I've listened to this about 4 times in the last 24 hours. Such expressive guitar playing. It makes me wonder what his guitar method is. He said in a Wire interview that when it comes to different tunings, he forgets what they are, but it definitely sounds like he's throwing in some interesting tunings in there all the same.
― this is just a saginaw (dog latin), Wednesday, 7 January 2015 14:05 (nine years ago) link
also everyone likes a guy who posts his posts to multiple threads
imo it is nothing short of the finest pastoralia the north of england has produced, its folk stylings tempered with something utterly seaborne & untameable. 'nothing important' is a preternaturally brilliant folk-prog exegesis on mortality for god's sake, yet it also feels…slightly improvised?
glad to have you on board, i really think this stuff is the most interesting & emotionally affecting music coming out of this country at the moment
― London's Left-Wing Utopian Non-League Ultras Are Reclaiming Football (imago), Wednesday, January 7, 2015 2:26 PM (11 seconds ago) Bookmark Flag Post Permalink
― London's Left-Wing Utopian Non-League Ultras Are Reclaiming Football (imago), Wednesday, 7 January 2015 14:27 (nine years ago) link
if nothing else, "utterly seaborne" has me downloading this atm
― jello my future biafriend (roxymuzak), Wednesday, 7 January 2015 15:14 (nine years ago) link
this fucking guy... the lyrical swing between the mundane and the fantastical... All in a weird semi-tonal bloodchant:
Year 7s on a school trip to Featherstone CastleAnd some wee scallywag's brungA Coca-Cola bottle containing a spiritPoor Peter Hepplethwaite cracks open his headOn a shiny brass doorknobAnd has to be rushed by helicopter amublanceTo Haltwhistle HospitalSi Shovell fills a Reebok pumpWith the pulp from his bellyThen sets off a fire extinguisherIn the girl's dormitoryAnd finally clambers into bed with Miss BartholomewMuch to the chagrin of the deputy headmasterWhose scarlet skull is firmly wedged between her thighsI only drank a few little dropletsI only took a tiny draught of the vile stuffDowning Asda's own-brand stubbies in the lad's bogsI listen to the dull reflection of a carillon in the toilet bowlMy A-levels drifting away from meMatthew Mooney's hockle in my hairSmells like menthol tabsOutside the chip shop Thaddeus Wagstaff fractures my cheekbone;3 empty cans of Castlemaine XXXXGo rolling down my trouser legBlood, snot and curry coalesce in the corners of my nailsMy friends drifting away from meI only drank a few little dropletsI only took a tiny draught of the vile stuffAttempting to penetrate a coconut husk with a Philips-head screwdriverI pierce a hole straight through my hand into the laminate worktopIt's a major operation to repair a damaged tendon;I come around with the tube still down my throatThe milk of amnesia fills my cup and back into the hole I goSnoring like a pan of broth, I arouse the ireOf my fellow patientsWagging their ladles in the darkMy neighbour Andrew lost two fingers to a Staffie-crossWhilst jogging over Cow Hill with a Pepperami in his bum-bagHe's a junior partner at James & James no-win-no-fee solicitorThinking of relocating to a Buddhist monastery in HalifaxHe reckons I should try meditationHe reckons it could benefit my peace of mindMy bedroom walls are papered with the stripes of Newcastle UnitedBetween which I perceive the presence of a horse-headed figureHolding aloft a flaming quiver of bramble silhouettesHe is the King of ChildrenSinging like a boiler: 'Tomorrow is on its way'I haven't had a wink of sleep and now the sun is in my porridgeI'm starting a BTEC in Engineering at Tynemouth CollegeMy thermos flask leaks parsnip soup on the metroClogging up the keys of my MacBookCarrot pennies steam amidst a pyre of pencilsRuck-sack dripping up the steps of WH Smith'sTo buy a fresh pad of paperI only drank a few little dropletsI only took a tiny draught of the vile stuff
Si Shovell fills a Reebok pumpWith the pulp from his bellyThen sets off a fire extinguisherIn the girl's dormitoryAnd finally clambers into bed with Miss BartholomewMuch to the chagrin of the deputy headmasterWhose scarlet skull is firmly wedged between her thighs
I only drank a few little dropletsI only took a tiny draught of the vile stuff
Downing Asda's own-brand stubbies in the lad's bogsI listen to the dull reflection of a carillon in the toilet bowlMy A-levels drifting away from meMatthew Mooney's hockle in my hairSmells like menthol tabs
Outside the chip shop Thaddeus Wagstaff fractures my cheekbone;3 empty cans of Castlemaine XXXXGo rolling down my trouser legBlood, snot and curry coalesce in the corners of my nailsMy friends drifting away from me
Attempting to penetrate a coconut husk with a Philips-head screwdriverI pierce a hole straight through my hand into the laminate worktopIt's a major operation to repair a damaged tendon;I come around with the tube still down my throatThe milk of amnesia fills my cup and back into the hole I go
Snoring like a pan of broth, I arouse the ireOf my fellow patientsWagging their ladles in the dark
My neighbour Andrew lost two fingers to a Staffie-crossWhilst jogging over Cow Hill with a Pepperami in his bum-bagHe's a junior partner at James & James no-win-no-fee solicitorThinking of relocating to a Buddhist monastery in Halifax
He reckons I should try meditationHe reckons it could benefit my peace of mind
My bedroom walls are papered with the stripes of Newcastle UnitedBetween which I perceive the presence of a horse-headed figureHolding aloft a flaming quiver of bramble silhouettesHe is the King of ChildrenSinging like a boiler: 'Tomorrow is on its way'
I haven't had a wink of sleep and now the sun is in my porridgeI'm starting a BTEC in Engineering at Tynemouth CollegeMy thermos flask leaks parsnip soup on the metroClogging up the keys of my MacBook
Carrot pennies steam amidst a pyre of pencilsRuck-sack dripping up the steps of WH Smith'sTo buy a fresh pad of paper
― this is just a saginaw (dog latin), Friday, 9 January 2015 14:29 (nine years ago) link
Nothing Important is even better, maybe?
I am born by Caesarian section at 9:30 AMin Princess Mary's Maternity Hospitalon the 24th May, forty years ago today,dangled by the ankle, smacked across the bum,swaddled in a blanket howling like a wheel.My big brother on his tip-toes hisses 'I don't like him'.He's Maradona, I'm Peter Beardsley, chasing a ball through the mudfollowed by the kitchen window, bellowing through the fern:'Boys! Dinner's ready!'Dad is tuning in the telly beyond a heaving mountain of spaghetti hoops.I am nothingYou are nothingNothing importantDeath within a dreamPetrified on the back of a pedalo in the Balearic Sea off AlcudiaI can see the ghost of my uncle Derek waving to us from the beach,gently drifting out of reach,the telephone receiver swinging by its cord,a glass of broken beer expanding on the lino.My mam slips into the coffina polaroid of his sweetheartClutching Good-Luck Bear I peer gingerly over the side,press my nose up to the tide,and there behold a barracuda chewing on a chrysanthemumand a family of clownfish hovering in the corpse's hair.I am nothingYou are nothingNothing importantDeath within a dreamIn the scullery of the cub-hut my clarinet fallsinto a sack of flour - a flurry of pinssquashed into the leather handlea crescent moon of sleeping fig-wasps.Drizzling my fingers with The Magic SpongeDad says 'we'll probably have to chop them off'.He collapses like a canvas tent on the floodlit astroturfrent by a fibula guide-rod poking a hole through his shinThere are teardrops in his moustachecharging a flute of champagnedown the aisle and out for a throw-inA St.John ambulance careers between the sugary pillars of the wedding cakeI am nothingYou are nothingNothing importantDeath within a dreamA crystal spoonA pewter tankardthese words inscribed upon the base:HAPPY RETIREMENT BEST GRANDDAD IN THE WORLDA toby jug filled to the brim with curtain hooksA sheepskin rug discoloured with tobacco smokewithin its braids concealed a rankof plastic soldiers set to burst underfootBerwick in oils: a skiff on the swollen Tweedcradling a false pearla ceramic seraphwith an ashtray for a brain- and I don't care about these thingsWhy do they remain so clear while the faces of my loved ones disappear?A Rington's platea forking hairline seam of superglue through the Black Gatea digital photoframefrozen on a blurry orange thumbI don't care about these thingsOld karate trophiesI remember these thingsThimbles and pesetasI remember all these thingsA roll of Woolworth's price stickersI can see all these things butwhere have all my people gone?In the end it wasn't meant to be.He was the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen.He survived for seven daysbefore he slipped away
I am nothingYou are nothingNothing importantDeath within a dream
Petrified on the back of a pedalo in the Balearic Sea off AlcudiaI can see the ghost of my uncle Derek waving to us from the beach,gently drifting out of reach,the telephone receiver swinging by its cord,a glass of broken beer expanding on the lino.My mam slips into the coffina polaroid of his sweetheartClutching Good-Luck Bear I peer gingerly over the side,press my nose up to the tide,and there behold a barracuda chewing on a chrysanthemumand a family of clownfish hovering in the corpse's hair.
In the scullery of the cub-hut my clarinet fallsinto a sack of flour - a flurry of pinssquashed into the leather handlea crescent moon of sleeping fig-wasps.Drizzling my fingers with The Magic SpongeDad says 'we'll probably have to chop them off'.He collapses like a canvas tent on the floodlit astroturfrent by a fibula guide-rod poking a hole through his shinThere are teardrops in his moustachecharging a flute of champagnedown the aisle and out for a throw-inA St.John ambulance careers between the sugary pillars of the wedding cake
A crystal spoonA pewter tankardthese words inscribed upon the base:HAPPY RETIREMENT BEST GRANDDAD IN THE WORLDA toby jug filled to the brim with curtain hooksA sheepskin rug discoloured with tobacco smokewithin its braids concealed a rankof plastic soldiers set to burst underfootBerwick in oils: a skiff on the swollen Tweedcradling a false pearla ceramic seraphwith an ashtray for a brain- and I don't care about these thingsWhy do they remain so clear while the faces of my loved ones disappear?
A Rington's platea forking hairline seam of superglue through the Black Gatea digital photoframefrozen on a blurry orange thumbI don't care about these thingsOld karate trophiesI remember these thingsThimbles and pesetasI remember all these thingsA roll of Woolworth's price stickersI can see all these things butwhere have all my people gone?
In the end it wasn't meant to be.He was the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen.He survived for seven daysbefore he slipped away
yeah try not to cry
― London's Left-Wing Utopian Non-League Ultras Are Reclaiming Football (imago), Friday, 9 January 2015 15:00 (nine years ago) link
I like those lyrics. Right now, I just wish he didn't sing them in unison with the guitar lead like Robert Wyatt doing George Benson. But I am trying.
― $80 is absurd and very ridiculous! (Sufjan Grafton), Friday, 23 January 2015 01:53 (nine years ago) link
'Nothing Important' > 'The Vile Stuff', though
― $80 is absurd and very ridiculous! (Sufjan Grafton), Friday, 23 January 2015 01:55 (nine years ago) link
The Vile Stuff is utterly amazing but yeah it got those votes (compared to NI) on the strength of having a shortened version with a video. Nothing Important is maybe one of the 20 greatest songs I've ever heard. I like that it got 134 points in the EOY poll with 3 votes alone!
― my shoes are deception (imago), Friday, 23 January 2015 01:59 (nine years ago) link
Richard Dawson is an interesting one. Yes, there are similarities with other avant garde guitarists like Bill Orcutt and Derek Bailey, but those dudes strike me as being very deliberately deconstructionist to an almost academic degree whereas Dawson's playing style is 100% expressionist and very audibly so. His lyrical approach and the regional, historical and autobiographical references he incorporates into his work are truly unique. Also, the influence of art and world music in his work is as strong as any English folk music. Not to mention the way he amps his nylon string guitar through a Fender, which is considered highly unorthodox but achieves a very particular tone. There's a reason Wire mag has been going crazy over him this year.― quinoa: how's it spelt? (dog latin), Friday, January 23, 2015 2:43 PM (6 minutes ago) Bookmark Flag Post Permalink
― quinoa: how's it spelt? (dog latin), Friday, January 23, 2015 2:43 PM (6 minutes ago) Bookmark Flag Post Permalink
brilliant post that needs to go here, nice one dl
― my shoes are deception (imago), Friday, 23 January 2015 14:56 (nine years ago) link
New remix of Judas Iscariot by Basic House (Bish from Drunk In Hell/Opal Tapes).
http://www.factmag.com/2015/01/23/hear-basic-houses-misty-remix-of-newcastle-guitar-bard-richard-dawson/
― the bowels are not what they seem (aldo), Friday, 23 January 2015 15:02 (nine years ago) link
An over-reliance on locations and names in lyrics is not to my taste. But: Dawson does it so much and so arrogantly I feel he's doing it deliberately to mock American songwriters who have interstates and national parks they'll namedrop without thinking about it. I mean, I think he's "taking the piss"
― fgti, Friday, 23 January 2015 15:10 (nine years ago) link
srsly been struggling with which riverbed tbh
― my shoes are deception (imago), Friday, 23 January 2015 15:11 (nine years ago) link
He's basically doing the same stuff that happened in so much early 2000s psych-folk and freak-folk that I loved, not Devendra/Vetiver/Akron Family, but Cerberus Shoal/Big Blood, Eric Chenaux, Deep Dark United. Love this kind of stuff.
xp please LJ don't I come here to relax
― fgti, Friday, 23 January 2015 15:12 (nine years ago) link
sorry
there's something to be said about an overreliance on place names but dawson's use of microscopic detail is a v important part of his aesthetic - see the lyrics to Nothing Important where he compiles a huge list of childhood memories but then REJECTS them all - he has no need for them - it is more the tragic pathos of detail that he is invested in I'd say, less taking the piss (although there is a bit of that; he's very funny)
never heard any of those artists. links would be appreciated :)
― my shoes are deception (imago), Friday, 23 January 2015 15:17 (nine years ago) link
or just single-song/single-album recommendations
― my shoes are deception (imago), Friday, 23 January 2015 15:18 (nine years ago) link
I'm not so into that piss-taking theory, if only because it seems like a poor payoff for the effort it requires. I think as Dawson does it, it's serious (I don't mean po-faced).
― jmm, Friday, 23 January 2015 15:22 (nine years ago) link
Silly thing to take the piss out of, so, no.
― A trumpet growing in a garden (Tom D.), Friday, 23 January 2015 15:26 (nine years ago) link
Richard Dawson is an interesting one. Yes, there are similarities with other avant garde guitarists like Bill Orcutt and Derek Bailey, but those dudes strike me as being very deliberately deconstructionist to an almost academic degree whereas Dawson's playing style is 100% expressionist and very audibly so. His lyrical approach and the regional, historical and autobiographical references he incorporates into his work are truly unique. Also, the influence of art and world music in his work is as strong as any English folk music. Not to mention the way he amps his nylon string guitar through a Fender, which is considered highly unorthodox but achieves a very particular tone. There's a reason Wire mag has been going crazy over him this year.
― my shoes are deception (imago), Friday, 23 January 2015 Bookmark Flag Post Permalink
No it isn't.
― xyzzzz__, Friday, 23 January 2015 15:30 (nine years ago) link
LOL
― A trumpet growing in a garden (Tom D.), Friday, 23 January 2015 15:33 (nine years ago) link
I just responded to that in the EOY thread:
hey dog latin I am late for this but there is not one single thing about Bill Orcutt that is "academic", now please go listen to Harry Pussy's What Was Music and Ride A Dove.
― ilx polls with striking imago (sleeve), Friday, 23 January 2015 15:39 (nine years ago) link
it's a great post about Dawson, at least - I don't know Orcutt or Bailey
― my shoes are deception (imago), Friday, 23 January 2015 15:39 (nine years ago) link
so you didn't know a few of the bits he was comparing it to - are you even going to start thinking before you type this stuff.
― xyzzzz__, Friday, 23 January 2015 15:52 (nine years ago) link
Place naming has always incited ire in my heart I guess since I heard some Canucks try and do it "she blew like a Chinook down Yonge Street" or something
If you like the raga guitar of Richard, search Eric Chenaux "Worm and Gear", it's on Soundcloud. Stompy vibe? "Sweetie" from the Cerberus Shoal split w Herman Dune (no Herman on it don't worry). Deep Dark United is my favourite band ever, seek "Zut".
― fgti, Friday, 23 January 2015 15:53 (nine years ago) link
Hey, I like Herman Dune. Grrrr.
― emil.y, Friday, 23 January 2015 15:53 (nine years ago) link
omg I did not know about that Cerebus Shoal split, I love them, thank you!
― ilx polls with striking imago (sleeve), Friday, 23 January 2015 15:55 (nine years ago) link
I like Herman Dune too tbh! But for different reasons, different moods
― fgti, Friday, 23 January 2015 15:56 (nine years ago) link
Weirdly that CS/HD split is imo the best thing the Cerberus camp would do til Big Blood
― fgti, Friday, 23 January 2015 15:57 (nine years ago) link
yh cheers, stoked to hear these. micachu mixtape was gr8 btw so ty doubly
― my shoes are deception (imago), Friday, 23 January 2015 15:59 (nine years ago) link
I agree that place naming can be irksome - claiming a sort of rootsy kinship in a play for perceived authenticity - but Dawson is playing with memory and its trappings, also he likes & revels in the sounds of the names a lot. Hogwhistle Hospital!
― my shoes are deception (imago), Friday, 23 January 2015 16:03 (nine years ago) link
Didn't hear much Harry Pussy in the Dawson tracks I listened to; solo Orcutt is a different matter.
― sʌxihɔːl (Ward Fowler), Friday, 23 January 2015 16:12 (nine years ago) link
oh for sure, was just bringing up the HP albums is response to Orcutt's perceived "academic" qualities
― ilx polls with striking imago (sleeve), Friday, 23 January 2015 16:14 (nine years ago) link
Yeah they are pretty much the antithesis of academic albs (unless the Centre for Advanced Bill Harkelroad Studies has really taken off recently)
― sʌxihɔːl (Ward Fowler), Friday, 23 January 2015 16:38 (nine years ago) link
Hogwhistle?
― ewar woowar (or something), Friday, 23 January 2015 16:42 (nine years ago) link
OMG, it has been a long time since I listened to anything by Chenaux or Deep Dark United! Should dig some up. Has Dawson ever mentioned being aware of them?
― EveningStar (Sund4r), Friday, 23 January 2015 16:44 (nine years ago) link
For the record, the only Orcutt I've heard is 'A History Of Every One'. I will check out Harry Pussy. But yeah, IIRC that was an album of deconstructed standards and reminded me very much of Derek Bailey. I mean, I love and respect Bailey. He's a revolutionary and his ideas are incredible, but I listen to Dawson for very different reasons.
― quinoa: how's it spelt? (dog latin), Friday, 23 January 2015 16:57 (nine years ago) link
Respec' to Del
― A trumpet growing in a garden (Tom D.), Friday, 23 January 2015 17:05 (nine years ago) link
A gentleman and a scholar.
― xyzzzz__, Friday, 23 January 2015 17:06 (nine years ago) link
Not much of a singer though
― A trumpet growing in a garden (Tom D.), Friday, 23 January 2015 17:06 (nine years ago) link
Nobody's perfect.
― xyzzzz__, Friday, 23 January 2015 17:09 (nine years ago) link
It's okay when Stomping Tom does it though, right?
― everything, Friday, 23 January 2015 18:50 (nine years ago) link
we used to live there on vine st
― $80 is absurd and very ridiculous! (Sufjan Grafton), Friday, 23 January 2015 19:21 (nine years ago) link
feel like street names should be exempt bc there are so many repeats
― $80 is absurd and very ridiculous! (Sufjan Grafton), Friday, 23 January 2015 19:22 (nine years ago) link
Stompin' Tom does it just fineAmericans can get away with it usually but if you hear "Dayton, Ohio 1903" and get what I mean then good
― fgti, Friday, 23 January 2015 19:59 (nine years ago) link
I choose to take "Dayton, Ohio 1903" as a reference to first powered flight so that I can laugh at the narrator tbh
― $80 is absurd and very ridiculous! (Sufjan Grafton), Friday, 23 January 2015 21:02 (nine years ago) link
think I got that interpretation from a comment on songmeanings.com, though.
― $80 is absurd and very ridiculous! (Sufjan Grafton), Friday, 23 January 2015 21:03 (nine years ago) link
actually, I laugh with Randy at the person that asked Randy to write that type of song, i.e. "Sing a song of long ago"
― $80 is absurd and very ridiculous! (Sufjan Grafton), Friday, 23 January 2015 21:05 (nine years ago) link
listen not to belabor this orcutt stuff but listen to "judas iscariot" off the dawson album and not think of orcutt is pretty ridiculous imo
― Wu-Tang Clannad (upper mississippi sh@kedown), Friday, 23 January 2015 21:11 (nine years ago) link
also i really do like this album good job richard dawson ilx poll season makes me combative for no good reason i'm glad this album exists and ppl are digging it
― Wu-Tang Clannad (upper mississippi sh@kedown), Friday, 23 January 2015 21:17 (nine years ago) link
Yes we're on the same page
― fgti, Friday, 23 January 2015 21:32 (nine years ago) link
"Robert Wyatt doing George Benson" is a wonderful observation.
― charlie h, Saturday, 31 January 2015 01:33 (nine years ago) link