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I've never been entirely sure that 'cross-cultural' musical endeavours ever really deliver something better than the two (or more) individual cultures being crossed have done. And when the two cultures concerned are so very similar, I feel the problem - ironically - becomes more pronounced. I sing a couple of American songs myself, as do a number of my friends whose singing I admire ... we do so because we love the songs concerned, and this comes across in our performances. But I'm sure that, listened to objectively, the original American performances are the more satisfying - more comfortable in their own cultural environment. And 'folk art' is, after all, art as process, not as object. I suspect that this is why I enjoy this new CD from Cath and Phil Tyler just a little bit less than their splendid 2008 debut offering, Dumb Supper; that was all American music, this is part English.
Another difference is that Phil Tyler's instrumental contributions feature rather more strongly than they did on Dumb Supper; this, in itself, is not a problem, as he's a very fine musician with a definitive style which is quite his own. A perceptive reviewer in UNCUT, wrote that 'every guitar stroke ... sounds as if it will be the last one, even when it's the opening note of a song.' This is at its most marked in the first track, Dearest Dear (sound clip). However, there are times when, in slower songs like Our Captain Cried, the measured guitar accompaniment means that there are gaps of up to 4 seconds between each line, and more between each verse - which breaks the flow of the narative, and the meaning of the song.

Again, as on Dumb Supper, the Tylers have written new tunes to a number of the songs. In that earlier instance I felt that 'when, as here, nothing sounds out of place, I, for one, couldn't give a damn.' Two and a half years later, their new tunes on this CD don't convince me quite as much. Please don't misunderstand - I like this record very much indeed ... just not quite as much as their previous offering.

However, it does score higher in one respect; it contains the wonderful Castle by the Sea, Lena Bourne Fish's version of The Outlandish Knight, set to that glorious tune (sound clip). I've heard it several times recently, both recorded and live, and it really is a stunner. Somehow the rather jaunty melody set against a decidedly dark text works unexpectedly well ... imagine filming a ghost story in bright light and vivid colour - the contrast making it all the more strange! It only fails to win my 'best Outlandish Knight in the world' award due to the fact that it stops before the parrot comes on the scene. I mean, what's a real, serious ballad without a talking bird or a bottomless boat?

This Tyneside-based duo is one of the most compelling musical partnerships on the scene, and since releasing their excellent Dumb Supper album a couple of years ago they’ve really been “going places” with radio appearances and excellent critical feedback a-plenty. Their followup album is a further triumph of less-is-more, of integrity and genuine empathy, and once again grants us a highly concentrated and intimate musical experience that penetrates to the very rawest essence of folk tradition.

Both Phil and Cath are well-versed in exploring - and exploiting - the power of lo-fi music-making (Cath’s stint as key member of punk-indie-oldtime champions Cordelia’s Dad is legendary), and they maintain their uncompromising commitment to the stark and unrivalled effectiveness of bare-bones performance on this latest set, on which they assail some bastions of the traditional folk repertoire, mostly fitting the ancient texts to their own (new) melodies (the spectral Three Maidens is an exception); especially striking in this regard is their tender and surprisingly lyrical new tune for Our Captain Cried. There may sometimes be a discomforting air to their innovations, but creative authenticity is never in doubt. As ever, Cath’s unassuming vocal delivery exhibits that characteristic uncanny, nigh-unnatural naturalness of expression that eerily tells the compleat story (as it were), with Phil’s gently measured and economical guitar accompaniment the perfect foil, where every note and stroke tells; you really do hang on every note and nuance.

The duo’s togetherness is striking, exactly mirroring each other’s moves even when bar-lines are ragged around the edges (as on Imaginary Trouble, which sounds like a not-too-distant cousin of Katy Cruel), and this quality surely gives an object lesson in internal dynamics and pacing, even on the rougher, more untutored-sounding moments like the closing backporch-style Long Time Travelling. Occasionally the very basic texture of voice and guitar is augmented by a second instrumental line, as when an accordion joins in on the final verses of Dearest Dear, or when the guitar is joined by fiddle (on Castle By The Sea). And further opportunity for playful embellishment (curveball-style) is afforded by the sinisterly modal, quaintly ungainly dance-like instrumental Whip Poor Will (nice sadistic play on words there!), where a clanking banjo counterpoints the fiddle and guitar lines and is later joined by Cath lilting the tune. Whatever the level of textural activity, however, the duo’s masterful interpretations always retain a heightened intrinsic clarity of vision and execution.

When Dumb Supper, the debut release by this Anglo American duo, appeared early in 2008 it made an instant impact, its sparse, earthy tones drawing simultaneously on British folk melodies and American shape note singing. A set at that year’s Green Man Festival was cancelled due to the couple’s welcoming a new son into the world, and, not unreasonably, they’ve been in no rush to issue a follow-up.

Well The Hind Wheels Of Bad Luck has now arrived, complementing its elder sibling perfectly. Once again, while the album comprises largely traditional lyrics, the music is mostly composed by the Tylers, yet somehow sounds as old as the Northumberland hills on which they walk.

Phil’s deft, measured plucking provides a firm underpinning to Cath’s eerie, wavering vocal, conjuring up a pure, hymnal quality on many songs, such as the opening ‘Dearest Dear’ and ‘Our Captain Cried’. Elsewhere, playful dances ‘Whip Poor Will’ and ‘Golden Ace’ provide gentle relief, before abruptly coming up short on the reverential ‘Courting Is A pleasure’. Like the ploughman following his horse, the duo set to with a surefooted pace over rocks and roots, at the same time painting a scene of seemingly effortless pastoral grace.
4 stars

Lo-fi but crystal clear; a future indie folk classic.

In an era in which female folk voices are either breathy or virginal or histrionic and attention-seeking, Cath Tyler's voice stands out a mile. On 'Lady Gay', the most old-time American of the songs here, she sounds like Gillian Welch after a hard night. It suits the pared down lope of voice and guitar that is her and husband Phil's patented style. 'Our Captain Cried' is a perfect example, guitar and voice helping each other along in a hesitant shuffle, like a pair of wounded soldiers. There's a peculiar way in which every guitar stroke, every vocal line sounds like it will be the last one, even when its the opening note of a song. It makes the cheerier songs sound self-deprecating; it gives the songs of longing and loss a real pathos.

This is not a monochrome album, however. Fiddle and accordion frequently creep into the mix and, because its all so intimate and close-up, their effect is invariably huge. 'Whip Poor Will' is a charmingly lumpy instrumental with a distinctly Scandinavian sound to it: an indie polska. 'Golden Ace' is its sprightlier cousin, and is probably the closest track on the album to a traditional English country dance performance. Phil even takes a lead vocal on 'Long Time Travelling', the album's closer. While he would have singing tutors of the Glee school choking midway through their enunciation exercises, the song is one of many here showing that lo-fi is often the way to go. After all, it worked for the Voice Of The People series; it works here too.

4 stars

Talibam! (Kevin Shea on drums, Matt Mottel on keyboards) and peeesseye (Jaime Fennelly on electronics, Chris Forsyth on guitars and Fritz Welch on drums) have been pals and Evolving Ear labelmates for a while now, so it was only a matter of time before they all got together and let it rip. And rip this certainly does, driven on by the double-barrelled percussion attack, underpinned by Fennelly's drones and scribbled all over by Mottel and Forsyth, whose wild gonzo soloing is a happy and healthy reminder that one-chord jamming was part and parcel of American alt.rock before the word alt.rock even existed, back when Fugs roamed the Earth and Angus MacLise still turned up for rehearsals, back when these laddies were still twinkles in their daddies' eyes. Of course, it's not all one-chord rock – sometimes they dispense with chords altogether and dive headlong into the primeval murky soundpool, with scant regard for whatever sharp rocks and nasty beasties might be lurking under the surface. Loud, messy, dangerous and glorious. Watch out for a vinyl release shortly too on Smeraldina-Rima.

It's difficult to think of a heavier sounding release in the discographies of either Mouthus or Yellow Swans, and that?s because there hasn?t been one yet. You?d maybe have to play one of each act?s releases simultaneously to generate this kind of sound. The end result of this collaboration, three metallic-spawned Mothras? across the vinyl, feels like punishment Guatanemo-style under an atomic-level autopsy on industrial-damaged rock.

This alliance seems to have taken the Swans usual psychedelic intents and sucked it down to the bare bleached ribs, Mouthus hand cranking loops like a nail-spiked mangle to kick-start the moods. Growing from a piece of reverberating damp-percussion clang ?Asheville? reveals contorted roots of home-carved electro, bizarre echoes of this winking through the mix. This track also has the clearest picture of their individual inputs on the album, the development of the spirograph rock of Yellow Swans? noise territory and Mouthus? vocal dawn of the dead moans both utterly unique.

Scott McKeating

It's Sunday night in Glasgow, and the last night of Triptych - a cultural jamboree that spans five days and three cities, with artists ranging from industrial clankfiends Einsturzende Neubaten to Japanese heart-squeezers Tenniscoats. But tonight, Triptych brings the noise. Loads of it. Free-sax guru Evan Parker, noise-magus John Wiese, Burning Star Core's C. Spencer Yeh and a small but sturdy lorryload of other jazz, improv and noise luminaries gather for a mass collaboration, a ten-strong superteam of Earth's mightiest noisemakers.
Abstract duo Yellow Swans bring shock-and-awe guitar and crowd-control subsonics. Paul Hession and John Edwards are an understated but powerful rhythm section. Hession spends most of the evening silent and immobile, holding back his dextrous polyrhythms until they're 100% appropriate and necessary. Coaxing unfeasible, unimagined sounds from a double bass, Edwards is upfront but non-linear. Skullflower's Culver holds everything together with bouyant, sensuous six-string drones. The front line is held by the Metalux duo, M.V. Carbon's hellish cello and vintage reel-to-reel tape locked in with J. Graf's electronic brutalism and sinewy vocals.

But it's Yeh and Parker who dominate. The former's mesmerising vocal incantations - growling, throat singing and deranged chattering in diabolical tongues - are terrifying, intense, incomprehensible. Parker is often silent, brooding, immersed in the sounds around him. When he does play, his wildly inventive lines, as lyrical as they are abrasive, as chaotic as they are precise, make it immediately obvious why he's such a respected figure.

With so many players and sound sources - most of which seems to be channeled through Wiese's arcane technology to be beaten about the face and neck - Free Noise could so easily have been a total mess. But the collective's diversity is its strength, and the music's dynamism and breadth is remarkable. Invigorating thrash-jazz gives way to ocean-floor frequencies and baby babble. A twisted bass solo is obliterated by broken free rock forms. Massive blocks of pleasingly unpleasant shapeless horror fade into downbeat and elegant drones, all swooshing cymbals and collective third-eye poking. It's absurdly dizzying, alomst to much to take in. But despite the 'noise' tag, the end result is relatively restrained and disciplined - each contributor far more respectful of the others than you might expect from people whose purpose in life is to rupture eardrums.

FLOWER-CORSANO DUO 7" REVIEW: Guitarist Mick Flower (from Vibracathedral Orchestra) and drummer Chris Corsano (from everywhere else) collude here on a prfoundly compacted duo recording - one that almost has the feel of Devotion-era McLaughlin, somehow compressed into an area approximately ten per cent the size of the original. This music isn't airless (far from it - it's actually explosive), but it feels as though it originates in a place where density is the only physical law. Cool.
Jon Dale, The Wire | 2007-04-20