This month…

P24 SBT

P26 ROGER ENO

P28 RODNEY CROWELL

P29 NEIL GAIMAN

P30 TINARIWEN

P33 JIM GHEDI & TOBY HAY

P34 CRAVEN FAULTS

P36 SPARKS

ALL HANDS_MAKE LIGHT

Darling The Dawn CONSTELLATION

7/10

Montreal experi-rock linchpins craft otherworldly soundscapes

Efrim Menuck and Ariel Engle started playing together in the 2021 lockdowns with no particular idea in mind, but quickly settled their focus on “the different weights of [dawn’s] radiance”. This debut from the helm of both GY!BE and Thee Silver Mt Zion… and the Broken Social Scene mainstay, respectively, is itself luminous – seven soundscapes that shift across drone, ancestral chant, shoegaze and a forlorn take on sacred music, lent extra otherworldly heft by Engle’s beauteous vocals. Most striking are “Anchor”, which recalls the Bad Seeds’ Ghosteen, and “We Live On A Fucking Planet And Baby That’s The Sun”, a kaleidoscopic, cosmically frazzled union of Patti Smith and Spiritualized.

SHARON O’CONNELL

BC CAMPLIGHT

The Last Rotation Of Earth BELLA UNION

9/10

Masterful return of Manchester’s favourite American ex-pat

Life rarely runs smooth for Brian Christinzio. Deportation, family bereavements and self-destructive tendencies have all informed his work as BC Camplight, though the results are invariably wondrous and blackly comic. The break-up of a long-term relationship feeds directly into The Last Rotation Of Earth, the lush title track framing his end-ofdays worldview like a latter-day Harry Nilsson transposed onto the industrial north. Playful wordplay and minor-chord ingenuity abound, from the self-reflexive “The Movie” (pining over holiday photos, dressed in a Kermit The Frog onesie) to droll semi-symphony “She’s Gone Cold”, featuring members of Liverpool Philharmonic.

ROB HUGHES

Sarabeth Tucek aka SBT

PAULABULLWINKEL

SBT

Joan Of All OCEAN OMEN

9/10

New Yorker returns with an extraordianary, diverse double. By Tom Pinnock

NEARthe end of the first track on Sarabeth Tucek’s new album, the songwriter poses a question. “Should I just say fuck it to everything,” she asks, after “Joan Says/Amber Shade” has blossomed from ghostly folk to Paisley Underground glimmer, “and just walk away?” For a while, it seemed that Tucek had done exactly that. After her 2007 self-titled debut and 2011’s Get Well Soon, both duly acclaimed, there were 12 years of silence. Yet now comes Joan Of All, her third album and first under the new moniker SBT. Written in LA over the last few plague years, it’s a double record that flies off in all directions yet somehow remains cohesive through its very diversity. You might, if you were so inclined, describe it as ‘a journey’, much like similar voluminous grab-bags Wowee Zowee, Physical Graffiti, Sandinista!, any Yo La Tengo record and, of course, the ‘White Album’, all of which weave a spell far greater than the sum of their parts.

When Tucek started writing songs in her early thirties, a late starter after attempting to make it as an actor, she seemed to have a clear vision: a bit of Velvets and a smidgen of Dylan, topped off with the steady, slow gravitas of Cowboy Junkies. Her rich, languid voice – special however it’s showcased – bound these well-worn influences together in impressive fashion on her debut, especially on the opening “Something For You”, shot through with the magic of a ’60s classic. Get Well Soon was similar, with a touch more Neil Young on the “Down By The River” groove of “Wooden”.

Some of Joan Of All could have fit on her earlier work: the Reed-y talking blues of “13th Street #1”, a snapshot of Tucek’s bohemian upbringing in lower Manhattan; the slo-mo psych of “Happiness”; the folk-rock drone of “The Box”. Yet things have changed. “Work” begins with echoing, droning ambience, Tucek sleepily intoning “What can I do with the sun and the moon?”, before it switches to a stately, very Beatlesesque ballad complete with massed vocal harmonies, piano, Mellotron and spiralling lead guitar. “Make Up Your Mind” is a whimsical folk waltz led by Tucek’s acoustic guitar, echoed marimba and electric harpsichord, while first single “The Gift” begins as major-key folk pop, but transitions into a dark, gothic groove à la The Cure’s Pornography. It ends with a stellar guitar solo from producer Luther Russell, who handles the majority of instrumental duties on Joan Of All.

There are moments of great quiet – “Cathy Says” begins with just a sparse electric guitar accompanying Tucek, but such is the preternatural tone of her voice, it never sounds minimal – while at other times, the album bursts into lush, multi-tracked life. Elsewhere there are experimental textures, such as the field recordings that subtly colour the intros and outros, or the growling wild animal that appears later in “Cathy Says”. The mood darkens considerably in the album’s final third: the songs extend and there’s an eeriness akin to Big Star’s Sister Lovers. The dramatic “The Tunnel” and the softer “Unmade/The Dog”, like a tranquilised Calexico, Tucek falling asleep with her dog “at my feet/Breathing deep”, together total almost 15 minutes.

There’s a lot to unpick, but at the heart of Joan Of All, Tucek is looking at her life, taking stock as she gets older; it’s no coincidence that her original title for the album was ‘The Middle Ages’. The Joan of the final title is her mother, while her father is a central figure in “13th Street #1”. As is often the case when we look back, these songs are shot through with the grief that comes with reminiscing: “Joan Says” begins with a picture Tucek’s mother gave to her – “I wish you could have always stayed” – while “The Living Room” finds the narrator examining the sum of her time on Earth: “I dim the lights on parts of the truth… stare into the black ’til something answers back”.

Despite these dusky, confessional themes, Joan Of All rarely feels ordinary: there’s poise here, an obliqueness to Tucek’s writing and persona that perhaps stems from her experience in acting. As a whole, this is a work of strength and variety, given even greater depth through the sheer number of years it’s been gestating in Tucek’s head. Time well spent, for its creator and the rest of us.

THOMAS BANGALTER

Mythologies WARNERCLASSICS/ERATO

8/10

A different kind of dance music for Daft Punk man

This ballet score was Bangalter’s first post-Daft Punk act. His full orchestral debut places him in a broader lineage, referencing baroque music but with an essentially romantic sensibility. The mythological themes are sometimes oblique: “Zeus” gets minimalist, looping woodwind of withheld power, “Le Minotaure” a plaintive violin solo. “Arès”’ buzzing, vertiginously diving strings and lurching drumrolls, the storm-cloud darkness, layered tension and final, shivering mystery of “L’Accouchement”, rampant, smashing orchestral power of “Les Gorgones” and gracious bliss of “Pas De Deux” show diverse finesse, as Bangalter visits his subjects’ airy, epic other worlds. As with Daft Punk’s sleek 1970s upgrades, his accomplished 1780s meditations go past pastiche.

NICK HASTED

ANDY BELL & MASAL Tidal Love Numbers

SONIC CATHEDRAL

8/10

Ride man unveils spellbinding collaboration

Bonding over Floating Points and Pharoah Sanders’ Promises, Essexbased duo Masal and the increasingly prolific Andy Bell have pooled their talents for this transfixing journey into ambient sound. The four instrumentals are governed by the hypnotic interplay between Bell’s guitar, Alastair Johnson’s analogue synths and Ozlem Simsek’s classical harp, while the real wonder lies in the unexpected fluctuations in timbre and mood. “Tidal Love Conversations In That Familiar Golden Orchard” ventures from rippling lullaby to heliocentric jazz; “The Slight Unease Of Seeing A Crescent Moon In Blue Midday Sky” trades swooping electronica for discordant, semiindustrial drones.

ROB HUGHES

THE BLUEBELLS

In The 21st Century LAST NIGHT IN GLASGOW

9/10

Joyous return for post-Postcard hitmakers

One of the great 1980s Scottish bands, Glasgow’s Bluebells narrowly escaped cult status on Postcard Records and had hits instead. Occasional Rewind reunions have prompted a full reboot, blending soulful reflection and punk energy in a way that re-establishes them as a creative force. The opening “The Ballad Of The Bells” is the autobiographical tale of a band caught between The Velvet Underground and the Govan subway. Elsewhere, they flit between folky soulfulness (“Living Out Loud”), the Robert Forster-ish intimacy of “Daddy Was An Engineer” and the unapologetic punk of “Anyone Could Be A Buzzcock”.

ALASTAIR McKAY

BOYGENIUS

The Record POLYDOR/INTERSCOPE

9/10

The 21st-century CSN make good on the promise of 2018 EP

“Without You Without Them”, the heartrending a cappella opener on the long-awaited album from the indie supergroup comprising Julien Baker, Phoebe Bridgers and Lucy Dacus, has the feel of some beloved family home recording, demonstrating the uncanny close harmonies of siblings who’ve grown up braiding their voices. As such it’s a great illustration of how the trio are even more than the sum of their considerable parts. On highlights like “Not Strong Enough” (which tips its hat to The Cure at their most poppy: “Drag racing through the canyon/Singing ‘Boys Don’t Cry’”) it feels like Dacus’s metaphysical grace, Baker’s bittersweet bite and Bridgers’ mordant wit have hit some perfect equilibrium, like a perfect three-way high-five.

STEPHEN TROUSSÉ

PETER CASE

Doctor Moan SUNSETBLVD

8/10

Bluesy and folksy; first set of originals since 2015’s HWY 62

For this 11-song release, Plimsouls composition master Peter Case returns to the pre-punk/prepower-pop basics, explaining what life’s missing in “That Gang Of Mine”, and taking quiet acoustic blues into the spotlight. In some ways, Doctor Moan – a piano concerto, with harmonica – goes deep into pre-electric Southern blues or delves into the historic, pre-Dylan Village folk scene. In one case, “4D”, no words are needed at all; in others, especially highlights “The Flying Crow” and “Wandering Days”, Case takes deep emotional tolls into the human states of life.

LUKE TORN

CATT

Change LISTEN

8/10