Friday 2 April 2010

reviews: burnt island, benni hemm hemm, tallest man on earth


Burnt Island - Music and Maths EP (****)
To Music and Maths, add a double period of English, for Burnt Island’s debut is a decidedly literary affair. Led by author Rodge Glass and partly inspired by David Foster Wallace, you’d expect great lyrics at the very least, and Glass doesn’t disappoint, with the slight A New Start the bittersweet peak. Musically, his band match the high standard: the title track’s soulful swells and the flute and viola soaked opening croon A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again are the highlights, but in truth there isn’t a misplaced note to be found. Amber Comerford’s harmonising tones on the likes of Man On Fire add a welcome additional texture, and the overall effect is one of modest splendour.

Out Now


Benni Hemm Hemm - Retaliate (****)
Having stitched himself into Scotland’s alt-folk fabric (working with Withered Hand, Eagleowl and Alasdair Roberts amongst others), Retaliate is an inauguration of sorts for Icelander Benni Hemm Hemm. It if sounds like the work of a more seasoned songwriter, that’s because it is: with three albums and two EPs already under his belt, Benni’s English-language debut bristles with confidence. From the rich, soulful burn of Blood of my Blood to the measured crescendo of Blood on Lady Lawson (lyrically, he seems to have a thing for haemoglobin…), Retaliate stirs and pacifies in balance. But it’s the quivering beauty of Church Loft that’s most likely to trigger shivers, and in doing so stoke his already strong reputation further still.

Out Now


The Tallest Man on Earth - The Wild Hunt (****)
When even your press release foregrounds a similarity to early Bob Dylan, you know there’s no escaping Zimmerman’s substantial shadow. In the case of The Tallest Man on Earth (a.k.a. Swede Kristian Mattson), it seems less an admission of mimicry than a form of damage control: no one wants the dreaded mantle of ‘the new Dylan’ and all the reductive pressure that accompanies its poisoned chalice, so best acknowledge the association and move on. But such avoidance is unnecessary as, remarkably, Mattson’s second album is strong enough to weather the comparison. His passionate voice – all gruff consonants and affected vowels – has a similar roughness, though Dylan was never so robustly tuneful. And the songs themselves are often revelatory: Burden of Tomorrow’s plaintive chorus hooks and holds; King of Spain gallops in formation with Devendra Banhart’s kook-folk; while Love Is All is as heartfelt as its title implies.

Out 12th April

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