“Do Tell” by Hat Fitz & Cara Robinson is an incredibly frustrating album; there are some sublime moments, but there are a couple of complete clunkers as well. Just as you’re starting to really appreciate the musicianship and vocals, along comes a song which seems to have bypassed the quality control process completely; but more about that later. Hat Fitz is an Australian blues veteran who met his wife, Cara Robinson, a soul singer who has toured with Corinne Bailey-Rae and Jamiroquai, at an event in Ireland. Since they got together, musically and romantically, they have developed a compelling live presence, with Cara supporting Fitz’s guitar and vocals with drums, washboard, fife, flute and acoustic guitar as well as providing a powerful second voice. Their recent material has moved away from traditional blues to include folkier and country elements which are all on display on “Do Tell”.
The album opens with “Friday Night”, a finger-picked acoustic blues telling the story of various characters in a bar and is delivered by Cara Robinson with more than a hint of Janis Joplin. “Stray Hat” follows, a raw country blues with a Fitz vocal and some nice harmonica; so far, so good. “Gotta Love” is the first of the low points; the slow electric slide intro builds into an all-out stomper but the combination of the over-wrought Cara Robinson vocal and the slide guitar just doesn’t work. The title song follows and it’s a slow blues balled with a descending guitar riff; it’s also a love song to a beer fridge; that’s Australians for you. “Long Black Cloud” is superb; it’s a slow blues which sounds a lot like the late Jackie Leven. If only the whole album was this good.
“Excuse Me” is a fast electric blues with a Cara Robinson lead vocal, followed by “99.9”, a blues duet with finger-picked acoustic backing with a lyrical theme of broken promises. “Sister Sister” has a more country feel with a Cara Robinson vocal and some nice flute to bring a bit of variety. That’s four good songs in a row, so guess what? “Shakedown” is a stinker; Fitz and Cara’s vocals are fighting each other in the chorus and the melodic fife hook only seems to emphasise the discordance. The final song, “Coming Home” again shows good this album could have been; it has a bluegrass feel with very tight harmonies and some nice fiddle and banjo throughout.
As a whole, it’s a bit of a roller-coaster ride; the two songs which let the album down really shouldn’t have made the cut and they devalue some of the other excellent material on the album. I wish I knew why “Gotta Love” and “Shakedown” managed to actually get on to the album, but I guess someone must have thought they deserved to be there. Ignore those two songs and it’s a very good raw country blues album.
Out May 12 on Manhaton Records.
What is it with NME and Pete Doherty (and Carl Barat)? It’s bad enough that they insist on force-feeding us his incoherent ramblings and telling us about the latest way he’s found of shortening his life but, come on, an NME cover and a six-page feature about the reasons for reforming for the Hyde Park gig. We know the reasons, and there are about five hundred thousand of them; it’s not a news story. But seriously, a cover and six pages; surely music fans in 2014 don’t even care about Pete Doherty any more, but for some reason he’s always been the darling of the NME, no matter what he does. I mean they even picked him in a taxi after one of his spells at Her Majesty’s for an exclusive interview. I should be more disappointed when the inkies fall for it as well, but who buys the Grauniad or the Torygraph for their music reviews?
The Libertines had a couple of good songs over a decade ago and the NME have been trying to sanctify Pete Doherty ever since; we really don’t care and neither should they. Maybe they just like to be seen hanging around with the bad boys; it wasn’t cool when Nick Kent did it and it’s still not cool now. I don’t care what he does to his own body but I do care when journalists think that “I’ve seen Pete Doherty taking drugs” is a story that we all need to read. This is a man who once described crack as “a bit moreish”, tongue-in-cheek, maybe, but still pretty dim. What’s the attraction of someone who is willing to steal his own bandmate’s laptop to sell for drugs? It’s not exactly sticking it to the man is it? But it’s made so much worse by NME writers glorifying his every action.
So how do they actually fill six pages with this story? Well, a full-page posed photo and a banner headline take up two pages before Matt Wilkinson describes how he spent an entire day on the phone to members of the band. While he was speaking to the NME idol, Doherty put the phone down and started to spontaneously work on a new song which, predictably, “sounds fantastic”. You two should really get a room, Matt. I’m not sure how the devoted Libertines fans feel about this, but at least Pete Doherty is honest about the motivation for the reunion and he defends the band’s right to do the Hyde Park gig for the money.
The NME also demonstrates the internal conflict at the magazine by asking two journalists to give opposing views on whether the Hyde Park gig is a good idea; unsurprisingly, both of them love the Libertines. Tom Howard thinks they should do it although it might be pants (or not perfect). Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but if I’m paying to see a gig, my minimum expectation is that the band can actually play the songs, and that’s the bare minimum. But it gets better; Jenny Stevens doesn’t want them to play and tries to convince us of the Libertines’ working-class credentials and solidarity with the workers; Pete Doherty’s dad was a major in the British army and that’s a long way from growing up on a council estate. Pete Doherty chose to be a waster while hundreds of thousands of genuine working class kids worked and studied and made a genuine contribution to society. So don’t try to sell me that spurious social solidarity routine. And can you really imagine Pete Doherty killing a man for his Giro?
If the members of The Libertines insist on repeatedly resurrecting the rotting cadaver of their band and punters are gullible enough to shell out £50 for a shoddy show, then let them get on with it but I can live without the NME giving its blessing to the whole process. There are probably dozens of good bands playing in London on July 5th, go and watch one of them instead.
OK, I’ll admit it; the Riot Squad are big fans of Vera Lynch. We’ve seen them live a couple of times now and it’s quite an experience. So what happens when you strip away the stagecraft and theatrics? Well the second Vera Lynch EP, “The End of the World”, answers that question. The musicianship is superb throughout the five tracks as they bounce between musical styles from the mutant funk of the opening song “Child of Jago” with its wah-wah and clean, clipped guitar sounds to the sleazy camp metal of the closer, “Dog in the Club”.
“The End of the World” starts as a slow environmental ballad before a squalling guitar signals the apocalyptic final third of the song, neatly underlining the song’s lyrical message. “Stormy Weather” combines pumping melodic bass with clipped guitar chords on the off beat and over-driven guitar to back lyrical themes of extremes of nature; you even get a reggae breakdown towards the end. “Horror Doctor” is a psychobilly/Cramps-style piece which is already a live favourite. The band sounds perfectly at ease with the various genres featured across the five tracks of this EP and the instantaneous switches from one to another.
It’s easy to see why the Vera Lynch fanbase is growing; the live performances are riveting, but there are some good songs to back up the shows with thoughtful lyrics (“Child of Jago” made me hit the search button a few times) and interesting arrangements delivered with a theatricality that’s reminiscent of the late Alex Harvey (look him up kids) at his best. It’s a clever mixture of the thought-provoking and the unhinged and it’s great fun.
You can see them live at the EP launch on May 10 in Shoreditch.
“End of the World” is out now and available from Amazon, and ITunes.
