant whistling.

Owens will be appearing at the Southern Fried Festival in Perth next week and is also performing his show, Cash Back, Songs From Johnny Cash at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. Dates here

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Daniel Romano. If I’ve Only One Time Askin’. New West Records

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It’s been a great year for new fashioned old fashioned country with Cale Tyson and Andrew Combs both releasing some spectacular sounds. Hot on their heels comes Ontario’s Daniel Romano with the glorious sweep of If I’ve Only One Time Askin’, a record stuffed full of romanticism, sorrow and grit and laden with weeping pedal steel and lachrymose strings. Romano’s been called a countrypolitan revivalist and while there are moments here when the strings well up there’s no saccharine involved, just a yearning and at times empty heart. He calls it Mosey music saying, “Mosey music is a study in contrasts. There’s glitz and grit, revelling and wallowing, wretchedness and showmanship. Mosey music’s pioneers wore their battered hearts on sequined sleeves.”

Supported by a fine cast of musicians (Kay Berkel on trumpet, accordion, and vocals, brother Ian Romano providing some drums parts, fiddler Natalie Walker, pianist Micah Hulscher, and pedal steel virtuoso Aaron Goldstein) Romano sings with an earnest baritone, never sobbing but emotionally in touch with the elements of a song allowing him to tug at the heartstrings when required. This is most evident on the cover of There’s A Hardship (rescued from a George Jones album), the wrenching Learning To Do Without Me and the immaculate Nashville waltz of The One That Got Away (Came Back Today). While most of the songs are of the broken heart variety Romano weaves some magic within and between the song selections. The opening strings of the opening song I’m Gonna Teach You are almost Mantovani in their lushness and strings reappear at the end linking into the next song, a trick repeated throughout the album although on each occasion they are somewhat off kilter. Meanwhile the sheer musical beauty of I’m Going To Teach you cloaks a heavy vindictiveness contained in the lyrics which is alarming in its intensity and lyrically Romano throws up some heavy hits elsewhere. On Old Fire Die, a savage dissection of a broken relationship swathed in swooning pedal steel and wistful accordion he has his erstwhile lovers say “ What do you get from loving me, why is our marriage in danger?…I get more happiness from a bottle and get more love from a stranger.” Simply devastating.

There’s some curdled country rock on the duet with Caitlin Rose that is Strange Faces and the title song recalls John Hartford with its ringing clarity and rippling guitars but Romano throws another ball out of left field on the rollicking tale of Two Word Joe. Joe’s a man reduced to two word sentences when his mind gave up after two failed relationships and his tale is delivered with a sardonic glee reminiscent of the late Shel Silverstein backed by Doctor Hook. Closing the album with the unabashed funereal sentiment of Let Me Sleep (At The End Of A Dream), delivered with a gorgeous pedal steel turn, Romano still has a cynical moment as he sees the rapture as, “when the horn blows and God turns away” A magnificent end to a magnificent album.

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Here’s a short film recorded on Daniel Romano’s UK tour a year back. See if you can spot Blabber’n’Smoke pal Martyn Bonanza.