Fresh from winning Song of the Year at the ARC awards for ‘Take My Demons’, Welsh singer-songwriter Caitlin Mae releases her brand-new single ‘Tunnel Vision’. It posits much of the same heady mixture of attitude and vulnerability as her prize-winning track whilst conveying a strength and confidence that were only just emerging in the former. The two sets of piano notes that make up the intro speak directly to this sense of self-assurance, the song proceeding with a ballad-like quality that takes the form of light country-rock. There are echoes of Charlotte Young in its punkish mood but with vocals that are highly-strained to reflect the push-and-pull of a rebel heart. The lines “a part of me thinks you’ll come back/ but I know way better than that” are an example of the contradictions in human emotion that Caitlin manages to express once more with such a deft simplicity, having already done so on her debut EP. She can only be speaking from a place of deep self-reflection, and though one can hear the pain of the past in her experience, the listener also benefits from the wisdom that she has gleaned from it. It makes ‘Tunnel Vision’ relatable as a result, as well as tantalising as we await with yet more excitement for her next EP.
Originally written for and published on Belles & Gals on November 18th 2021.
It may have been a feast of fireworks in and around Liverpool on Friday night, but there was a different kind of bonfire blazing inside the Royal Philharmonic Hall. The venue’s Music Room was set alight with a blistering performance from Elles Bailey, who is fast becoming the queen of UK Blues. On this, the latest night of her ‘Sunshine City’ tour, she made sure that the music filled the room with an awesome presence that was more dazzling than any Catherine Wheel. It was a feast for both the eyes and the ears as some effective lighting combined with the accomplished playing of the band created an immersive set, made all the more emotive by the gig’s intimate setting.
Before this gloriously colourful presentation from Elles however, there was a sparkling display of humour from Country singer-songwriter Demi Marriner. The winner of Bob Harris’ Emerging Artist at this year’s AMA UK, Marriner entertained the crowd as much with her anecdotes and self-confessed “waffle” as her songs. There were plenty of nodding heads and tapping of feet as she worked her way through a set that included the instant classic ‘Cold Coffee’ and the emotionally-touching ‘Don’t You Worry’. By the time she got to ‘Distorted Desires’, any notion of initial nerves had well and truly gone, with some confident guitar playing and strong vocals reflecting a comfortable stage presence. It was certainly not just her effervescent personality that won over the crowd, who were mightily impressed with her penchant for songwriting, overheard in conversations during the interval, which began after Demi had ended with an aptly Bailey-esque song called ‘Sins’.
This final number set the tone nicely for the main event, Elles bouncing onto the stage after her band to open with a couple of songs from her new, as-yet untitled album. The first, ‘The Game’, is already an earworm, while ‘Stones’ contains some of that wonderfully-Southern drawl that continued into ‘Help Somebody’. Here was the first notable mention for James Henderson on the Hammond organ, hammering away on the keys with a veracity that brought an added dimension to this well-loved track. It brought a real intensity to the room that was then suitably mellowed by a cover of Levon Helm’s ‘When I Go Away’, a faint rainbow emerging on the back-of-stage wall from the unimposing lights fading into view. Beautiful.
It is that blend of smoke and grit in her vocals that allows Elles Bailey to be a powerhouse one minute and offer a smoother sound the next. Such a transition occurred between ‘Riding Out the Storm’ and an acoustic section, in which ‘Walk Away’ and ‘I Remember Everything’ were played as poignantly as the applause that echoed around the room after each. It was then time to get justifiably angry at those in power, ‘Cheats & Liars’ containing that trademark low bass, heavy guitar and pounding drum that, once stirred, perfectly conveyed the emotion, which was then ironically followed by the heartfelt ‘Miss Me When I’m Gone’. It created an ideal Segway into ‘Halfway House’, with Henderson’s Hammond bringing an almost hallowed sound to a song that, as Elles explained, could either be about a break-up or Brexit. The organ made it suitably reflective in any case.
Elles then performed a cover version of Wilson Picket’s ‘Don’t Let the Green Grass Fool You’, a hit during lockdown that got a live airing here in the Music Room. It was accompanied by some rather appropriate lighting, the green as deep as the Soul emanating from the stage. ‘Medicine Man’ added a touch of grit to a performance that ended with current hit single ‘Sunshine City’. And having now heard it live, it is no wonder that the likes of Planet Rock and Radio 2 are picking it up to give it a spin. This song is as good a combination of blues and rock as they come, and was a fantastic way to end a show that demanded an encore from the audience. Having obliged, Elles allowed her band to showcase their impressive skills in a series of solos encased within ‘Howlin’ Wolf’. As well as marvelling once more at Jonny Henderson and Matthew Ware on organ and bass respectively, one can’t help but smile at the brilliance of Joe Wilkins on guitar, and be satisfied by Matthew Jones’ section on drums. They are as much the stars of the show as Elles Bailey, who returned to Liverpool with the same verve and veracity that is slowly turning her into a star. She certainly shone brightly here with a fire that rivalled any other on a fifth of November night.
Originally written for and publishedon Belles & Gals on November 8th 2021.
It is a clique to say that I laughed and cried at Channel 4’s anthology series, On the Edge, but it’s true. The three films, devised by new and emerging writers, are stirring, disturbing, entertaining and gripping. Each of them explores the impact of mental health in families through parent-child relationships in ways that are innovative, empowering, and unapologetic. They make for exceptional viewing in their own right; shown together, they become an unmissable 90-minutes of superb drama. I devoured them in a single sitting.
The first, ‘Mincemeat’, by Samantha O’Rourke, is a funny and moving tale starring Aimee Lou Wood. Jane is fresh out of school, working in a shoe shop, trying her best to be a good daughter to her controlling mum (Rosie Cavaliero). When she meets Nish, a boy she had a crush on in school, a sweet romance blossoms between them. However, the far-right views of Jane’s mum cause an irreparable rift that sees the lovers separate but, ultimately, leads Jane to find a sense of purpose. Nikhil Palmer (Nish) and Wood are perfectly suited, portraying the social awkwardness, first-kiss innocence, and gentle encouragement of a developing relationship with rich plausibility. Palmer’s kindness is in direct contrast to the harshness of Cavaliero, who plays Jane’s mother with a good deal of unconscious irony whilst injecting a slight empathy that reveals the pain behind much of her behaviour. She uses the death of her husband, Jane’s father, to guilt trip her children when it suits her, creating a distorted view of him that is blown apart in a moment of revelation that brings Jane freedom. What O’Rourke manages to do so deftly is to work through the underlying issues and motivations behind these characters with a delightful touch of humour. It ensures their humanity is not lost to a dark political underbelly that can otherwise lead to simplistic caricatures. The soundtrack only contributes to the wealth of emotion that exudes through the screen.
The emotion is no less pronounced in the second film, ‘Cradled’, by Nessah Muthy. Here, it is the extraordinary performance of Ellora Torchia as new mum Maia that makes for a compelling watch. She has a seemingly comfortable and ideal life. However, underneath the surface, something more sinister is stirring. She begins to hear a voice, and thinks her baby is in danger. What is witnessed over an enthralling and gut-wrenching half-hour is a descent into mental illness that creates real fear. That fear is so palpably felt through the screen that the tension becomes unbearable at times. Torchia really does embody her character, achieving a verisimilitude that causes genuine terror for its audience. It is not so much the effective horror tropes used in the telling of this story that contribute to this real anxiety as the fact that it involves a little child who appears to be actually at risk such is Torchia’s ability in conveying the awful experience of Maia. Muthy writes in such a way as to give her protagonist a sense of agency whilst simultaneously losing some of that agency to darker forces. The supporting characters are all culpable to some degree of ignoring or belittling her awareness that something is not right. The drama thus becomes a kind of rallying cry to all of us to take mental health seriously. It is, in part, a depiction of the consequences of failing to do so adequately. I breathed a huge sigh of relief at the optimism of its final scenes.
Optimism also marks the final film, ‘Superdad’, by Daniel Rusteau. Not before an incredible amount of nerves have been shredded however. When Keon (Martin McCann) turns up at his ex-partner’s house to wish his son a happy birthday, he gets the door slammed shut in his face. He is determined to make Wesley’s day special though, so he waits until he is walking to school to take him on a road trip that, slowly but surely, is not all it’s crept up to be. Rusteau drip-feeds information that gradually causes unease both for the viewer and Wesley (Joseph Obasohan). First about the car; then a quick dash away from a café; and then, finally, a confrontation at a petrol station. The interaction between the characters at this final point cause the façade of Keon to fall to such an extent as to give rise to worry. Obasohan is so adept at portraying the doubt clearly arising in his character’s mind that, coupled with the juddery movements of the handheld camera accompanying McCann, it is difficult not to be immersed in the tension of the situation. Similarly, his strength at resisting his dad’s calls to get back in the car when he realises the facile nature of his explanations is deeply felt. It conveys a maturity that, like Wood’s Jane, surpasses that of the adult parent, revealing a wisdom and thirst for emotional honesty in young people that can too often be ignored or go unappreciated by their elders. It is the recognition of this at the film’s end that makes it all the more beautiful and heartfelt.
Together, these films express the effects of mental health within modern British families. They are stories told with sensitivity; thrilling yet heartfelt. Filmed across Wales, and made with the support of Creative Wales, they offer the opportunity for new and emerging talent both on and off camera to gain experience working on a production that is on the cutting-edge of storytelling and broadcast on a mainstream channel. This is what public-service broadcasting is for. The three writers that have had the opportunity to showcase their work on such a platform are all deserving of further commissions. If their future stories are as veracious and enjoyable as these half-hourly instalments have been then their future looks bright. Go check them out if you haven’t already. They are simply excellent.
‘You & Me’, the latest EP from Rachel Jane, is a much lighter affair than her last. This is perhaps not surprising given its themes of love and romance. She manages to avoid the schmaltziness associated with such topics however, particularly at this time of year, by retaining an essential RnB sound which, when coupled with neo-soul, made 2020s ‘Hustle & Hope’ such a relatable record. This grounding-in-reality is evident again here, not just in the immersive vibes of the music but in the honesty of the lyrics too.
I love how the smoothness of ‘Falling For You’ acts as a slide from the blossoming of young love down towards the depths of committed relationship. I like how the chilled atmosphere created on ‘More Than Friends’ represents the ease with which a friendship transitions into a relationship. And I appreciate the continuation of that combination of frustration and expectation in ‘Made for Something’ and ‘Mondays’ that mirror previous songs like ‘Get Up’ and ‘Working Hard’. The former’s chorus, “We’re made for something / but why have we got to wait… / come on and make a way”,echoes a universal exasperation with that great virtue, patience, whose reward is found in the latter’s lines, “by Friday the grey clouds will part / and the sun will shine through”.
This is the message that comes through from Rachel Jane time and again; that inspires and resonates in such a way as to make the ‘You’ of the EP’s title hold a double-meaning. It becomes not just about husband Joel but about us, the listeners, too – particularly those for whom chasing after dreams becomes a hard slog amidst the hustle and bustle of life. It is a reminder that those hard times might be real and felt but they don’t have to have the last word. Between you and me (and Rachel Jane), there is always hope.
It wouldn’t be a Pistol Annies album without a little bit of gospel – though the surprise here, for a Christmas album, is perhaps that ‘Leanin’ on Jesus’ contains no references to the most wonderful time of the year. Instead, it offers a diversion into the purely devotional, avoiding any mention of snow, sleighs, or Santa Claus. The quiet whispers of people beneath the slowly rising instrumentation, at the song’s beginning, could be taken for the hushed chatter in the pews before the start of a church carol service. Beyond this, however, the focus is on the girls’ experience of being unburdened and unchained by their Saviour, in a general nod to Christian faith that has no particular seasonal affiliation to the rest of the album. Its ballad-like piano and simple drumbeat, followed by some fabulous electric organ after the second verse, is more akin to your standard gospel track. Its final change of pace, into the quick-fingered playing of keys, up-tempo beats, and a flurry of hallelujahs, is more readily associated with their last album and its title track, ‘Interstate Gospel’, than the festive feel on the remainder of this record. Take nothing away though from the Pistol Annies. ‘Leanin’ on Jesus’ is still a track worth savouring, marked by their usual foray into poignancy, this time with a reflective nod to the person who, for some, Christmas is all about.
If you’ve ever said thank you to the self-service checkout or lost your rag with the sat-nav then it’s likely you’ll recognise some of yourself in the protagonist of a new play by Tim Price. Isla, a co-production between Theatr Clwyd and the Royal Court, explores the relationship between man and technology in a time of lockdown. Its themes of loneliness, love and respect however traverse its contemporary setting to signal a need for change that has only intensified over the period. Through the hassled and increasingly hopeless Roger, played by Mark Lambert, we witness the hilarity and hatred that emerges in our interactions with the digital. It highlights both the humour of our technological faux pas and the casual abuse thrown about as we rail against them. It is a play that both entertains and challenges as a result.
Roger makes clear from the start that he doesn’t want what his overly concerned daughter Erin, played by Lisa Zahra, is determined to install. This voice-controlled virtual assistant called Isla can do everything, she explains, starting with a daily reminder to take his statins at 9.30am. He assures her that the delivery of the morning paper does that. He has no need for such a device. But with the passage of time, beautifully marked by some sharp and effective lighting sailing across the floor, his stubbornness mellows to inquisitiveness and he gives in to Isla’s helpful insights. Before long, he is sharing memories, worries, and concerns with her that are poignant in their telling but tragic in their context. It reveals how such technology can help alleviate the isolation of living alone but that it’s no substitute for social contact with another person.
Lambert’s ability to communicate the internal struggle between wanting to talk to his daughter yet not be a burden is adroitly done. He directs our empathy to such a degree that it blindsides us to the darkening tone of his words. He begins to demean Isla with sexist phrases that turn out to have real-world consequences for Erin. His frustrations and anger are then caught in a discourse about language, meaning and intention that could have been preachy if not for Catrin Aaron’s slightly ironic and recognisably reassuring police officer. This sudden turn into satire, behind which lay a serious message, added a layer of complexity to the characters which made for a deeply rich ending. The ultimate destruction of Isla, as an electronic appliance, also opened the way for a powerfully simple finale too.
We may not have seen Lambert and Zahra onstage together for long. Yet, as director Tamara Harvey is so adept at achieving, the connection between the two becomes well-established incredibly quickly, a testament to the hard work put in at the rehearsal stage. It means that, as the plug is pulled on the technology around them, their embrace as father and daughter is acutely observed. It signals the importance of human connection, and the love of another that Isla can never give.
Originally written for andpublished on WhatsOnStage on 22nd October 2021.
The new EP from Eleanor Nelly is nothing short of superb. The Liverpool-based singer-songwriter has produced a record that is full of catchy tunes. They exude a new-found self-confidence that has emerged from the ashes of a previous relationship. No wonder the title declares that ‘The Best is Yet to Come’.
On opening track ‘Colour-Blind’, she hammers home the message that “I’m taking back full control of me”. The pressing drumbeat of the chorus asserts her determination to break free from the heaviness and control in a relationship where she has almost forgotten herself. The music is lively and otherwise light, giving the impression that Eleanor is an empowered spirit rather than a broken soul. This is evidenced in the title track with its vision-casting into a future that looks hopeful, and is helpful for anyone struggling with a sense of belonging or direction. The chorus is full of resolute passion, including the beautiful lines, “the fire that burns inside / let it be the light that guides”; with emotion that touches gently but is felt deeply.
The lead single from the EP, ‘Goodbye’, relates the need to break-up with someone “because we’re out of time”. The soft lilt in Eleanor Nelly’s voice belies the strength of person she is, though the fabulous country-pop production that surrounds her vocals ensures that she means business. It sets lines like “when you look at me… is there anything that you wouldn’t change” in context, proving why, though “I don’t want to say goodbye / I need to… I don’t want to make you cry / but I’m going to”. Such assured action is affirmed in the words of the final track ‘Wash the Night Away’, in the immortal lines “you’ve got to be cruel to be kind”. It is a wonderfully upbeat and toe-tapping song that offers a barnstorming end to the EP. It relates the no-nonsense, tell-it-like-it-is side to Eleanor Nelly who appears to be like a blossoming flower rising out of the ashes on this EP.
‘The Best is Yet to Come’ displays an inner strength from this emotive soul whose music known locally by many now deserves to be heard on nationally through this EP.
Originally written for and published on Belles & Gals on October 20th 2021.
‘Sounds Good in a Bar’ is already a fan favourite. But we at Belles & Gals think it might just win over a few more converts to the music of Katy Hurt. This, her new single, and the first to be released from her upcoming debut album, ticks all the right boxes. It offers the best of Katy: her emotive vocals, deliciously descriptive lyrics, and an earworm of a chorus. It combines the poignancy of ‘Unfinished Business’ with the ascendant rock of ‘Ride Home’. It also reflects her humble approach to artistry.
She manages to encapsulate in its narrative the life of the struggling musician – working odd jobs “waiting tables, counting small change” to make ends meet whilst daydreaming and “writing tall tales on a napkin” – with the deftness that only comes from bitter experience. Her honesty about “taking failures” and “falling down” but “making the best of any mess” is sure to be inspiring to anyone, not just fellow musicians. She reinterprets the musician’s dream of selling out stadiums by appreciating the power of good music to entertain people in the small places. As such, ‘Sounds Good in a Bar’ is an ode to the pubs and clubs of the small towns and back alleys where the few matter more than the thousands. The irony is, while Katy admits that “It may not get me very far”, slowly but surely, she is garnering both popular and critical attention. It is leading her to bigger crowds and greater opportunities, the latest being signed to Canadian-based Johnson Talent Management. It won’t change her though.
‘Sounds Good in a Bar’ ends with the tinkling of glasses and muffled conversations that have shaped her and her music. This song signals her undying gratitude to those environments and the pleasure she gets from performing in them despite the acclaim. It is another quality song from this high-class country artist.
Originally written for and published on Belles & Gals on October 7th 2021.
Dan Jordan and The Warbirds evade categorisation. They are poetry. They are music. They are outlaw country. They are moody blues. They are folk storytelling. They are heavy metal vocals. The only seminal thread that runs through their latest album, Road to Ruin, is main man Dan’s clear connection to the music of Bob Dylan. He may not readily admit to such an influence being a conscious thing, but it is apparent that his time spent with Dylan over the course of his first album has had a lasting effect. His vocal delivery may not be to everyone’s taste, but one should at least be able to appreciate the hard-felt poetry that emanates from it.
Opening track Slow Burn may get off to a slow start but its first few moments of silence create a real sense of anticipation. A whirring cymbal then comes spinning into existence before being knocked sideways by the hard keys of a piano. It introduces the heavy beat which symbolises much of the album’s dark veneer, Jordan’s own smoky Dylan-esque vocals then coming in to add further shade. There is a sultry otherworldliness to the piano and electric guitar which gives it a certain intrigue and stops it descending into a black hole. The various mixing of genres, from the Latinized Country of Rider to the Metalized Blues of Run, have a similar effect, the poetic nature of Jordan’s lyrics also contributing to this sense of fascination which surrounds much of the album.
Each track is greeted with surprise. Each offers something slightly different from the rest. Ain’t Got Nothin’ may have a classic Blues structure but Matts White and Taylor bring some wonderful organ and electric guitar respectively to give it an added dimension. The soft and delicate composition on Seven Deaths of You creates a beautifully light atmosphere which allows deeper access into Jordan’s poetry. There is a real slice of folk storytelling here, delivered rather nicely through a deep voice that contains the faint presence of delicacy and vulnerability. Sweet City Ruin manages to uncover this further in lines like “stumbling through the city like a spectre” and “all you want is for the world to know that you were here” even as they are hidden behind the up-tempo, western swing style music.
There is a mythical quality to Elena which could be said to draw on folk tradition. The track that follows, Nightingale,certainly seems to suggest a strong folk influence upon Jordan’s work. His always gritty and grave delivery never allows for the same cadences that one might find among the typical folk singer however, meaning the loss of emotionality to some degree. What is lost here though is made up for in another unexpected musical addition, this time the introduction of pop elements followed by a sudden flurry of different instruments that take the album in a completely different direction. It means that, even as Jordan’s vocal starts to feel staid, there is enough originality to keep you listening right to the end.
Final track This Land has No Name is definitely worth sticking around for. On its musical surface is a wild west evoking landscape, complete with tolling bell and front porch guitar. It is the country music of the outlaws, reclaiming their rural roots from the urbanisation of an earlier sound. Dig a little deeper into the lyrics, and you begin to see the parallels. Yet this song speaks not of a place across the pond but a land much closer to home. Those “structures… crooked… battered” are the stone houses dotted across the countryside. The “roofs made of tin” are the barns stood in fields “still breathing [though] barely alive”. The bar, “as dry as a bone” and “the shops, boarded up” represent the communities who have lost their amenities to the forces of globalisation and capitalism. It is a depiction of Wales that is keenly felt and of which Dan Jordan seems acutely aware, no doubt garnered from his own geographical movement across the nation’s map. It is a protest song, if you will, inspired, whether conscious or not, by folk pioneers such as Bob Dylan, with a contemporary resonance that ensures Road to Ruin finishes with a political bang.
To find out more about Dan Jordan & The Warbirds, click here.To listen to the album on Spotify, click here.
Originally written for and published on Get the Chance on 15th September 2021.
There’s a real sense of urgency at the end of Missing Julie, Theatr Clwyd’s adaptation of Strindberg’s classic play. This is because it is not just the fate of its characters that is on the line but our own too. The setting for Kaite O’Reilly’s version may be a Welsh stately home at the end of The Great War but its themes of privilege, power, and possibility feel pressingly familiar. It is a time of great change where, in the fizzling interactions between heiress Julie (Heledd Gwynn) and her servant John (Tim Pritchett), we find the same sense of uncertainty, opportunity, and desire that have met us in 2020 and 2021. The old hierarchies are being shaken. Taboos are being broken. But the light of liberation shines only for a moment before it risks being snuffed out.
The bell that hangs in the centre of the stage presides ominously throughout. It casts a looming shadow over the long table that trails down the middle, flanked either side by the audience. Translucent walls act as both mirrors and screens at either end, hemming the characters in. They become trapped in this space which represents the boxes that society has placed them in. They attempt to push against these walls that surround them by dreaming, strategising, accepting, and subverting.
They argue with one another, encourage one another, challenge and rebuke one another in a fascinating struggle that involves status, identity, and drive. The tussle between John and Julie seems to lead at one point to the very real prospect of change, as they meet in the middle, and in a moment of sexual passion, the table rises, the bell along with it, to disappear into the eaves. But the music is doom-laden, expressing the reality of their situation along with the re-appearance, a moment later, of the bell, this time at one corner of the stage.
Gwynn brings an effervescent sensibility to the character of Julie, bounding onto the set at her entrance with a kind of madness that is later tempered by a more vulnerable, desperate state. Pritchett offers a caring and confident John, striding about on his crutches while belying the vitriolic side to his character with a warm personality.
Both contribute to a series of dynamic interplays wherein O’Reilly deftly handles the complexity of issues at hand. She has created dialogue that is bursting with relevance, but always overshadowed by the potent symbol of the bell. Its potential to strike at any moment poses a real threat to the liberation experienced by Julie and John on a night where social barriers have been brought down and equal opportunity has appeared tangible. Which is why, when it does finally ring, the decision they are faced with feels so pressing.
It does so too because of our own situation. The social inequalities laid bare by the pandemic are at risk of being maintained in its aftermath. Missing Julie signifies that this is a moment when we can do something about it.
Originally written for and published on WhatsOnStage on 23rd September 2021.
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