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Inti Rowland - Eyes of a Starling

Inti Rowland (facebook/bandcamp) caught my attention during an afternoon spent exploring Soundcloud a couple of months ago. A few clicks took me to his website, where I found a video of him singing his song ‘Eyes of a Starling’, unaccompanied, perched on the edge of a bath, sounding haunting and magnificent. It is that song which gives its name to, and opens Inti’s excellent new 6 track Ep, a delightful, folk-inflected record which stands out from the glut of twinkly, indistinct, acoustic music that seems, albeit gently, to assail one these days.

Inti’s voice has a kind of choir-boy purity to it, yet isn’t lacking in emotional texture, his guitar-playing is bright and subtle, and his song writing is sophisticated, particularly in terms of structure: the timing is beautifully measured, and there are plenty of well-judged pauses and spaces. For all but two of the songs he is joined by cellist Sam Rowe and violinist Megan Jenkins, both of whose thoughtful playing greatly enriches the record. They sing on it, too.

A new, fuller version of ‘Eyes of a Starling’, starts proceedings. Beautiful though it was in aforementioned, unadorned, “bath” form, the song is deepened by its treatment here. It bursts forth after a minute of rustling, somnolent instrumental music which seems to describe the forest setting in which the record was made (somewhere next to a mountain in Wales), and is all crescendos and peaks, interspersed with gentler moments that let Inti’s voice to shine through. Those more heavily orchestrated passages never sound congested, and the melodies and harmonies of the strings are unusual and don’t simply follow the main theme (this is true of the whole record, in fact). Megan’s occasional singing provides a neat counterpoint to Inti’s spare vocal style.

Megan sings with Inti throughout the second song, ‘Merchant Men at the Windows’, a simple, plaintive duet. It is, save the final, hidden song, the barest track on the Ep, sweetened by warm vocals that disguise the tenor of what’s being told. The following three tracks are more elaborate. ‘A Purse of Copper Coins’, passes through various transformations: its melancholy opening theme, wrought over by a weaving violin part, clears to reveal Inti singing alone with his liltingly-strummed guitar; the strings rejoin him and everything builds up for a cavernous-sounding middle that is, dare I say it, epic… it works though, and soon enough the song resolves, quietly winding down with just the man and his guitar.

‘Cotton Dandelion Dress’ conjures a wonderful atmosphere, seemingly awash with autumnal evening light. This feeling is reinforced by the cello and violin, which accompany Inti through most of the song (I am reminded of the string playing on parts Jeff Buckley’s album Grace).

‘Arabian Dolls’ continues in the same vein, with Inti’s sweet tune richly embellished by the sung and bowed harmonies of his cohorts. It ends unexpectedly, underpinned by a deep, reverberating note on the cello. Twenty seconds later comes the (hidden) closing track of the Ep. It is quite lovely, a simple ditty, just solo voice and guitar, and sounds like it was recorded in one take. For all the wonderful, imaginative enhancements on the rest of the record, and they really do make it a varied and rewarding listen, the final track exposes the real nub of Inti’s talent: his beautiful voice and considered approach to song writing.

I am told that Inti and Megan will be playing some gigs soon, to find out when and where, check his Facebook.

If you would like to buy the record, which as you may have realised I heartily recommend, you can do on his Bandcamp.

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Photo courtesy of The Daily Growl

Three weeks ago I went to see David Thomas Broughton play at the Basement in London’s City Arts and Music Project (CAMP). A bit of a delayed review, you might think… well, yes, it is, and that’s because it’s taken me this long to work out what I thought of the gig. Here goes…

On record, I like his music. It’s beautiful, it has a wonderfully stark, malevolent ambiance, and it is kept from being standard, “one man and his guitar” fare by the subtle employment of loop-pedal-layering and an un-precious approach to percussion. Unsurprisingly, I expected to see the same qualities in evidence at this gig; they certainly were, but so too was an apparent determination on DTB’s part to prevent his audience from having a straightforward engagement with the essential prettiness of what we were hearing, something which he achieved by drowning many of the songs in abrasive feedback. For me, this was extremely frustrating, because I like pretty guitar parts, and mournful, sonorous vocals, and I like to be able to appreciate them without too much effort; nevertheless, the underlying beauty of his songs was definitely still, underlying everything, which is something.

From a technical point of view, it was fascinating to see and hear this music being played live, a process that DTB has turned into something of an art form. Though the songs are quite distinct from each other, there was some sort of common procedure at work in their realisation, which seemed to roughly follow these guidelines:

1. Play a pretty guitar part, loop it

2. Add complimentary guitar parts, loop them

3. Put your guitar on the floor and stand up

4. Sing some lovely, plaintive vocals, loop them

5. Add harmonising vocals, loop them too.

6. Kick your idling guitar in a whimsically inadvertent manner to provide a bass-drum-boom, loop it

7. Throw some clanky objects – a capo, some jangly bells, anything close to hand – at the wall, or at a chair, adding more rhythmic texture, loop the resulting sounds

8. Get another guitar, an electric one this time, create a blanket of feedbacky squall, loop it

9. Sing a bit more, but don’t loop it

10. Cut nearly almost all of your loops out, leaving only one or two playing

11. Start playing your next song, beginning at stage 1.

All this was executed very deftly, and the technical demands of building-up these songs did not prevent Mr. Broughton from adding a further, theatrical dimension to his performance. Throughout the show, he mimed, postured, clowned, and eccentrically danced around the stage; an arch physical narrative to accompany the piecemeal construction of his songs, by turns amusing and weird. This wry theatrical delivery combined with the improbably layered music to make him come across, as my friend insightfully put it, ‘a bit like a magician’.

Frankly, I thought all this extra stuff is a bit superfluous. I really enjoy the subtlety and gentleness of Mr. Broughton’s recordings; the layering and showmanship of the live show, impressive and entertaining though it was, lost its novelty quickly, and the noisy dirge that eventually engulfed most of the songs was definitely on the wrong side of grating. It seems to me that the more beautiful elements of his music, the parts I find most affecting, were excessively obscured by burlesque and intentional cacophony, things that were not in themselves unenjoyable or out of place, but that might have been used more judiciously.

Anyway, I still think David Thomas Broughton is great, and pretty unique, and deserving of credit for being wilfully weird and willing to make a racket out of, and over, the folky rudiments of his music. I just won’t stand a metre away from the speaker stack the next time I see him play live.

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There is a curious new (to me at least) music website called thesixtyone.com, which describes itself as ‘a music adventure’. It’s worth checking out as an interesting way of discovering new music. And it features lots and lots of unsigned artists, which can only be good! I spent about half an hour trawling through it yesterday and after listening to some truly awful stuff – which is all part of the adventure, I suppose – came across Happiest Lion, the Boston-based project of an enormously talented young fellow called Caleb Groh. His songs are spellbindingly lovely, tender and fragile and all the rest of it. Get his newish album Mammoth Moon on bandcamp for the eminently reasonable price of $1 (Thats 69 pence for a whole album! Whoop).

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