Graham Reid | | 2 min read
Although some Americana artists work in the area of social observation and comment, it has been British writers who have a deep and abiding engagement, probably because of a culture steeped in class and social division.
From the Beatles, Stones, Who, Ray Davies and the Small Faces through the Sex Pistols, Clash and Crass to Blur, Paul Weller, Pulp and Madness and up to recent releases by the Beavis Frond (Little Eden) and the Coral (Coral Island), penetrating and often jaded observations of British life has been a preoccupation: culture, social position, the drudgery of work and life in the suburbs . . ..
It also seems to be – with honourable exceptions like Marianne Faithfull – a topic dominated by male writers.
Into this steps Cornwall's Ben Woods as The Golden Dregs, that very name implying the residue and detritus of promise, something considerably less than Van Morrison's romantically glowing Albion.
In his slow baritone – think Bill Fay, Leonard Cohen and Bill Callahan – Woods looks to his small world of Truro (population around 20,000, birthplace of Queen drummer Roger Taylor) and the changes being wrought by urbanisation, gentrification and tourism.
“This time it's real, buildings buildings buildings and painted tarmac fields, rows and rows of houses, brick and mortar graves” on the speak-sing piano ballad How It Starts.
“Climbed to the roof so I could be high, saw a lifetime passing me by. There was warm smoke on the vista, thick clouds at the farthest reach of the sky, and I smiled to myself and waited to die” on Vista.
In a litany of images in Vista which end with “I've seen it all now” he cites the falling rain, the burning plane, the maddening crowd (sic), the stubborn and the proud, the disgraced prince, the unconvinced, the boy who lied, the rising tide . . .
The metaphors about the changes, passage of time and death may seem grim on the printed page but the warmth and resonance of Woods' delivery is coupled with the subtle diversity of the music through folk, poetic pop, stately horns, strings and the throbbing electronic beats and swinging vocals on Sundown Lake: “Are we losing touch or is it not our season . . . where the concrete meets the sea”.
On Grace and Dignity may be very personal for Ben Woods but he speaks for the many who witness the passing of a familiar world and the certainties of yesteryear.
But this eulogy (the title of one song) is not bitter, nostalgic or angry, perhaps just a bit weary yet still finding delight in the world: “There's a constant hum on Sundown Lake and underneath an ochre sky, and what a difference a day makes. And what a day to be alive”.
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Declaration: This album came out in late February when we were living in the aftermath of our flooding and would have gone completely unnoticed but for an unexpected care package of new vinyl albums from the wonderful people at Auckland's distribution company The Label. This quiet delight was among them.
Thank you again, Lisa, Lucy and Sarah.
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You can hear and buy this album at bandcamp here but shop locally, because the vinyl version comes with a lyric sheet and a wonderful fold-out photo of the fictional town of Polgras by Edie Lawrence.
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