Photos of morris dancers adorn this home of the English Folk Dance & Song Society, and the atmosphere is pin-drop reverent as the Prince's legions gather. Floorboards creak, glasses clink, and someone actually tiptoes. No wonder Will Oldham's first act is to wince, then hurl us into his world of gore, spunk, death and cunnilingus.
The mountain man who tore up British stages last time round has been replaced tonight by a straight-backed loner in the smart-casual dress of the conscientious worker.
Released to acclaim in the US early last year, 26-year-old Ritter's debut earned him support slots with Dylan and the admiration of Joan Baez. Now available in the UK, this is softly rolling roots-folk with the warmth of John Prine and a twist of Richard Buckner. Townes Van Zandt and Nick Drake ("You've Got The Moon"; "Drive Away") are obvious touchstones, too, but ldaho-born Ritter's lugubrious stealth is rooted in his own earth, addressing the paradox between the allure of the road and the pull of tradition.
There's something novel about this concept: the soundtrack of a book. While the realistic word for it is probably "cross-marketing", the hapless dreamers among us can ponder: are we supposed to listen to the relevant song while reading Hornby's chapter on it? Even if we don't possess posh headphones like the pretty model on the sleeve (entirely inappropriate unless the album is also a bottle of conditioner), are we to aim for a music-literature 'synergy' experience? I've just tried skimming Little Dorrit while headbanging to lggy and, frankly, it doesn't work.
Born out of Williamsburg's vibrant underground scene in 2000—and sounding not unlike the soundtrack to a painfully hip party there, Vic Thrill's debut is a fizzing cocktail of world music polyrhythms, camp theatrics and techno wizardry. The influence of Ziggy is evident throughout, but there are also strains of the kitsch disco of Pizzicato 5, the murky pop of The Frogs and snatches of the Happy Mondays and Underworld. Incessant and uptempo for much of the time, it is unmistakably danceable. As if entirely worn out, the record closes with the Grandaddy-esque "Zero Odds".
