By GRAHAM REID
Ironic isn't it? The more the music industry create niches (nu-lounge ambient anyone?) and record stores make bins to accommodate them, the less the musicians seem to fit in them.
For example, in which bin would you put Van Morrison these days: soul, old school r'n'b, rock, spiritual? The correct answer, of course, if you've endured most of his recent albums, is the rubbish bin. But you get my point.
A label like "singer-songwriter" stretches from that alt.country stuff through folkies, old blues singers, Elvis Costello and former rock band frontpeople like Paul Westerberg of the Replacements. Isn't Beck a singer-songwriter? Isn't Mark Linkous of Sparklehorse? Wasn't Tupac?
So here are some people who write songs and sing them: you figure out which bin they should go in.
Tom Russell lives in Tex-Mex territory and his twangy, distinctive baritone neatly straddles the emotional and geographic divide. He's a terrific storyteller ( find his decade-old Hurricane Season for stories about boxer Jack Johnson, the death of Bill Haley and Edith Piaf) and his work has a cinematic quality. So it's no surprise he opens his excellent new Borderland (Rightone/Elite) with a track entitled Touch of Evil which references the Orson Welles film of the same name.
Produced by Gurf Morlix (formerly Lucinda Williams' guitarist), these are songs of the frigidity between former lovers, tequila reminiscing, loss of self, freight trains at midnight and the metaphor of California snow. And Hills of Old Juarez sounds a sitter for the next Johnny Cash album in his American Records series.
Nail-hard images and specific places and titles abound -When Sinatra Played Juarez is one the most enticing in a while. With accordion colour, former Faces/Billy Bragg pianist Ian McLagan on Hammond organ, and Jimmy LaFave on backing vocals, this is a typically moody winner from a man for whom the glass is permanently half-empty. (Herald rating: * * * * )
Dale Watson has a tragic story to tell. His Every Song I Write is For You (Shock) is a real swerve from his truckstop-jukebox, honky-tonk country-rock. This time last year his fiance, Teri Herbert, fell asleep at the steering wheel and died. Three months later Watson mixed alcohol and pills, but was discovered by his road manager. He was committed for therapy. This new album isn't as grim as its circumstances suggest but rather touches that deep well of sentiment at the heart of classic country music.
They are also eloquently simple and lyrically refined songs, as if in peeling back the emotions he's also stripped out unnecessary, overtly and self-consciously poetic words. There are also comfortable love songs (the slide guitar warmth on You're the Best Part of Me, the soft-shoe ballad One More For Her) and midnight ruminations ("I'd deal with Devil to get her back"). Someone smart should crack on the timeless ballad I See Your Face.
Dark brown vocals not unlike early Waylon, the serious subject of the pleasure of love and the pain of its loss, and an aching honesty that is increasingly rare, especially in contemporary country.
(Herald rating: * * * )
Chris Thompson isn't someone we hear too much from these days, but he was one of the finest folk singer-guitarists to come out of New Zealand in the 70s. The evidence is on Chris Thompson (Scenescof) a reissue of his 73 album, with extra tracks, recorded at various locations in London, Ireland and Europe.
The original album all but vanished but now gets a much-deserved second chance. It slides easily back into the context of its period: slightly psychedelic in the manner of Donovan's beyond-folk explorations; a touch of Indo-folk (a la the guitar ragas of Davy Graham); and superb, dextrous and inventive acoustic playing which brings to mind Bert Jansch and John Martyn, both of whom Thompson knew as equals and contemporaries as he worked the British and Irish folk circuit. Those who fondly recall Thompson's 77 Minstrelsy or saw him play in the late-70s should acquaint themselves with these excellent recordings. (Herald rating: * * * * )
Julie Allen from Tauranga writes and sings her own ballads on Out of the Shadows (Boatshed) with help from the band Kokomo and guests. She has a breathy, unaffecting, emotionally flat and samey vocal style, writes cloying, clumsy lyrics, and can be drearily earnest. This is Julie's first album, but having waded in these shallow, sticky waters I'm happy to decline hearing another. (Herald rating: * )
Yes, that singer-songwriter category is a diverse one - but also the dump bin for some anxious, undeveloped and pretentious nonsense.
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