Music

No Peace for the Wicked – James McKean

Ross Palmer on the album we’ve just released…

songs from so deep

I’m looking at a stack of copies of James McKean’s new album, No Peace for the Wicked. I’ve got a dozen or so of them, shrink-wrapped, piled on my desk. This is a proud day.

If you’re a regular reader of this blog (and if you are, is this really what you wanted to be doing with your life?), you might have heard me mention James and this record before, most recently when he released the single I Long to Make Your Dreams Come True about a month ago.

James and I met at university, in 2000, in the kitchen (or maybe the corridor) of Goldsmid House. Now demolished to make way for a shiny new glass building on the corners of Oxford Street and North Audley Street*, opposite the big M&S on the corner, Goldsmid House was a concrete student hall owned by University College London, where James…

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Music

Björk – Vespertine

I was speaking with a friend the other day, when conversation turned to Björk Guðmundsdóttir. In fact I steered the conversation that way, having previously seen said friend mention her in a Facebook post. From my point of view I’m always keen to chat music; in fact I rarely chat anything else. My friend was visibly delighted to discover that I was also a fan. She explained that she doesn’t know many Björk fans. Which got me to thinking that I don’t either. Considering that I have a great many friends who are musicians and / or keen music fans, this seems rather surprising. Even taking into account her reputation as an oddball, there is no escaping the fact that she is a fantastic writer of accessible and moving left-field pop songs.  

Vespertine, released in 2001, is my favourite of Björk’s records. It was her fifth solo studio album, although I tend to think of it as her fourth; assuming, as I do, that her eponymous debut album – recorded when she was eleven years old – can probably be disregarded. (If I’m making a terrible mistake in thinking this, please do let me know in the comments section! But it does seem to me telling that she named her first solo album as an adult ‘Debut’).

In the artist’s own words Vespertine ‘sounds like a winter record’, but she pulls off the difficult trick of sounding simultaneously glacial and warm. Similarly it’s album both intimate and grand. Electronic glitches and throbbing bass combine with harps, choirs, and strings. The arrangements are consistently fantastic. The tracks themselves veer between more electronic soundscapes (Cocoon, Undo, Sun In My Mouth) and brilliant pop songs (Pagan Poetry, It’s Not Up To You, Hidden Place). It would be difficult to choose a standout track; one could make a convincing argument for half of the album. But today I’ll go with the touching closer Unison, where the singer finds herself emotionally ready to commit fully to the compromise of relationship for the first time.

I’ve often wondered how big a Tim Buckley fan Björk is. Not that they sound remotely alike, but his vocal explorations and musical restlessness seem to me a likely influence on her. A quick internet search just now proved inconclusive, although I notice I’m not the first to suggest it…

Anyhow, I digress. To my mind Vespertine is one of the finest albums of its time.

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Music

Tim Hardin

James Timothy Hardin died of a heroin overdose in late December 1980, three weeks after John Lennon was shot. He was 39 years old. A fine singer, songwriter and acoustic guitarist; his greatest work was released on the Verve label, best known for their jazz records. Despite his considerable talent – and his early death – his reputation and cult hasn’t ever reached the levels of, say, the Buckleys, or Nick Drake. Perhaps he wasn’t pretty enough. But his songs – Reason To Believe, If I Were A Carpenter, Black Sheep Boy, How Can We Hang On To A Dream, Red Balloon, The Lady Came From Baltimore – are much more famous than he; largely because his music has always been popular with musicians. He has been covered by, to name just a few, Scott Walker, Johnny Cash, The Four Tops, Nico, The Small Faces, Neil Young, Bobby Darin, Echo and the Bunnymen, The Carpenters, Rod Stewart, Astrud Gilberto, Robert Plant, Cher, Paul Weller, Okkervil River, Leonard Nimoy, and um… Cilla Black.

Hardin’s reputation seems to rest almost entirely on his first two albums, helpfully titled 1 and 2, and released in 1966 and 1967 respectively. There isn’t much to choose between the two. The first is blues-ier in places, and closer in spirit to Fred Neil; with whom he played, and took heroin, in Greenwich Village. Tim Hardin 2 seems to be the consensus ‘best’ Hardin album, and might just be slightly more consistent, although Don Rubin – who co-produced it – said: “Frankly, I think Tim Hardin 1 is better”. In any case if you look around you’ll be able to find both albums collected on one CD.

More readily available is the excellent compilation An Introduction To Tim Hardin, with which I first acquainted myself with his music way back when I was ‘studying’ at University College London in the early Noughties. If memory serves – and it so rarely does – I liked his music instantly; some of it an awful lot. But it didn’t hit me quite as hard emotionally as other similar artists (Drake, Buckley, Neil).

With hindsight I suspect this is because Hardin’s songs have an uncommon lightness of touch and economy about them (notwithstanding the overdubbed strings and what-not that adorn some of the tunes, apparently much to his displeasure). Of the ten songs which make up Tim Hardin 2, only two pass the 3 minute mark. Five don’t even make 2 minutes! Unfortunately the backing musicians went uncredited, as there are plenty of fine contributions; the percussion work in particular is often wonderfully inventive. One supposes that much of the credit goes to Don ‘Knight Rider’ Peake, who arranged the record, and boasts a more than impressive CV.

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