OWEN MCAULAY is an artist in that important sense that his music can change the way that you listen to other things. When I realise (after some investigation) that I have just noticed a dog barking way out on the edge of my hearing, four minutes thirty seconds into "Remembrance day" it sets off two days of aural gazing into the depths of all other songs in all other places. What else have I been missing?
"Semi-detached", on Glasgow's Sans-Culottes label, is an album of songs, a companion to the earlier album of sound pieces and compositions that was "Less than Factual". But it does have a closing sequence called "Things in the Room", which are exactly that: so the curious incident of the dog is definitely not accidental. What I'm trying to convey here is that OWEN MCAULAY entertains the mind, body and soul in equal measure. Eight tracks of finely balanced aural pleasure, literary delight and emotional intensity.
Opening song "Semi-detached" has damped acoustic guitar; "my baby loves me, she knows what I want" is intoned like a curse with a sinister keyboard knife edge; the sounds build gradually louder; his voice starts to duet with itself to keep up the pressure of volume and the manly self disbelief. It thinks aloud about a mundane existence among books, a nice house, art galleries and films. Several guitars and many other noises arrive in ones and twos, with a dry and sparse drum track throughout. The identity crisis remains unresolved to the end.
"Remembrance Day" starts with a contrast of siren noise against a warm guitar chord on the front of each bar. Cries come from more places; the guitar is like a heart. Voice sings a pretty and mournful tune in Owen's characteristic talking/singing style, and the guitar picks up a gentle accompaniment. It's a simple tale of regret for a lost year of love. The dog is a mystery that turns the story round and round. I will resist the phone call that could solve the riddle.
"Keep Him Alive" puts us right into Dundee, where D.C. Thomson still publish the Beano, the Broons and The Sunday Post. It's all about a demented campaign in a Very Scottish Newspaper. Owen uses his darkest voice and we learn how odd and unassailable the inventive achievements of one man can be. Just imagine. The self-inflating football!
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"Nine guitars and oscillating buzz" is pretty much what the title says. Two bars repeating with added layers at each cycle - the light and beautiful tune demanding repeated listening. It puts me in mind of current Texas darlings EXPLOSIONS IN THE SKY. It also smacks of "Morning" from Owen's "Six Songs" album, where the euphoric minimalism of a hopeful melody conveys far more than a whole song of words and choruses.
"In Fifty Years" is a dry monologue with a plucked guitar and a shocking drag of fingers along the strings of an acoustic guitar. In the second half a distant track of bell-like keyboards and the lightest of percussion makes it all much richer. When you start plain, the lightest ornament becomes a beautiful embellishment. Death will become us all.
"Ubiety" is less than two minutes with electronics in the lead. It has freeform rhythm with a subtle drone, a random bass part and some richer keyboard sounds to add a little hope. Some other quiet noises wait on the edge of hearing. A frightened animal? I try to hear. They go.
"His face" is a magnificent LEONARD COHEN hymn of a song with beautiful words, most finely set. And before we know what's happening, we're back to "Things in the Room". A perfect device for bringing the mesmerised listener back into some kind of normal awareness. Albeit an awareness made richer for the experience.
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