OWEN MCAULAY is one of Everett True's genuine Outsider Musicians. Everett True probably doesn’t know that, but why should he? Owen lives, works and makes his music in Glasgow and rarely shows himself beyond a modest fringe. I first saw him, away from his seriously good band SMACKVAN, at the now defunct 13th Note Café three or four years ago.
Cottonwood is Owen's fifth solo release by my reckoning, and it's as good as anything he's done. More serene, less politically angry than 2003's "Less than Factual" and less experimental than 2004's "Semi-Detached", this collection of 12 pieces blends the ambient recordings, found sounds, beautiful tunes and starkly personal lyrics in a more complete and satisfied way than I can remember.
MCAULAY would be quite easy to miss if you didn’t stop to listen carefully. His vocal delivery is breathy and Glaswegian, as if to say "art-house introspective at work". But stop a minute and hear the gentle inflections, the nuances of passion and joy and wrinkle the smile lines on your face at his finely written lyrics. He doesn't strive to sound like anyone else but himself and once you settle down to give him time the delights of his music are clear as a siren on the Clyde.
Where politics, sonic explorations and cultural commentary have been on Owen's wide agenda over the years. "cottonwood" seems to focus on the personal and the domestic universe. His emotionally accurate observations are no less unsettling than ever, he just seems to live with them more easily than before. "Refuge" is as beautiful a melody as any you'll hear any year. It could be something by Gary Lightbody or Will Oldham. But while he sings softly "keep me here and teach me here" and the sounds are soft and romantic, the next line "tell me again they won’t reach me here" brings a cold shiver from the real childhood fears that live in all of us. "take the monsters of my daymares and chase them away" is a simple line that carries a ripple of dread into the listener's heart. It’s a song for a child, but the adult knows exactly the same shapeless terrors.
There's a poppy feel to "grown and growing", with upbeat percussion, a hooky keyboard bassline and even a kind of cheese flavoured guitar solo. "jess with ball" takes it for granted that the music of everyday life is more than worth recording and listening to again. While Anna McAulay plays a sweet five note tune on the organ, Jess the black and white dog wrestles with a ball and pants in a very doggy way.. Somebody coughs and then laughs with pleasure and a harmonic shape gradually builds (with bells) in a Boards of Canada style. The whole thing is as decorative and warming as anything you'll hear.
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"Only One" is a country love song with a strong Scots accent and a hint of Johnny Cash bass with gradual additions of drums, harmony vocals and Hammond-type keyboard. Owen adds a precise and telling guitar line. "Sky above, ground below" is an upsy downsy bit of folkish singalong with a vulgar saxophone making a wonderfully bleary noise in my left ear. (I might have my stereo wired the wrong way round). "Long walk" is an altogether more beautiful procession of electronic sounds and guitar chords with a haunting tune that erupts at about two minutes. Gorgeous slow stuff. "Agreed" opens as if the same idea was going to come again. But it soon becomes a pressingly urgent song about powerlessness and softly spoken resentment. "It’s been agreed. But not by me. No opportunity to make the present different". "Trees" and "Circles" take us out with acoustic guitar songs of great quality and beautifully subtle arrangements that could be weepy film sound tracks.
The album ends in more of the Glasgow ambience – a car, a child, a creakiy gate, songbirds, gulls. A suburban street I guess. It’s "wardlaw avenue 3.15pm 14th Dec 2004" and if you have been listening closely to the filmic "Circles" this will draw your attention out to the wider pan across your own street and your own world with a new perspective. Artists do that kind of thing.
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