Tonight, Matthew
Singer-songwriter shows his roots with idiosyncratic homage to Dave Matthews. By Victoria Segal.
Ryley Walker ★★★ The Lillywhite Sessions DEAD OCEANS CD/DL/LP
SPEAKING TO MOJO in April, just before the release of his fourth album, Deafman Glance, Ryley Walker offered a sombre assessment of his ability to find the balance between art and happiness. “I’m finding my voice,” he said, “but the more I find my voice, the more I hate myself.” One way to shut down the incessant clatter of your own thoughts is to borrow somebody else’s: that desire to find a little space, some clear blue water, could provide at least a partial explanation for this curious chaser to Deafman Glance. In an act of wholesale appropriation, the Chicago-based Walker has covered Dave Matthews Band’s ‘lost’ album The Lillywhite Sessions. Songs recorded with producer Steve Lillywhite between 1999 and 2000 as the sequel to the megalithically popular US jam band’s 1998 album Before These Crowded Streets, this music was rejected by the record company for being unnecessarily dark. In 2001, the material was leaked via Napster, becoming a favourite with DMB’s bootleg-happy fans and eventually forming the basis of 2002 album Busted Stuff. Some things just don’t travel well, and like Kiss, Dave Matthews Band are one of those acts that have historically made sense in American suburbs but who become lost in translation. Walker, though, was well placed to hear them loud and clear. For him, they were not just a healthier, cargo-shorted Grateful Dead, they were the music older kids listened to at parties, the exciting sound of growing up. This isn’t ironic or whimsical: it’s immediately clear it comes from affection, the desire to showcase the potential of something he loves. Yet it’s also apparent this record might not be such a holiday from himself after all. While he is respectful of these muscular, sincere songs – only the jazzy hoedown of Monkey Man is mangled into a fretful sound collage – Walker has run them through his own musical checks and balances. He roughs up smooth edges and teases out complexities: he finds common ground with Jim O’Rourke or Tortoise on Busted Stuff, or Grace Is Gone, and unravels Bartender to its sad heart’s content. He pinpoints the darkness that freaked out the record company, amplifying the shivery static running through Captain (“Look, I’m buried/Like a cancer eating away inside of me”), magnifying Grey Street’s bruised blues, slicing away earnest brawn to find something frailer. It is not Deafman Glance, but the light bouncing between Walker and his source material is flattering to both parties, Matthews reclaimed as American folk hero, Walker’s interpretative skills at large. Both homecoming and homage, The Lillywhite Sessions doesn’t just open another window into Walker’s mind, it points out a door to a place beyond. Not everyone will want to go too far through it, but it’s an alluring gateway.