The team around Elles Bailey has solidified over these past couple of years. And it’s only when hearing ‘The Night Owl & The Lark’ do you realise how integral they have become to her sound. Not that this latest EP disrupts in any negative way. There are notable differences though from her previous records.
While the cover artwork, beautifully designed by Alice Armstrong, may give the impression that she is heading in a Folk direction, the extremity to which she strips back her music is not quite so severe as that. It is more a case of toning down her vocals to suit compositions that do the simple things well. The cast of Redtenbacher’s Funkestra, with whom she collaborated back in 2020, are not prone to amping up sound or ramping up emotion. Instead, the familiar sounds of Hammond, electric guitar and bass pose a more level-headed existence without skimping on Elles’ signature Blues.
There is a distinct juncture away from the gloriously cacophonous Rock of ‘Shining in the Half Light’ as well as a much lighter form of Gospel than that found on ‘Road I Call Home’. A sprinkle of Soul is added and a touch of Funk plays out but nothing is overstated. Both ‘Lean on My Love’ and ‘Nothing Without You’ carry their message with minimal spend. It is something of a surprise for fans used to getting carried away with the music. Not that it’s all smooth sailing. ‘Bring It On’ holds that fiery determination borne of typical Bailey grit in the face of trying circumstance. And while ‘Jordan’ begins with such delicacy in the face of heartrending lyrics, the punching of piano keys come its end contributes to a chorus that demands nothing less. For its lines “I’d rather see you go in the arms of your angels / Than to keep you here with me / I’ll meet you on the other side of the Jordan / Now let your soul go free” are suitably emotive, and for this listener, become tear-stained.
‘Jordan’ is an excellent addition to Bailey‘s cover collection – right up there with ‘Angel From Montgomery’. The song that this EP hinges on though is ‘Mumma and Me’. A lovesong that fizzles with something special. The second verse is a gorgeous tribute from “the night owl” to “the lark” of the EP’s title. Its line “That speckle in your eye / Nan had and so do I” is a beautiful picture of successive generations. The addition of strings toward the song’s end is another moment when feelings are heightened and captured by the music. But there remains a calm and reflective tone throughout. Recognisable but with a hint of something different in her delivery.
‘The Night Owl & The Lark’ is a lovely addition to the Elles Bailey catalogue. It stands alone in some respects – a slight diversion from the main path – and yet it remains imprinted with her indelible mark, with Blues for the 21st Century at its heart.
You can purchase ‘The Night Owl & The Lark’ EP, along with associated merch, from Elles Bailey’s website here.
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Stunningly beautiful. Nothing sums up Neeve Zahra’s new single better. ‘Rub a Little Dirt On It’ is one of those rare moments when the magic of the acoustic guitar works to unbelievable effect. The delicacy with which this Country-Folk track is played is matched by very few UK artists in the genre. It is classic Shires, with perfectly-blended male/female harmonies to boot. Neeve and Ben Walker’s vocal movements are so well choreographed as to become a tender dance. Such is the gentleness conveyed in their performance that the love at its centre becomes soft as the grass on the cover image; fragile and blessed. The oxymoronic lines “let me go / hold me close” and “rub a little dirt on it / fix it up brand new” then add a lovely playfulness to the relationship in the lyrics. They do what all the best country love songs do. That is, rather than descending into romantic cliché, it finds a fresh way of expressing that universal feeling, retaining emotional depth through creative storytelling. No one does this better right now than Neeve Zahra. ‘Rub a Little Dirt On It’ is definitely an early contender for UK Country Song of 2024.
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Amy-Jo puts a contemporary twist on a well-loved classic for her first release of 2024. Not many have attempted to rework ‘On Days Like These’, perhaps because Matt Munro’s original is so definitive. Rather than make massive alterations then, the producers of Amy-Jo’s version merely update it using the latest techniques. It means a far more sonically-produced sound that retains its cinematic quality; a theme for the latest high-definition widescreen as opposed to mid-20th century technicolour. This is pop in the era of Billie Eilish in contrast to the smooth-sounding crooner. Not that the elegance is ejected here. Instead, the expansive tones of Munro’s sweeping vocal are replaced with the petit movements of Amy-Jo’s far subtler voice. When combined with the piano, the song becomes much more intimate. The hardened strings then add an introverted edge that brings a touch of darkness. Thus, it becomes a version for our age of self-reflection. No less enjoyable even as it differs in reception.
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Lisa T starts 2024 with a deftly-pointed finger. Through a simple pop production that has a touch of classic Cheryl Cole about it, she presents the reality of what real relationship looks like. The stripped-back nature of the guitar chords at the beginning of ‘Easy to Love’ have more than a touch of romanticism about them. But then the punchy techno beats introduce a message that goes beyond surface level compliments to understand what commitment really means. Yes, you may “like the way I style my hair / the dresses that I wear… / my pretty smile”. But the honesty of failure and vulnerability of brokenness demand more than niceties. And so she asks “would I still be enough?” It is a genuine challenge to those who can talk the talk to walk the walk too. For love is not a game to play but a vow to be more. There is no better resolution to demand at the start of this year than that.
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Bronwen and Mared have been visited by the ghosts of Christmas past and present this year to tell their respective tales of home. Both Welsh singer-songwriters draw on a rich array of imagery to convey the festive season.
‘December Blues’ contains the most simple yet striking of pictures that represent a very modern sensibility. The smell of “cinnamon” and “chocolate rum” emanating from the “winter market” conjures up a bustling city scene which, though mixed with more traditional fare in verse two, nevertheless paints a contemporary picture. This is in contrast to the throwback references in ‘Christmas After All’, where “sherry” and “Sinatra” on the “jukebox” cast an air of nostalgia that is more snow globe than real world. The presence of an Irish-style Folk tune adds to this sense that Bronwen is trying to reach for something that no longer exists; while the soft beats of Mared’s soul-infused track find her in the current moment, seeking contentment in the downtime of an otherwise busy life.
Both songs contain a sense of loss; and both celebrate a remedy of sorts. For Mared it is spending precious time with another who is “healing my December Blues”. For Bronwen, it is rediscovering her childhood memories in the here and now. These occur at home: a place of paradox in their stories insofar as negative associations begin to dissipate with the discovery of love. This is what makes both tracks veer away from the saccharine, even as both remain heartwarming. For their concept of home is more emotionally-complex than standards such as ‘The Christmas Song’. Yet they retain an essence of that same spirit which means they can sit happily on any playlist that contains the classics.
They might sound different but what ties ‘Christmas After All’ and ‘December Blues’ together is the evocative pictures used by Bronwen and Mared respectively. Whether old or new, their symbols of Christmas are what lay the foundations for two songs that are welcome additions to the yuletide canon. For the worlds they create are very easy to enter and get lost in.
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“It’s like being in my living room”, says Jodie Marie. And the audience quietly agree. Last time I was at The Tin Shed, the Spring sun was streaming through the windows from the green hillside: the perfect accompaniment to Ellie Gowers. Tonight, in mid-December, it’s a different story. The black night coats the glass to hem in an attentive crowd who are warmed not only by the fire but the soulful sound of Jodie Marie’s voice.
It is the perfect setting for the Pembrokeshire singer-songwriter to share songs off her EP ‘Polar Night’. For her experience close to the Arctic Circle earlier in the year translates well in this cozy atmosphere, sheltered from the Welsh rain and the chill of a winter wind. For all we know, there could very well be a storm raging outside like the ones she contended with in Seiland, such is the way she draws our listening ears into attendant concentration. Perhaps it is the solo nature of this show that lends that extra focus: a generous need for those in the room to be cautious as every squeak of a seat, rub of a coat, and click of the keys on her keyboard can be heard. Appreciative, if nothing else, best sums up the silent response.
What this quiet space allows is for the emotions contained in Jodie Marie’s songs to settle gently. ‘Carageen’, ‘Reindeer Heart’, and ‘Blue Hour’ ring out with more acute meaning than they might do elsewhere, the latter becoming a beautiful tribute on this occasion to one recently lost. Even ‘This House’ and ‘You are My Life’ keep their rockier edges but punch softer through the air with an accuracy that helps inform their depth of feeling. One particular highlight is her cover of ‘Angel from Montgomery’, capturing the same essence as her Blues-influence Bonnie Raitt while the accompanying keyboard fleshes out its sense of longing far more intensely than Raitt’s guitar.
She finishes with the obligatory Christmas song for this time of year. One rarely heard live. The bilingual ‘Night Before Christmas / Noson Cyn y Nadolig’ provides one last flurry of musical snow, falling with the same compelling notes that have transfixed this audience throughout. No wonder she wants to come back. This may only be my second gig at The Tin Shed but it already feels like a special place to hear live music because it allows you to really hear it. And when the one performing is Jodie Marie, it also turns it into an early Christmas present for a fan like me.
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While her time in Nashville may be contributing to fresh song ideas, it is one that has been sat on her shelf for a while that Nia Nicholls has chosen to release for Christmas. Not that ‘I Wrote You a Love Song’ is particularly festive. Though the delicacy with which this heartbreak ballad is told feels like the kind of warm hug gratefully received by anyone suffering similar at this point in time. The acoustic nature feeds the sense of shattered dreams, as the besotted protagonist realises that the one they’ve fallen for is actually seeing someone else. What adds to the sadness of the situation is both the specific details and the choice of instruments. To remember so clearly the time (“2:28”) and date (“January 25th”) when the ‘Love Song’ was written conveys the depth of commitment to a relationship then tragically broken; with all the sorrow and hurt that entails expressed poignantly in the accompanying violin. It may be a sobering track from Nia Nicholls (particularly at this time of year) but it displays the same lyrical finesse we have come to expect from the Welsh singer-songwriter.
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A turning point? Branwen: Dadeni certainly feels like it. This “epic new Welsh language musical” heralds a potentially exciting new era for the nation’s theatre. Why? Because it is by far the most ambitious, large-scale theatre production in the Welsh language yet. Testament to what can be achieved when the might of Wales Millennium Centremeets the creative ambition of Frân Wen. It is no understatement in describing the show as worthy of a West End run. The culmination of a long-held confidence by some that our culture is worth investing in.
Adapted from The Mabinogi, this new version exports the mythic weight of the original into a bold and contemporary style. The result is a classic piece of theatre, Shakespearean in size, but with a cutting edge that makes it feel fresh and new. The musical element is a key component to this: a combination of choral tradition, music hall operetta, Sondheim-influenced harmonies and Disney-inspired ballads. Seiriol Davies has not been afraid to draw from the wide pool of musical theatre history and infuse it with Welsh character to create a score brimming with personality. The result is a captivating story. An absorbing commentary on power, family and history that could have been heavy or dictatory but has, instead, been generously and lovingly portrayed.
The costumes fit nicely with each of the characters: from the flowing dresses of the idealist Branwen (Mared Williams) to the army-like uniform of her renegade half-sister Efnisien (Caitlin Drake). So too, the choreography captures beautifully their contrasting personalities: particularly the swish swooning of Matholwch (Rithvik Andugula) in the presence of a buttoned-up Bendigeidfran (Tomos Eames). It is in the songs though that this royal cast of kings, queens and consorts really comes to life. And when one hits the right note, the emotional affect can be overwhelming. Take the tale of the snowfall for instance. The way that Mared gently presses her vocal against the window through which her character witnesses such a scene. So poignant and hopeful, it brings a tear to the eye. Or Gillian Elisa’s vivacious solo, in which her character runs roughshod over the King to proclaim where true power lies. It is delivered with such abundant force as to raise a rapturous applause from the audience.
These are moments which are memorable not just in the context of the show. They make an indelible mark on the mind in the way that some of the best musical theatre productions do. Finding yourself driving home with lyrics still playing out in your head. Fingers tapping the melody on the steering wheel. Feelings still flowing through your body as you go to bed. This is a sure sign that Branwen: Dadeni has in some way been a success. It certainly lays down a marker for future work, which is as challenging as it is inspiring. At a time when investment in the arts is in danger of falling, may Branwen: Dadeni be the start and not the end of something.
Reviewed on the final night at Pontio Arts Centre in Bangor.
Originally written for and published on Get the Chance on 26th November 2023.
It has been almost a month since I returned from my first trip to Nashville. My first solo trip abroad at that. I had only ever been outside of the UK and Ireland once in my life before this point, and that was with other people. Many have commented since my return on “how brave” I was to go on my own. “Such a big thing”, some said. “I wouldn’t have been able to do that”.
This response got me thinking about courage. It was in many ways a leap of faith that led me to go ahead and book this trip. In fact, if it wasn’t for my faith then I’m not sure that I would even have gone. For this is something that I’ve dreamed about ever since my conversion to country music a few years ago. I remember looking at holiday packages doing tours to the Musical Heartlands of the American South both pre-Covid and post-pandemic. I could never quite bring myself to make the jump though, partly due to cost but mainly because of fear. It’s been interesting then, to that regard, to look back on the journey that I’ve been on to overcome this obstacle.
As a Christian, I believe in a God who is “patient and kind”. And for me, that patience has been shown in the way that I have been gently nudged to expand my horizons. A few years ago, Liverpool seemed like a far-flung place from my home in North East Wales. I remember being incredibly anxious when I took my first trip by car and then train to a job interview just outside the city. But this journey soon became routine enough that trips to Manchester and London by the same means followed. After initially looking at a trip to Nashville in 2019, I decided to take a day trip to London instead to see Vic Allen at the Green Note. The second time, in 2022, I opted to go on a Writer’s Retreat before heading to see a friend on the Isle of Man. These all felt like far safer and more comfortable options than flying across the pond, though I regretted another missed opportunity due to anxious fear.
Country on the Coast 2023
My trip to the Isle of Man proved pivotal in allowing me to grow however, as did a solo trip to Country on the Coast in Portsmouth back in April. This is because I had to travel back from Douglas to Liverpool via plane. The process of online check-in, security, boarding, and the flight itself ended up being perfect practice for my later flights to and from America. Meanwhile, my time in Portsmouth was an opportunity to check into an independently-owned apartment and overcome my anxiety with regards keypads, fobs, and staying somewhere on my own. Though I didn’t know it at the time, these were small steps in giving me the confidence to know that I could do this. I didn’t need anyone else with me in order to travel.
To journey to another country though is a different kettle of fish. Even here though, little encouragements fed to me via musicians on Instagram made me believe that doing this trip was possible. ‘Plane Tickets‘ by Beth Keeping, in particular, proved most fruitful. Alongside these, my work colleague Paul’s trip to Switzerland (though not undertaken alone) was another gentle push towards believing, You can do this. It was my reading through the Psalms in the couple of months before I made the decision that sealed the deal. The key verse for me was “In the day of my fear, I put my trust in you”. It triggered a memory from a few years ago of a seminar that I attended on the relationship between faith and fear. The key message that I took away at the time was that God does not remove our fear but promises to be with us through it. It was this that spoke to me once more as I finally faced my fear and pushed through the anxiety to hit confirm on my flights to America. The swirling thoughts and mild panic attacks that followed in the intervening weeks were no less substantial after making this step. But it was also like anxiety had lost its grip on me somewhat. The extent to which would become clear when my plan was put into action.
Atlanta
Perhaps it was because I had planned out my trip beforehand that when it came to enact it, there was no anxiety to be found. Not even a terminated train on my way to the airport seemed to phase me. Instead, I quickly dashed to the taxi rank at Manchester Piccadilly where I met two girls in the same predicament. I was grateful that they allowed me to share a ride with them, and I loved hearing a bit of their life story during the twenty minutes it took to get to Terminal 2. I then went through the motions of security, gates and boarding, relying on my experience in Douglas for familiarity without ever being daunted by a very different type of plane journey. I think it was this drawing on some similar experience from the past that set me up for when I got to the other side too, landing in Atlanta and getting a taxi to a hotel without any real fuss; checking into the hotel before making my way to the State Farm Arena without a second thought.
State Farm Arena
There was a moment once I’d entered my hotel room when I looked out of the window and thought, I’ve done it. I’m actually here. A sense of disbelief mixed with a joyous thrill. I still drew on that thread of familiarity as I went to see Lauren Daigle live that night, thinking how much the space was like the O2 Arena in London, where I had been for C2C. But even when the unexpected appeared the day after, the lack of real panic or fear was evident. For my intention had been to catch the 4.35pm coach up to Nashville. But when I arrived, after a lovely, sunny morning in Piedmont Park, instead of a short stay in a crowded bus station, I spent some three hours waiting for it to arrive. But as I sat there, unperturbed, I considered that I would not have got this experience on a package holiday. In place of worry was an acceptance of the situation. I spent my time in the company of these ordinary Americans, watching, listening. One guy just wanted to get home to his wife and kids. A woman who was travelling in this way for the first time exclaimed, between cigarette breaks, that it would also be the last. And when the bus did finally turn up, the guy who sat next to me was harmlessly raging against his employers for putting him on a bus when, usually, they pay for him to travel by plane.
Piedmont Park
Such grievances reminded me of the complaints made back home about the trains. And it was the occasion, twelve months ago, when I had to take a rail replacement service from Manchester after a gig, that I drew on when we eventually arrived into Nashville. First, because like then, I walked across the city in the early hours of the morning, through silent side-streets covered in a light mist. Second, because like then, my nerves were jangling until I reached my destination. Unlike back home though, they didn’t subside once I arrived. This is because I experienced my only intense period of fear throughout the whole trip once I’d got to my hotel room, courtesy of two next-door neighbours shouting racial slurs and white supremacist ideologies which I could only describe as the worst effects of Trumpism. As a result, I got up and went down for breakfast at the earliest opportunity, checking out quickly and feeling much lighter as soon as I walked out the door. The rest of my time in Nashville would be marked by the absence of such things (thankfully). It was replaced by a sense of peace that I carried with me, first on my walk to church that morning for a service, and then on through every other activity I undertook till my final day in Music City.
Country Music Hall of Fame
I was surprised by how much Nashville became like a home-from-home. Then again, as I had done throughout my trip, I wonder how much my ability to compare it to other places that I was already familiar with fed into that feeling of home. I recognised in its skyline of high-rise construction something of Manchester; in the hustle-and-bustle of Broadway’s streets, London life; the friendliness and sense of community in its people and places, Liverpool; and the short distance out to quiet suburbs, Chester. It also reminded me a bit of Bangor: something about its manageable size; the ability to walk to most places without the need of a car. In fact, the only time that I needed to use a form of transport was on the day I bid farewell to the place. This also happened to be where anxiety at last appeared, though even then, it was by no means acute. I think it was knowing that I had to make it to the airport somehow, and my inexperience of getting a bus fed into a general sense of dread. Drawing on the familiar wasn’t possible here, and this seemed to be the effect. I needn’t have worried however. For, assured by the presence of an Information Point when I got there, the lady behind the glass screen was both helpful and reassuring. The presence of a guy with a suitcase at my stop also underlined that I was not alone here. Everything was going to be fine.
Nashville
And it was. I got to the airport and went through the motions. That short spate of anxiety was replaced by a satisfactory sigh. I sat in a window seat and looked out as the plane took off and thought, I’ve done it. My dream has now become a reality. Coming into land in New York for my connecting flight, I found that I had been struck by a travelling bug. I might make this my next destination, I thought. I’ve always wanted to see a show on Broadway. I was returning home a changed person. Having done something that I never thought I’d be able to bring myself to do.
Not that anxiety is beaten. Those who experience it will know this all too well.It just leaves you “until the next opportune time” (Luke 4:13). In this case, it was a fortnight later, as I contemplated going to see Taylor Swift‘s ‘Eras Tour Concert‘ in the cinema. I had kept looking online at the seating plan throughout the week, waiting to see if anyone else had booked. When the time came, there were only four seats selected. Better than being on my own, I thought. But still awkward. I spent a good bit of time wrestling with the thoughts in my mind, particularly over how I’d be perceived. This guy, who had just taken himself on a solo trip abroad to America, was now fretting over a trip to his local cinema.
The Ryman
I did go in the end, joined by two women and two girls who took advantage of the otherwise empty space by dancing in front of the screen. It added to the experience, I think, and made me reflect on the impact of Taylor‘s music, including on my own life. The verse that really struck me over the course of the night was from ‘Lavender Haze‘: “I’m damned if I do give a damn what people say”. I know that it’s going to take more than this line to combat such a thing. But if my trip to Nashville has taught me anything, it’s that each point on the journey can be a small contribution toward something more significant as time goes on. Nothing is ever wasted, I was recently told, in the Kingdom of God.
My hope is that this story of mine will be one of those points to someone, and encourage them on their own journey.
Featured Image of The Parthenon, Nashville (C) Gareth Williams. All other images also (C) Gareth Williams
As the year begins to wind down, so the release of Rebecca Richards’ EP feels timely. ‘New Yesterdays’ is a slow-tempo, ballad-based set of tracks that mark the turn into a season of reflection. Each of the six songs on the record feel like Autumn leaves: shaded with different-coloured emotions that emerge at relationships’ end. They fall into one another in a steady motion, the brown lament of opening track ‘Unluckiest of Hearts’ drifting into the red wrestling of ‘New Yesterdays’ and the yellow yearning of ‘Just Say’.
Their softness is given definition in Rebecca’s vocals, which in some way belie the strength of attitude in her narratives. ‘Sorry Not Sorry’ in particular presents an incongruent mix of defiant lyrics encased in an easy listening sound. There are echoes of Dusty Springfield here, as well as Gretchen Peters on ‘Memories Don’t Know’ and Laura Marling on ‘Overthinking’. This crossover of genres – Country, Folk, Jazz – infused with Blues throughout, is underpinned by a stripped-back presentation that encapsulates the quiet tragedy and beauty of autumnal change. For while there is sadness in the fact that “I can’t unlearn… unwalk… unsmile… unvow”, there is also empowerment in “going back to be the girl from way back when”.
This gentle pathos in its seasoned rhythm means that ‘New Yesterdays’ expresses a confidence in its exploration of relationships that comes from experience. It extinguishes the forever flame with genuine remorse while also acknowledging the potential that can come from the supposed death of love. As such, Rebecca Richards offers the sort of hope that comes with the season. The possibility of change and transformation.
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