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Review: 'REYNOLDS, ANTHONY'
'BRITISH BALLADS'   

-  Label: 'SPINNEY/ HUNGRY HILL (www.anthonyreynolds.net)'
-  Genre: 'Indie' -  Release Date: '10th December 2007'-  Catalogue No: 'HHILL001CD'

Our Rating:
Although this writer's only vaguely aware of ANTHONY REYNOLDS' three-album stint at the helm of cult outfit JACK, it's difficult for his ears not to prick up when confronted with an album described by its' press release as sounding like "beautiful music for drunken librarians" made by a man to whom "the world at large seems deeply unimportant - I frequently forget how old I am, what day or year it is and where I've put my front door keys."

In itself, this seems like a manifesto that those of us romanced by the out-of-step mavericks can but applaud and while Reynolds may be frustrated by the number of times he's forced to call up a locksmith, you'd need acute Alzheimers to forget his wonderful music once it's got you under its' spell.

And it's undeniable that his debut album 'British Ballads' casts a dozen such utterly beguiling spells. It's truly lovely stuff: literate, grown-up, disillusioned but unbowed and kissed by Reynolds' eerily effective croon and - on occasions - equally affecting vocal foils from an impressive roll-call of guest collaborators such as DOT ALLISON (One Dove, Death In Vegas, Hal David, Peter Doherty), JOHN HOWARD, SIMON RAYMONDE (Cocteau Twins and Bella Union Records founder) and the legendary VASHTI BUNYAN.

Although a little looser-hipped than much of what follows it, opener 'I Know You Know' gives you some idea what to expect. Wafting in on a laid-back, but determined groove centring around a snaky bassline before strings and guitar gradually materialise, it finds a smitten Reynolds imploring "don't let me out of you" while Dot Allison provides a suitably breathy counterpoint. It's a great start, not a million miles from the kind of thing Tindersticks might have done in their earlier days and all the better for being followed by the beautifully-weighted 'Those Kind Of Songs' where the strings and piano lift our hero's pain to perfection.

Wade in even deeper and you can simply wallow. Featuring a shadowy cameo from Vashti Bunyan, the fascinatingly dark 'Country Girl' is a delicate and rather sinister creep of a thing (which weirdly reminds me of the melody from the ancient 'Nature Boy'), while 'The Disappointed' is the big, sweeping balled he's been working up to with loads of arching strings, grand piano and even occasional tubular bells sounding through the turbulent, emotional mist. Just when you're thinking the sound of disillusionment doesn't get better than this, Reynolds injects a little mordant humour, with the sparser, acoustic confessional 'A Quite Life', where our hero rejects the 21st century's everyday trappings ("dogshit and children and rude shop assistants?...No, no thanks") in particularly fine style.

Like all great albums (and, make no mistake, 'British Ballads' really is a complete album from stem to stern), it has a great final stretch, too. Based around Rupert Brooke's classic poem of the same name 'The Hill' features renowned philosopher/author Colin Wilson (writer of great existentialist novels like 'The Outsiders') narrating over the dream-like drone of the music and is by some way the most avant-garde thing here. It's gripping stuff, though, and sets us up nicely for 'Just So You Know' (featuring both Vashti Bunyan and Simon Raymonde) which is another drifting, glacial ballad featuring what sounds like a massed choir. For me, this song has a great lyrical couplet ("It's a fight we can't win/ but we've lost if we give in") which somehow captures the album's whole pugilistic, yet typically resigned sense of Englishness.

Equally perversely, Reynolds then presents us with his finest pop moment by way of a goodbye. 'Songs Of Leaving' is a spirited, anthemic finale and - with the spectres of Pulp and Phil Spector howling against the rain-lashed windows - it's quite possibly the most upbeat thing here. Well, save for the fatalistic lyrical slant, but that goes without saying.

Bearing in mind he's known to eschew many of the trappings the come with a 'raised profile' and espouses a hermetic lifestyle, I've no idea whether Anthony Reynolds really has expectations for 'British Ballads'. The fact of the matter, though, is that it's a wonderful debut, steeped in dignity and class and just the sort of achievement that really ought to elevate him from the murky corners of cult status. Or at the very least ensure his locksmith recognises him when his front door keys go walkabout in the future.
  author: Tim Peacock

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REYNOLDS, ANTHONY - BRITISH BALLADS