When John Lydgate opined that comparisons are odious in about 1540 it is unlikely he could have foreseen the ubiquitous comparisons of any troubadour with a guitar to Mr Nick Drake, formerly of Tamworth in Arden and gone now some 40 years ago. Mr Drake himself would doubtless have not foreseen his own position as the very acme of poetic songcraft, convenient shorthand for gimlet eyed creations tinged with melancholy. A scan through the review sections cannot fail to come across such comparisons and two recent stalwarts of the Cultureberg playlist have received this well-meant but not wholly accurate comparison.
The comparison to Mr Drake levied at Raleigh Long is understandable; both share a wide eyed glory writing about nature, and his breathy vocals also, particularly on his debut Hovering, have some commonality. Hovering was wind-tossed and embraced animism, with ten strong songs imbued with wistfulness. His new album Upwards of Summer, however, is bolstered by upbeat arrangements and heralded by loud guitars. It has received comparisons, odious or not only Mr Long can say, to R.E.M. and Mr Lloyd Cole, formerly of Buxton. There is a sunny strut reminiscent of The Dream Academy and The Lilac Time (Mr Drake homaged there, for sure), but to these ears the closest approximation would be The Go-Betweens circa, 16 Lovers Lane. The afore mentioned opener Take Your Mind Back, for example, shares a sun-striped positivity with, particularly, Grant McLennan's songs. As the title trumpets, the album is a perfect summer listen, evidenced as it soundtracked a drive to the cattery through the country with Cultureberg's moggy. With its evocations of choruses of insects and bells filling the air it is as effective at conjuring up the hum of endless summer as Sir Ivan Morrison, formerly of Belfast.
Cultureberg was pleased that within the post-postcard jangling Jack Hayter's steel guitar continues to snake through many of the songs like a river accompanying a good walk. The steel accents the countryside rather than c and w, an integral part of the pastoralism of this and the previous album. I might venture a comparison to the work of Red Rhodes on Mike Nesmith's albums, or indeed on Bert Jansch's 1974 classic LA Turnaround, whereby I am acknowledging it's sympathetic accompaniment rather than comparing styles.
Between Hoverance and Summer Mr Long released an EP, We Are In The Fields, which hymns a day's passing with suitable rapture. He revisits The Combine from that release on the new record, conjuring up Terence Malick's Days of Heaven rather than Mr A Cutler, formerly of Somerset. If the listener favours the outdoors folkiness of this and Hoverance, Cultureberg would opinethat we have enjoyed them all and finds the added heft and brio of the new album a tonic. Mr Long went into the creation of Upwards of Summer wondering if it was his last stab. He says he attempted to recreate the euphoric lift he got from listening to 10 000 Maniacs Hey Jack Kerouac, and repeated listens can only produce the conclusion that he succeeded in creating a record that fuses dreamy languor and uplifting, ringing jangle.
Mr Drake's romanticism and observational lyrics have led critics to compare female singers to him as well, one being Jessica Pratt, whose On Your Own Love Again from a couple of years ago has been the most frequent choice at Cultureberg Mansions over recent weeks. The albums brevity and creative focus, not to mention a seeming sparseness, have garnered comparisons to Pink Moon, but Cultureberg ventures that this album unveils subtleties and delights with every listen and does not have the Island albums seductive despair, rather has a steeliness at its core. Tim Presley, formerly (and probably currently) of California, formed a label to release her debut, feeling the songs needed to be heard. The follow up shares this imperative.
Based around Jessica's folky fingerpicking the songs all have strong melodies and slight but detailed arrangements, sometimes with surprising elements. Jacqueline In The Background is stretched and slightly distorted, I've Got A Feeling pulses and oscillates. To continue with comparisons, odious or apposite only Ms Pratt can know, I am put in mind of Bryan MacLean's songs, both with Love and thereafter. Strange Melody has the portent of Aloneagainor complete with dada badum dada badum, Ms Pratt lost in the songs' melody, singing along wordlessly as the guitar notes rise and fall. She has a unique voice, avoiding the twee and mannered as her phrasing alters from line to line as necessary, almost scatting. Cultureberg might also compare this to Tom Jobim's bossa novas, which seem to surrender to the songs' internal rhythmic logic. The persona portrayed is robust and uplifting, and further listening reveal little details which frame the songs with elaborate little cabershons.
Comparisons can be odious, but if they persuade the potential listener to sample new artists they are more benign than the 16th century saying may suggest. Both Ralegh Long and Jessica Pratt's second outings show them to be unique voices and stylists and one hopes this garners them recognition in the present and not as belatedly as for the unfortunate Mr Drake.
