Hi, DLL – you’re right, it was different from our usual posts. As you know, Esse and the ideas behind it are works in progress, and this piece was an attempt to pin down some of the metaphysics involved (it was clearly labelled “first draft”). The style was abstract and the tone was stilted and the whole thing was rather jejune but, as we’ve agreed, we’ll have more fun using the blog as a way of openly sharing our ideas in the raw so that we can all try to thrash some sense out of them. As the S said to me the other day, it’s a bit like a Socratic dialogue or symposium (no false modesty there!).
Personally, I’m feeling more confident about the idea that Esse could serve as a bridge between religions and the secular public space, Esse being the “god of reason” while the God of Abraham etc. is the god of creativity. The offending post, for all its faults, has been helpful to me in that respect. I’m thinking of working up this theme for a future post of my own but I have no idea when I’m going to find the time to do it.
Meanwhile, why don’t you think of posting something in response to the “Genesis” piece? I was intrigued by what you were saying at Anne’s the other day about the Old Testament account of creation and The Fall reflecting ancestral memory of the Neolithic revolution. I’d be interested in reading something about that.
PS I’ve started a correspondence section so we can keep these exchanges a bit separate from actual posts.
Dear R and S, I’ve been scratching my head over that last post. What’s going on? It’s a bit artsy-fartsy to say the least, and I notice the About page has gone the same way. I know we’re trying to draw Esse into public debate but I’m not sure this is the right way to do it. One of the things I like about this blog is that it’s usually pretty down to earth, but you blokes are beginning to sound as though you’re feeling yourselves up. Keep it real (or, as we used to say, fair dinkum)! We’re supposed to be bush philosophers, not woosey left-bank intellectuals.
PS Please don’t address me as “Liz” in future correspondence.
Reality begins with consciousness, which may be analogous to a cosmic singularity. Within consciousness there are two perspectives. The first, in order of development, is subjectivity, in which consciousness is spontaneously aware of its singularity.
The second is objectivity, which begins to develop as external objects and events present themselves. The consciousness becomes curious about what might lie outside itself. It seeks to know, and gradually becomes aware of the possibility of The Other.
In pursuit of The Other, the consciousness must address a contradiction: the inspiration for its pursuit is subjective and spontaneous while the execution is objective, deliberate and proactive.
The consciousness contains the contradiction in a synthesis which, like the pursuit itself, is an act of primal creativity (a “big bang”, to labour the cosmic analogy). This creativity leads to the idea of the relationship between Self and Other, which is itself a synthesis of the subjective and the objective.
Suspect ideology. Great pic, though…
But this synthesis comes under pressure as it transpires that the relationship between Self and Other is asymmetrical: there is only one Self, but there are many Others.
The asymmetry can be oppressive and may lead to a breakdown in the relationship between Self and Other with the result that the consciousness becomes alienated.
One way to address this is through another creative act, by conceiving the notion that relationships can be ordered or classified by a range of values or hierarchy. There are not only many Others and different Others, but different kinds of Others.
From the idea of kinds and categories comes the idea of distinguishing between the general and particular. Generalities appear to offer simplicity, coherence and understanding, which may be equated with truth. Particularities by comparison appear to offer complexity and confusion.
Generalities may be extrapolated from the real to the imaginative and, ultimately, to the metaphysical. The biggest of such generalities is, of course, God.
For many cultures, the idea of God is the building block for a model of reality that can address questions about existence and provide a template for social order. The Esse idea of God is a contribution to this tradition, but disavows any pretence to authority. It is purely a lay theory.
The Esse Existential Model of Reality
In Esse, God = existence. Existence (aka Esse) is the first, greatest and last dimension which encompasses all others including space, time and cosmic singularities. It is an infinite constant.
Line, plane and depth are respectively the second, third and fourth dimensions of the universe under Esse, and time is the fifth. According to (my understanding of) Big Bang theory, the universe is expanding and is therefore finite, destined one day to collapse back into a cosmic singularity.
Spirit is the sixth dimension under Esse. In the same way that consciousness seeks to know and relate to The Other, so Spirit seeks to know and relate to Esse. In another similarity, Spirit’s pursuit is a creative act in which the subjective and objective (the human and “divine” spirits) are synthesised.
Through this synthesis, Spirit seeks to transcend, if only momentarily, the finiteness of the universe.
Consciousness, Spirit and all dimensions are finite. Only existence (Esse) is eternal, because nothing can come before or after it without itself existing, existence being the essential precondition for anything to exist.
You read it here first: this media release has just been finalised and approved by Universal Stranger’s public relations office:
Neath Port Talbot, Wales, UK, January, 12 2016—Welsh punk folk legend Nigel Philip Davies has confirmed that he will play for Donald Trump’s inauguration as US President on January 20.
“I admit I had some reservations,” said Davies, who was trolled by Trump supporters when, during the election campaign, he released Mr Tangerine Man, an anti-Trump protest song based on Bob Dylan’s classic Mr Tambourine Man.
“But when I saw the impressive line-up of musicians, movie stars and other celebrities who won’t be performing at the inauguration, or even watching it on TV, I thought ‘Chwarae teg, it’s his first day on the job, I’ll cut him some slack.’”
Because of his other commitments, Davies will limit his set to just one song, Unfinished Business, from his most recent solo album, Songs from a River.
“It’s kind of appropriate, as it can be interpreted as making the point that now that Trump actually is President, he’d better start delivering for all the people who put him there.”
The point is underlined by the video, in which footage of Davies playing and singing is interspersed with harrowing photographs of poverty in modern-day America.
“It cuts both ways—as a reminder to Trump to pull his finger out and do something for the people who voted for him, and as a reminder to the Democrats that the social evils they claim to be fighting still very much exist.”
Clearly Davies’ anti-Trump position hasn’t softened, so how does he think his performance will be received by the President?
“Well, it’s not like I’m actually going to be there,” said Davies. “I’ll be at home in Wales watching the inauguration on the telly and at some point in the proceedings—probably when the Mormon Tabernacle Choir start singing Oh Happy Day!—I’ll turn the volume down.
“Then I’ll play Unfinished Business on the stereo, with the sound all the way up to eleven.”
Well, sort of. Ever since Nigel Philip Davies and I signally failed in our attempt to prevent the Donald adding the White House to his property portfolio, we’ve been looking at other ways of getting up his nose. Nigel is working on a follow-up to Mr Tangerine Man which he aims to release before the inauguration. Meanwhile, here’s a note he sent a few days ago to fans of his band Moongazer, which might give you a taste of things to come.
Happy new year (despite everything).
Happy New Year to you all. Hope you had a great New Year’s Eve. I saw the New Year in on the M4 just outside Cardiff with a handshake with Craig, the bass player in Moongazer.
We’d been playing in a Brain’s pub in Cwmbran. We’d been booked in by an agent and had never played there before. The pub management had done their homework, looked at our site and focused on “Pirates”. When we got there, they’d decorated the pub with canvas sails, billowed out by balloons. All the staff were resplendent in pirate outfits. It got even more surreal when the customers started to arrive and they too were dressed as pirates. In fact everyone was dressed as pirates except us …..and a party of nine who turned up as eight Mexicans and a Donald Trump, complete with their own cardboard wall.
The night got even more surreal as Pirates mixed with Mexicans trying to dance Irish jigs and reels.
In the interval we got into a huddle and put together a quick version of “The Mexican Hat Dance”.
Source: Hollywood Toys and Costumes
We started the second half with this and the Mexican party went nuts, the wall got trampled underfoot and Donald Trump was knocked over. Somehow all seemed right with the world….
Just a few days ago my friend and creative collaborator, Welsh punk folkie Nigel Phillip Davies, uploaded a reworked version of the early Bob Dylan classic, Mr Tambourine Man, to YouTube. Rechristened Mr Tangerine Man with lyrics reworked by yours truly, it’s a fairly pointed satire directed at a certain florid, male contender for President of the United States.
We’ve scored more than 3,000 hits on YT, a combined 200-plus likes on YT and Facebook, 133 shares and 160 comments. Not exactly viral, but enough to bring home to this non-US resident a sense of what certain sections of that country’s electorate are thinking.
By certain sections I mean, of course, Donald Trump supporters.
Making America great again Photo by Chip Somodevilla/Getty Images
“Get your head out of your ass,” said Marie Upthegrove (sic) from Florida, one of the first to comment on the Universal Stranger FB page.
“Now give me a MISOGYNIST any day, I will love him, respect him and cook for him, but don’t give me a woman who is KILLING my little sisters and brothers, the children of my innocent country,” said Federico, apparently a former head of the mathematics department at a rather posh private school in Blackheath, London (the rest of what he wrote is unprintable).
“This is just ridiculous…out of hand completely. You people who believe in evolution are nuts,” said Betty Christen who, judging by the beautiful landscape and equestrian shots on her FB page, lives on a ranch somewhere in the Mid West. (Evolution? Where did that come from? There’s nothing in Mr Tangerine Man about evolution!)
“Better this guy than a lying crooked c***t with the blood of the Benghazi dead on her hands…here’s yer (sic) sign, you moron!” (picture, possibly manipulated, of Donald Trump flippin-the-bird). Thank you, Rebel Dawson.
And so on.
Nothing surprising here, perhaps—especially for the Clinton supporters who characterise their opposite numbers as “deplorables”, or poorly educated white trash who are barely capable of seeing the bigger picture, let alone articulating it.
But I found it interesting that, while the number of Likes on the FB page exceeded Dislikes by several mutliples, the comments were overwhelmingly from Trump supporters (and therefore overwhelmingly negative and violently anti-Clinton).
For the record, my own view of US politics right now is that Clinton is the rotting corpse of the post-war liberal consensus and Trump is the vulture feeding off it.
As a marketing consultant might put it, the positive responses were nearly all quantitative while the negative ones were qualitative.
What does this mean, if anything? Perhaps comfortingly for the Clinton camp, it suggests that the numbers are with the liberally-minded. And perhaps the fewer but more vocal responses from Trump supporters simply reflect the pent-up rage and frustration that America’s white working- and lower-middle classes have felt for so long toward a political system that no longer works for them.
Or does it signal more than that? Could it, perhaps, imply something about potential voter turnout? Does the numerically superior but otherwise largely mute response from the liberal constituency hint at a certain complacency? After all, it’s quicker and easier to click Like and move on to the next FB post than comment about the political issues raised by the one you’ve just read.
Anti-Trumpers like myself, though undoubtedly on the right side of the truth, may yet end up on the wrong side of history.
And does that translate to an assumption that Trump is so obviously unsuited to be President that the election result is already a done deal? Does it suggest a lack of any sense of urgency about the importance of voting on November 8?
By the same token, does it imply that Trump supporters are so impassioned that their turnout will be higher on the day and might just swing the election Trump’s way? Especially in those open-carry states where, rumour has it, Trump supporters will be turning up at election booths on the day, while exercising their right to open carry, to ensure that no “irregularities” occur?
Too many questions; too much hypothesis and speculation.
For the record, my own view of US politics right now is that Clinton is the rotting corpse of the post-war liberal consensus and Trump is the vulture feeding off it. Rather than Clinton win, I would prefer the Republicans to disendorse Trump and field a credible candidate so that at least the electoral process can be salvaged (it may be too late to save the country).
Meanwhile, while I can’t draw any hard and fast conclusions from the FB responses to Mr Tangerine Man, I can’t shake the nagging feeling that anti-Trumpers like myself, though undoubtedly on the right side of the truth, may yet end up on the wrong side of history.
It wasn’t that long ago that I reviewed Nigel Philip Davies’ album Songs from a River and here we are, writing about him again already. The reason: his new video release, “Mr Tangerine Man”, which lampoons the aspirations of one clearly unsuitable candidate for the most powerful political position in the world.
It’s not the only such parody on YouTube – we’ve found two others – but it’s the hardest-hitting, in our view, although we might be a bit biased: the lyrics for this version were written (or, more accurately, re-crafted) by our very own songwriter-in-residence, Rody.
At least it supports my thesis, elaborated at some length in the album review, that there’s an “Old Wave” of 60-something singer-songwriters out there who are drawing on the influences of their youth to create songs that pack a punch and reflect the reality of these times, as seen through the lens of age and experience.
OK, the headline is click bait, but I reckon it’s justified because, if I’m right, this could well be one of the most important stories you will read all year.
Last night Elizabeth (one of Australia’s best financial journalists) and I were having a drink at the Kittyhawk in Sydney, when it suddenly dawned on us: the REAL reason that Donald Trump is running for US President.
He’s long the Mexican peso!
True, this is no more than a theory, but it seems to be the only logical explanation as to why he’s running for President while at the same time apparently doing everything he can, through his behaviour and utterances, to lose the election.
Because if (when) he loses, he’s going to make one big stinking pile of money.
One big stinking pile
It’s also true that, for this theory to stack up, you have to make some pretty big assumptions – for example, that Trump is not the douche bag he appears to be, and that he’s running for sound (if opportunistic) business and financial reasons and not (or not just) because he’s a narcissistic, power-hungry, attention-seeking sociopath.
The theory is based on the fact that, as a number of financial commentators are pointing out, Trump’s standing in the US opinion polls is inversely correlated to the peso’s value against the US dollar. In other words, every time Trump seems to be gaining in the polls, the peso weakens relative to the dollar and vice-versa, as this chart shows:
There are two reasons for this, one general, the other specific: the general reason is that Trump, if elected, would be (based on his policy rhetoric to date) a much more protectionist President than his recent predecessors. This will be a negative for the US’s trading partners, especially vulnerable ones like Mexico.
The specific reason is that Trump has threatened to build a wall between the US and its southern neighbour – and that, if it were ever to become a reality, would be a BIG negative for Mexico. Of course, the threat is probably no more than preposterous blather, designed purely to drum up populist support. But preposterous blather or not, it adds to the downward pressure on the peso every time Trump gets a good run in the polls.
So let’s assume that Trump has structured his whole tilt at the White House as a USD/MXN play (stay with me here) and is using the peso’s current weakness to line his pockets with the currency. All he needs is a couple more lame-brain debates with Hillary and a few more snipes at Alicia Machado for his polling to tank and the peso to rise and, hey presto, he’s in the money.
Depending on how big his position is, his payoff when he finally (we hope) loses on November 8 could be in the tens or even hundreds of millions of dollars. The Art of the Deal, all right. Thank you and good night, America.
Of course, this is all pure speculation, but it should be enough to motivate some US investigative journalists (if there are any left) to take a look (please?). At the very least, sensible US voters should be demanding that Trump publish not only his tax returns, but his foreign currency holdings, too.
Hey Mr Tangerine Man, light a bong for me,
You’re so creepy, I gotta get stoned just to look at you;
Hey Mr Tangerine Man, stay away from me.
There ain’t no empty vessel that’s more hollow than you.
We know your evil empire was only built on sand,
A con man’s sleight of hand
Meant to blind us all but, hey man, we’re not sleeping;
Your sleaziness amazes us, you’re a liar and a cheat,
Not fit to kiss our feet
The garbage in the street don’t smell as bad as you;
Hey Mr Tangerine Man, you’re rotten to the core,
Or you would be if you had a core inside of you;
Hey Mr Tangerine Man, you jumped-up painted whore,
One day your loud mouth’s gonna end up swallowing you.
Do you think we’ll let you take us on your massive ego trip?
Come on, man, get a grip:
Our assets will be stripped
And to Russia they’ll be shipped
To pay your vampire boyfriend what you’re owing him;
You’re ready to go nuclear but you’re not brave you’re just afraid,
You’re gonna build a big stockade
To make sure those huddled masses don’t come near you;
Hey Mr Tangerine Man, is there someone else
Apart from your own mirror who is close to you?
Hey Mr Tangerine Man, you’re not a man you’re something less:
Any leper that you touch would catch a dose from you.
Though you might hear some cheer madly for your moment in the sun
Their minds have been undone
By all they’ve lost and never won
They prefer your lies to the harsh truth they are facing:
That Washington’s forgotten them, politicians just don’t care
It’s more than they can bear
Blank faces of despair
Broke beyond repair
Their thoughts as dark as your own shadow that you’re chasing;
Hey Mr Tangerine Man, Pied Piper to the lost
Or so you cast your spell on those who follow you;
Hey Mr Tangerine Man, you know they’ll pay the cost
When your Emperor’s new clothes expose they’re nothing to you.
I’d like to make you vanish through the smoke rings of my mind
To another place and time
Where you’ll take your filth and grime
The choking smell and slime
Of all your sins and crimes
That hang like a poison cloud on our tomorrow;
But as long as you’re still standing here
I’m gonna stand here too
Toe to toe with you
Cause I know one thing is true
What makes this country great
Is not money, power or hate
Or its leaders, but the people in the side show…
Hey Mr Tangerine Man, are you still hangin’ round?
Why don’t you find a rock and crawl back under it?
Hey Mr Tangerine Man, one day beneath the ground
You’ll be lying in your grave and we will dance on it.
One of the good (and bad) things about the internet and social media is the opportunity they’ve created for writers, artists and others to share their work with the rest of the world. Of course the quality of the output varies hugely, but that’s OK: the task of sorting the gems from the dross is a reasonable imposition on the audience given the massive choice now at its disposal.
What makes the job more rewarding than it otherwise might be is that it’s pretty much unmediated by the arts industry. The online world creates a near-level playing field between undiscovered and established talent. As far as music is concerned, pretty much anyone with a guitar, a webcam and a story to tell can find an audience—small, perhaps, but no less emotionally satisfying for that.
The music of your baby-boomer youth isn’t the music of yesterday; it’s being made fresh and new every day now by the Old Wave. Enjoy it while you can.
And no less important, either, for those of us who believe that democracy benefits from a strong popular culture, and that pop culture becomes stronger in direct proportion to the narrowness of the gap between the artist and his/her audience.
From this perspective alone, the technological revolution, in this reviewer’s opinion, has been a force for social and political good.
What about its cultural impact? Pretty mixed, as noted above. The dross is too obvious and ubiquitous to require much comment; the gems, by definition, are rare, and their value is not always apparent at first sight.
Songs from a River, the latest solo album by Nigel Phillip Davies, is one of the gems.
Yes, I could have said that in the first paragraph, instead of waffling on about the internet. But I think the waffle is justified as it provides some context and, when it comes to Davies and other artists of his ilk, context provides a helpful introduction to content.
Davies was born at the tail end of the baby-boom generation and grew up in the 1960s and 1970s, the decades regarded by boomers (and even some of their children) as the golden age of popular music. The legacy of that age in terms of singer-songwriters can be summarised in a handful of iconic names such as Dylan, Cohen, Lennon and McCartney.
Nigel Philip Davies, locked out again…
The age came and went, musical styles changed,but the legacy endures. Davies draws on that legacy in his own approach to the dual craft of writing and performing songs. Far from being stuck in the past, however, his songs reflect a contemporary reality that doesn’t get much air time in the mass-market popular music of today or, indeed, any period.
It’s the reality of the ageing of the boomer generation: the generation that invented youth culture, now coming to terms with its own mortality.
To be fair to Davies, that is not how he portrays himself. His songs are raw, personal and immediate, with no spokesman-for-a-generation type pretentions or any sense of being consciously part of a tradition facing some sort of mid- or late-life crisis. They stand on their own as originals, in a way that validates and reaffirms the continuing relevance of the influences he’s absorbed.
The urge to put some sort of historical context around him is entirely this reviewer’s, and I do it to emphasise one important fact: Davies, unlike so many of the other older artists on YouTube and elsewhere, is not trying belatedly to fulfil the unrealised musical aspirations of his youth. He’s doing what he’s doing because it’s part of what and who he is now.
This fact alone accounts for much of the freshness and authenticity of his output.
And it’s not just Davies. There are other relatively little-known, mature and talented artists out there—such as singers/songwriters/musicians Steve Banks (Australia) and Ian Black (US), to name just two—who are putting to work the musical influences they have spent a lifetime imbibing, and combining them with a depth of personal experience (adolescent tribulations, sure, but also love, marriage, parenthood, divorce, bereavement—you name it) to create music which is both timeless and new, and satisfyingly rich in its emotional depth and honesty.
This is what, for a better descriptor, I call “real music”. It’s not the exclusive domain of certain gifted late-middle-aged men or women who’ve reached a stage of life where they are free to devote more time to their creative passions, but it’s fair to say that Davies and others like him are making a distinctive contribution to the effort to create and preserve music which is distinguished by an integrity almost alien to what typically passes as popular music in the cultural mainstream.
I might go further and say that Davies and his peers at the grey-haired end of the real music spectrum constitute an “old wave”—a sort of counterpoint in time and stage-of-life perspective to the new wave that quickly evolved out of the punk scene of the late 1970s and 1980s.
So that’s the context for Songs from a River; what about the content?
No Sense of Redemption
The cover art sets the tone: a photograph dominated front and centre by the glassy stillness of a river which reflects a row of buildings—they look like apartment blocks, but betray no sign of human occupation—that diminishes into the distant twilight like a (yes, OK) fading melody, and a melancholy one at that. It’s an image of suspense as much as peacefulness, held together by the calmness of the water and the tension of knowing that the calmness can only be temporary. The whole composition is just one breath of wind away, a single ripple, from collapse.
It’s the perfect visual metaphor for the sense of fragility that runs through many of Davies’s lyrics—the fragility not only of relationships, hopes and dreams but also, more broadly, human morality—and the feeling of alienation (symbolised by the blank exteriors of those buildings) that defines his emotional landscape.
The songs fall roughly into two groups thematically—personal relationships and social comment. The former tend to be melancholic, the latter angry. A common thread between them is the struggle of an individual to make some headway, or even just stand his ground, in a capricious and unjust world where he is engaged in an unequal struggle with the complexities of relationships, the cynicism and self-interest of the political class and his own personal faults and weaknesses.
Many are linked too by a recurring imagery of alcohol and drug abuse and barely suppressed violence—a reflection, possibly, of the hard grind of post-industrial life in Davies’s native South Wales. The effect can be oppressive, but it also adds depth and complexity to the experiences that Davies describes. The first song on the album, Oh, Marianne, No!, is one of several about lost love but there’s nothing romantic about it, despite what the plaintive chorus might suggest. It hits you between the eyes with the sense of a mind collapsing under the weight of a nightmare:
Well I’m High on nostalgia and dead in my tracks
I need medication to help me relax
I’m running on empty but I’ll fight to the last
And I can’t find my colours to nail to the mast
And the first shall be last and the last will be lost
As we count down the hours and we add up the cost
And I’m seeking salvation in a little white lie
And jumping off cliffs in the hope I can fly
And that’s just the first verse. When the second verse gets to The band has stopped playing and they’re closing the bar/We’re chasing the moon but we never get far, you feel that you’re in Tom Waits territory but without the sense, never far below the surface in Waits, that redemption might still be possible.
The next two songs, All This Time and Shadows in the Dark, explore the same thematic territory with more lyrical simplicity. They also plough the same furrow musically, with acoustic guitars and keyboards/synthetic strings (Davies on both) doing the heavy lifting, so the Latin feel of Be My Friend Tonight—a seduction song with a deceptively innocent pop sensibility—offers some pleasant and judiciously timed variety.
With She Has Gone we’re back to the lost love theme, but what a song this is: while the lyrics come close in one or two places to being a bit more poetical than I’d like, the overall effect is to distil the pathos into something genuinely moving—haunting, even, thanks to some effective reverb on Davies’s vocal. Ultimately, the lyrics more than deliver, as these examples suggest:
She brought calm, sweet release,
She gave the only thing I needed, she gave me peace…
A selfless love is hard to bear,
A selfish love is hard to share…
I wish her joy…
As she walks from my love’s shadow to the light.
In Reaper Man, Davies gets into prophetic mode, channelling post-1966 Dylan with an up-tempo, rocky preview of nuclear holocaust. The lost love theme is never far away, however, and I Miss You returns to it. Once again, Davies writes about personal relationships in a way that goes beyond the merely personal and captures the moral, ethical and even existential dimensions of love (The fading page, the burning rage, the years that disappear/The love of youth, the loss of truth, so many things I fear). Not the least of the song’s strengths are its killer chorus—something of a speciality with Davies—and a middle eight that dives unexpectedly and unsettlingly into a minor key.
Back to the political again with Achilles, a survey of late 20th and early 21st century warfare as seen through the eyes of the immortal Greek hero. Another killer chorus:
I feel just like Achilles upon the fields of Troy
While others see the hero, the hero knows the boy
I’m stranded in a foreign land hopeless and alone
Although I know I’ll die for love, the love is not my own
When, in the last verse, the chorus is modified and transplanted into the mind of a 9/11 victim at the moment of death, Davies makes you feel as though you’re standing in the Illyrian fields, too.
After that, it’s a relief to get back to the lost love theme with Crying Shame, a very satisfyingly realised song in which Davies acknowledges his own contribution to the relationship’s failure.
Street Song—about a drug dealer—is an interesting departure in that Davies takes a poem written in the 1960s by British poet Thom Gunn and almost completely remakes it, adding two verses about two characters he’s invented, Rudy and Susie, and updating Gunn’s drug references with honourable mentions for coke and crystal meth.
Back to lost love with The Search, which is something of a showstopper and one of my favourites with (true to form) an ear-worm chorus. Shades of Cinema Show by Genesis here, in the light and chiming guitar intro and some of the vocal refrains.
And then Unfinished Business, a toe-tapping upbeat country number which is easily the album’s most commercial track. If Davies doesn’t push this like mad on to US and Australian country music radio stations, he’s missing a trick. It’s the perfect package, with words and music working seamlessly together, topped off by some very tasteful and insanely hummable pedal steel guitar by the man himself.
With the final track, Have You Ever Been Lost?, Davies seems to be reaching for a big finish which, to my mind, doesn’t quite work. If it’s a failure, it’s an interesting one, hinting at musical directions he might take in the future. While it might not provide the sort of climax Davies appears to have been aiming for, it’s not an anti-climax and does nothing to detract from the album’s overall impact.
Where to Next?
If Have You Ever Been Lost? is evidence of Davies’s creative ambition, it would be interesting to see how he pursues it. Songs from a River suggests he has the talent and expertise to push the boundaries (as does his background as a session musician in the 1970s for the likes of Van Der Graaf Generator, as a jazz musician and, currently, as front man for bad-boy Welsh folk band Moongazer). No doubt, like all independent artists, his development will continue to be shaped by relatively limited resources. In Songs from a River, they play as a strength rather than a weakness: the homely production values bring to mind fond memories of the do-it-yourself ethos of punk rock—another, if somewhat downplayed, aspect of Davies’s musical heritage.
Perhaps the biggest challenge for Davies, though, will be to define his audience. While he and Moongazer have a strong following in South Wales based on live gigs and being recognisably part of the local culture, how will they develop their music and grow and diversify their audience without cutting themselves off from their roots and losing direction?
My guess is that the answer lies in communicating directly with the boomer generation and telling them something like this:
“Stop being nostalgic about the music of your youth and start listening to the Old Wave instead. Sure, John and George and Bowie and so many more are no longer with us, but there are plenty of boomer musicians out there who have been diligently cultivating their heritage all these years and are now easy to find online.
“They don’t cover the classis of the 1960s and 1970s—they write their own songs in that tradition, shaped by the realities of the early 21st century. The music of your youth isn’t the music of yesterday; it’s being made fresh and new every day now by the Old Wave. Enjoy it while you can.”