Due to a technical hitch this album has been sitting in an ‘in-tray’ somewhere in middle England for some considerable time. You just can’t get reliable reviewers these days you see. Anyhow this particular reviewer has scrounged fifty pence for the review-o-meter and something approaching normal service has been resumed.
By normal, we mean that the requisite amount of cheap cider and sufficient baccy have been sourced to put us in a positive enough frame of mind to do justice to this record in the form of a few carefully chosen words. Actually we can’t think why we didn’t get round to it before since it’s a rather lovely offering…proper homespun Americana in that peculiar way that only we Brits can do.
It offers a melange of styles and influences like folky phrasings, down-home-USA steely/twangy guitars, plenty of fiddling, the odd melodica fill and vocal performances that arrest you just when you thought it was safe to pigeon hole them as “…like a young George Harrison…” (check out “Middling Ground” in this respect). Its all generally upbeat, catchy as hell and pretty much guaranteed to lift whatever mood you happen to be in. It has that much sought after but often mislaid “bright’ feeling – you know how it is…its been raining but now the sun is out, you’re skint but your mate has just invited you to the pub on his dollar because he found a twenty spot in an unused jacket pocket, the local curry house has dropped you in a couple of extra naan breads because they value your custom, the kids have offered to do all the hovering, ironing and washing up all over the weekend because you are such a great parent. Actually that last one is never going to happen but then again who’d have thought we’d have found that lost Holy Grail of an English Jayhawks that we’d been looking for all these years. Top tip to self: look at the bottom of your in-tray, you numpty.