Steve Grozier. All that’s Been Lost.

It’s been a long time coming, but Steve Grozier’s debut album has been well worth the wait. Blabber’n’Smoke first encountered Glaswegian Grozier way back in 2016 when he released his first EP, Take My Leave. Another EP and a double A-side single followed but, like many other things, the album was delayed by the pandemic.

Grozier has always been low key (in the best way). His songs and vocals are understated. Melodies are there but are pared to the bone at times, somewhat in the manner of the likes of Townes Van Zandt. A fine example is heard on Memories which features an acoustic guitar strum and plaintive vocals along with some very tasty Dobro and acoustic slide guitar curlicues. Simple and quite wonderful. In an interview with Blabber’n’Smoke, Grozier said that he’d “always been drawn to songwriters that have something interesting to say about heartbreak and the darker aspects of life and death” and when Take My Leave was released, comparisons to Townes and also to Jason Isbell were uttered in reviews. While comparisons are often useful, Grozier doesn’t of course sound like either of them, but just to muddy the waters, we’d like to add another songwriter to the mix as there are moments here which bring to mind Neil Young wallowing in his ditch, while several others are quite mired in an early seventies LA canyon smog.

The album opens with a gentle country rock number which could well have nestled within the grooves of Young’s Comes A Time. Twenty-Third Street is awash in sweet pedal steel with slight organ swells and tasty Telecaster curls as Grozier strolls along, his voice slightly hushed. Blue And Gold is one of the more polished songs on the album with Gozier’s voice slightly echoed over a glistening backdrop. Organ and piano add a stately air to this dense tale which, truth be told, is hard to make out lyrically but which has a slow burning beauty to it. There’s more multilayered grooves on the billowing folk rock of Power In The Lights which opens with a simple guitar melody and Grozier’s lonesome voice before gathering power with waves of wailing guitar, culminating in a glorious crescendo of noise. Meanwhile, Sam, I Know You Tried comes across as a folk song given a psychedelic edge to it, the apocalyptic fuzzy guitar and gloomy organ reminding one of Crosby, Stills & Nash’s rendition of Wooden Ships. Charlie’s Old Mustang/Graveyard is a sweet return to the country rock of the opening number although here Grozier’s touchpoint is more that of the alt-country movement, there’s some Jayhawks, some Whiskytown in the mix here. The song is a wonderful hardscrabble tale and the band here are quite magnificent, playing with a great deal of empathy. As mentioned above, Memories is quite astounding, and Grozier revisits its spare sound on When The Darkness Comes which benefits from Tim Davidson’s lonesome pedal steel along with some mournful harmonica from Anton O’Donnell.

A few years back, Grozier paid tribute to the late Jason Molina on his song, Jason Molina Blues. He concludes his album with another valedictory tribute, this time dedicated to Neal Casal. I Miss My Friend is another restrained country number with lap steel, slowly picked guitar and mandolin. It’s an incredibly moving tribute, beautifully performed and, all in all, something of a balm for the soul as Grozier acknowledges the darkness which drove Casal to his sad end on a wonderfully written song.

We would be remiss not to acknowledge the album’s producer, Roscoe Wilson, one of Glasgow’s most talented musicians who, along with producing, contributes guitars, bass guitar, lap steel, mandolin, keys/organ and drum programming and co wrote much of the music with Mr. Grozier. The pandemic meant that much of the album was recorded in Wilson’s home studio with the musicians unable to record together. Together, the pair have triumphed over such adversity and the album stands tall as a singular and most arresting listen. If there’s such a thing as “Glasgow Americana,” here’s the motherlode.

The album is available here as a download while there will also be a very limited vinyl edition which you can pre-order.

Anton & The Colts. No End of the Line

a1682629513_10After about four years of relentless gigging the length and breadth of Scotland, Anton & The Colts finally unleash their debut album and a fine beast it turns out to be. The band, based around front man and chief writer Anton O’Donnell and the mercurial would be glimmer twin, Roscoe Wilson (with a fine rhythm section in John Dunlop on bass and Dillon Haldane, drums), are one of those who sound more American than many American bands do. However there’s a boastful swagger to their gait which owes more than a little to the raunch of the Stones and the jollity of The Faces, in particular,  Ronnie Lane’s contributions to the band such as on Ooh La La.

The album kicks off in spectacular fashion with the turbulent rocker Alright. An almighty crash of acoustic guitar flourishes opening the song before Wilson weighs in with some snarly electric licks and O’Donnell comes across as if he were Ryan Adams fronting the Stones with Anne Dunlop adding an almost gospel touch on her backing vocals. It’s a ferocious opener but somewhat misleading as on the remainder of the album the band settle for a less frenetic sound. Nevertheless, the following Blues to Bed is a grand sing-along country stomp replete with harmonies, fiddle and banjo – good old-fashioned country honk as the Stones once said.

Alright, despite its raunchy delivery is actually quite a desperate song with O’Donnell singing about drinking his weight in wine just to drown out a girl’s name and much of the album is informed by losers in love. Under My Skin & The Thorn In My Side  is a bittersweet waltz time song with tearful fiddle from Pedro Cameron while The Summer That Could Never Be Undone  recalls halcyon days and is delivered with a hazy Byrds’ like folk rock lilt. That jangly sixties sound is recalled again on From My Fear  which shifts from The Byrds to The Beatles with O’Donnell’s melodies and lyrics reminiscent here of McCartney circa ’66. They then delve further back on Rock ’n’ A Hard Place  with Roscoe’s guitar sounding as if it were captured in Sun Studios while O’Donnell snarls away.

There are three songs here which really elevate the album. Gypsy Heart  has churning electric guitars from the get go which pulsate throughout the song as O’Donnell reflects on past glories and then adds some excellent harmonica to the corkscrewing guitar solo. My Favourite Song  allows O’Donnell’s voice a chance to shine as he sings of the communion between a fan and an artist at a gig. With piano from Scott Keenan added to the mix the song sounds as if it was plucked from the heyday of singer songwriters back in the seventies as it gently flows from the speakers. Finally, Weekend Millionaire,  the album closer, is an excellent song which again is not too far removed from The Faces’ template, a wonderfully laid back acoustic bedrock, harmonica and supple guitar supporting the wearied and anguished vocals from O’Donnell as he sings about the dreariness of 9-5 working and vainglorious weekends.

For a debut album this is quite self-assured, the songs have been road tested and are captured here perfectly. They may summon up a lot of ghosts but O’Donnell writes and sings well and he has a perfect foil in his partner Wilson. Together they carry their roots/rock/Americana flag high.

Website