Fond farewell
Prog rock veteran Fish’s final album matches introverted lyrics and extroverted arrangements
Ultra Mono is Idles’ third cathartic dispatch of brute, blunt force, with Joe Talbot channelling the rage of hip- hop
POP
Fish: Weltschmerz Chocolate Frog Records
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Idles: Ultra Mono
Partisan Records
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Diana Jones: Song to a Refugee
Proper Records
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The Son( s): The Creatures We Were Before We Are Ghosts
Olive Grove Records
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Prog rock veteran Fish didn’t need a pandemic to re- evaluate his life. He had already decided that Weltschmerz was going to be his final studio album. He had the title – a German expression of worldweariness – before he had the music, and the subject matter of several tracks appears to confirm a dejected perspective.
But there is also a great deal of warmth in this collection, as well as a contrasting desire to go out with a flourish. Weltschmerz is an epic double album of sprawling symphonic prog, embellished by the exquisite strings of the Scottish Chamber Orchestra and the meticulous polish supplied by Blue Nile producer Calum Malcolm.
Fish has given himself a long leash with these personal songs. The combination of introverted lyrics and extroverted arrangements works, particularly on the likes of
This Party’s Over, a philosophical examination of his relationship with alcohol garnished with folk whistles and multi- tracked acoustic guitar, evoking the blithe spirit of Peter Gabriel’s Solsbury Hill.
The death of his father has prompted a number of songs looking at mortality. The piano ballad Garden
of Remembrance concerns a couple dealing with dementia, while C Song ( The Trondheim Waltz) is light on its feet, heavy on its subject matter, and the rock operatic Waverley Steps ( End of the Line) features a suicidal protagonist.
Weltschmerz is a labour of love which doesn’t sound that laboured. Job done, Fish can now lie down in a darkened room for a bit.
Bristol’s Idles continue to lead the politicised punk charge, proving you can scare the horses without scaring away an audience. Following the Ivor Novello Award- winning Joy as an Act of Resistance, Ultra Mono is their third cathartic dispatch of brute, blunt force, with vein- popping frontman Joe Talbot channelling the rage of hip- hop across 12 tracks, from the helter skelter sprint of War to the garage punk protest of Grounds.
Model Village rails against smalltown mentality, with a Lokilike mischief to Talbot’s disdain for the “model wife, model car, model village.” Here he makes sardonic reference to Lynn Anderson’s Rose Garden, while the turbo- charged Danke turns lyrics from Daniel Johnston’s True Love Will Find You In The End into a bleak proposition.
Ultra Mono is delivered in a state of near- constant apoplexy which invites listeners to roll up their sleeves and get stuck in.
There is a much quieter anger running through the latest album by US folk singer/ songwriter Diana Jones, a voice from another time singing about tribulations which have never aged. The first and third person accounts of migrant experiences on Song to a Refugee conjure up images of the dustbowl migration to California, and the US/ Mexican border looms large. But Jones also sings of Sudanese and Syrian experiences, of crossing the Mediterranean, and of settled immigrants helplessly watching the devastation in the countries they left many years before, to create a tender testimonial.
She musters a campfire posse of Peggy Seeger, Steve Earle and Richard Thompson who take a verse each on We Believe You, inspired by Alexandria Ocasio- Cortez’s words of affirmation, and who can argue against the simple sagacity of the title track: “none of us know where our footsteps will fall.”
Elusive Edinburgh combo The Son( s) recorded their third album The Creatures We Were Before We Are Ghosts in March in an empty Leith Theatre, all the better to capture their spacious, stately sound.
Lord, I Am Grateful is a suitably devotional opening, which opens out into a torrid chorale. A Prick in Gold Lamé is more of a bare blues lament overlaid with lonesome analogue synthesizer and resonating fuzz guitar. Bruised vocals are often complemented by beseeching harmonies, and there is immaculate melancholy throughout.