I'm not sure the participants would thank me for the description, but THE OCCASIONAL KEEPERS are nonetheless a veteran indie supergroup of sorts. Comprising Caesar and Carolyn Allen (ex- Glaswegian Factory stalwarts The Wake) and Bobby Wratten (Field Mice, Trembling Blue Stars) it would seem - on paper - that they have joined forces to make the kind of old-fashioned, lovelorn indie guitar record that faced extinction when the indie-dance crossover got its' feet under the table at the turn of the 1990s.
Naturally, the reality of the situation is rather different, though. Yes, "The Beauty Of The Empty Vessel" holds introspection dear to its' heart, but it embraces experimentalism to a degree many wouldn't have predicted from three people heavily involved in the more sensitive sounds emanating from the British underground in the '80s and early '90s.
If you're wondering what I'm blathering about, then jump straight to "Concrete Music" and "In Quiet Isolation", which effectively form the album's central section. The former is Eno-ish and still and only gradually announces itself from its' 'field recording' intro (people speaking in the distance on a concourse?) after a couple of long minutes. It takes in the most minimal of melodic signposts (a lonely piano tinkles, a single bell tolls, Caesar's melodica floats in and out) and is so frail it barely counts as 'otherworldly'. "In Quiet Isolation", meanwhile, could easily be the album's title. Once again, it's sparser than sparse, with a chiming electric guitar leading the way and ensuring things remain at least one rung up the ladder from 'ambient'.
Carolyn Allen's "North Sea Rig" and Wratten's closing "The Last Lighthouse Keeper" arguably take things further out again. The wintry and sparse "North Sea Rig" would sound good included on a suitable soundtrack with its' Durutti Column-style grand piano, vibes and Caesar's harmonica flitting around like the ghost at the feast, while "The Last Lighthouse Keeper" is introduced by another of Wratten's field recordings (the roar of the sea perhaps?) and only very slowly reveals its' amoebic shape along the way. The only relevant comparison it brings to mind for this reviewer is Talk Talk's introverted masterpiece "Laughing Stock", though of course we should remember Wratten was recording challenging, groundbreaking gear like "Humblebee" and "Freezing Point" with The Field Mice alongside the pop songs years back, so maybe this isn't such a radical move after all.
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Besides, for all the rustic experimentalism, a relatively strong pop pulse continues to beat sporadically. Caesar's "The Bracken" is ultra-gentle and sedate, but beneath the pastorality lurks his still-sharp lyrical skill ("From a big house, a chandelier glows/ The light will go out, the bracken still grows") and a keen ability with a moody backdrop. Wratten, too, clearly hasn't lost his touch, as tracks like "Rose-Scented Fire" and "Of Nightingales" prove. The first is introduced by another of Wratten's field recordings (the distant sounds of a train?) and is a typically lovelorn beauty full of last-gasp passion such as "Will the darkness swallow us if it hears we're not afraid....tonight you and I will steal away". "Of Nightingales", meanwhile, is gossamer frail and finds Wratten "seduced by the thin air into which you disappeared". Both are fine, though the programmed beats, lowing synths and ex-Field Mouse Michael Hiscock appearing to lay down a bassline ensure "Desire" is the closest in design to anything this trio have achieved in the past.
Admittedly, the stylistic U-turns and sometimes over-personal nature of the songs (Wratten's "The Crackle Of Debris" especially makes for painfully awkward listening) sometimes counts against the album as a whole, but that doesn't destroy its' relevance as a brave and uncompromising record and one that, by the sound of it, all three participants needed to make.
"The Beauty Of The Empty Vessel", then, is unlikely to attract huge numbers of new converts, but is surely destined to be cherished by long-term fans. There are worse ways to be condemned in life.
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