Weald

As Brian Ferry once said "There's a new sensation, a fabulous creation" and he enters stage left from the great Northern town of Burnley namely one Rob St John. His debut album "Weald" was recorded on the Edinburgh based Song by Toad label, for whom he has also recorded blog sessions, and signals the arrival of an enticing prospect. This album captures some of the Scottish capital's ghostly otherworldly and ethereal quality. This is also on show on the misty album cover with a bridge shrouded in mist but with a hint of sunshine poking through. St John broadly fits into the singer songwriter bracket but his songs are dense and opaque constructs and he can happily be placed at that end of the spectrum which includes some of the darker compliment of musicians treading the boards today including Nick Cave and Tindersticks. The latter comparison is particularly appropriate since St John sings in a broad Northern accent and comes across as someone doing a simultaneous impression of Ian Curtis, David Gedge from the Wedding Present and Stuart Staples of Tindersticks. Equally if Matt Beringer from the National were to acquire a Lancashire tinge then St John could his doppelganger. Agreed it all sounds a bit of a mish mash but this debut is a work of a potentially brilliant young songwriter who has started in pole position and intends to maintain his position on the grid.

The opener "Your Phantom Limb" signals the intent with a gently chiming electric guitar and a free flowing song that meanders beautifully over St Johns deep vocal. Next up are the two absolute highlights. First up Saragossa Sea has managed to displace Gillian Welch as the most played song on this reviewers I Touch. It is a haunting lament with a brilliant vocal, deceptively powerful and packing a bigger punch than the late Joe Frazier. When the guitars pick up at around 3.50 minutes you pray to the god of music for this thing of beauty to go on forever. More fragile still is "Vanishing point" a slow burner where St John barely mumbles out the words "we're monochrome/we are just vanishing points" over a spooky sounding accordion. The longest song here is "Stanforth force" at over 7 minutes which starts out with an Dave Gilmour(ish) guitar play until the vocal arrives painfully late and tortured. Cheery it is not but its makes up for it with a rare intensity that is uncanny in a singer this young. The funereal "Domino" reveals itself at a sonorous pace and is underpinned by a nasty blues riff and thumping tambourine, not however recommended if you have had a bad day at the office. This makes Portishead sound like a happy bunch of funsters and its one of the darkest things to hit vinyl since Joy Division's "The Eternal". The whole thing is rounded off with the gentle acoustics of "Empty House" which provides some light relief from the earlier high drama and appears the nearest thing on here to a love song.

"Weald" signals a singer not afraid to confront the gloom that envelopes many lives and articulate a melancholic perspective which probably automatically rules out huge commercial success. This bravery will however be repaid by the people who will become smitten by "Weald" since St John on this evidence is a slow burn artist who will gradually ignite intense interest.