Reviews

Artist:Bluenose B
Album: Minstrel Of The Wasteland
Label: Self Released
Tracks: 14
Website: https://www.BluenoseB.com/

Mixing blues and catchy folksy pop, he on keys and again joined my Merry Hell's John and Virginia Kettle along with sister Rachel on harmonies, Liverpool's Stephen Lawson follows up 2022's Hoping For Purgatory with another solid collection of songs that engage both feet and brains.

Based on his short story about a near future where music is outlawed, and musicians are punished for spreading messages of love and hope, the bluesy title track gets the ball rolling with a downbeat reflection that maybe music doesn't have the power to change things after all, not in the face of a world where "there's no one left/Who can twist and shout/All the young dudes snorting/Through their gold privileged snouts/And his friends don't care/For they've found some beer/Fighting over rounds/And missing out fear/Waiting for the ferry men/With coins wedged in their eyes" in a land "washed by the lies of the rich" and "the football commentators sound like prophets and seers/And the opium of the masses is tasting really sound". The minstrel defies the authorities, but the refrain "Won't you call with me for rescue/Hope there's gods above" feels more like a cry of despair than optimism.

With a choppy irregular rhythm, loping pace, brass and a "I don't want to ride this bike no more" refrain, 'Ride', inspired by an accident that left him hospitalised, stays in a similar frame of mind ("you open up your bleeding eyes and find the sky is grey …") and, "sick of saying I was lucky", looking to finish off the last page.

Of a poppier folk rock inclination with Simon Swarbrick on fiddle, things are more upbeat with 'Raise A Glass', playing golf a metaphor for folding your cards and retiring from active duty, as he sings "Raise a glass with me/Who knows where we'll be this time next year" rather than giving into telling tales in nursing homes "Of wins, forgotten fails/When we were young" as "Time so relentlessly/Grinds fate and destiny/To empty ends".

An acoustic guitar and drums instrumental with a vague courtly troubadour air, 'Madre' gives way to the border country coloured 'By My Side', and another grim eco-apocalypse sketch of a world falling apart ("the planet is defiled….pollution in the seas, species on their knees") with Rachel on the come together chorus and then singing the title character of the dreamier fiddle flavoured sway 'Samantha McCann', a doomed generation gap love song, he pleading "I've a real nice house/A filled up pension plan /And your father says that you are free", she responding "But you are old/And I am young/My world is wide and new/My fire burns bright/ Your hearth is cold/I cannot be with you".

It hits the halfway mark with further romantic gloom on the chiming 'My Girl Summer' ("I'm down in the valley where the sun never shines/Cloud takes command of the day/Oh summer I wish that you were still my girl/Oh summer come back, I miss you so much brighten up my world"), though there's more of a positive note to the aptly Andalusian-shaded 'Spanish Sun' where "Violin and guitar sing/Of frozen hearts/And warming springs/Of passion and immortal love/Carnations red and bold" and "The old flamenco heals the rhythm /Of my broken heart/Hey Conchita/Won't you kiss me, won't you place your hands in mine/And we will dance the dance together".

Rachel again sharing vocals, a circular acoustic guitar folky melody is the bedrock for the sway of 'Sweet Release', a song about homelessness ("The concrete's cold/The floor's not dry/Hunger bites deep/I will not sleep/I'm a long way from heaven/I'm a long way from home/And my world is in turmoil") where death seems the only way out as the narrator begs "Sister [morphine? ] could you help bring me/Sweet release".

Opening with Swarbrick's fiddle and set to a brisk waltzing melody, bidding a bittersweet farewell is basically the theme of 'Knowing You' ("In the time that I've known you/I've realised that your heart is good/I'd travel the world with you/Playing our guitars/If only we could…Think of all the laughter, music, the good times/Knowing you has made me smile"). That's followed by 'The Trap', a familiar storysong spun in a bar ("A woman sat close by/Asked if I needed some company/I said 'lady I'm so broken, there's no repairing me but if you have the time I'll tell you my bleak story'") that unfolds a bleak account of parental ("I told her that my mother was too busy/And that my father, well he never took to me") and society ("My teachers never taught me the might of pens/I learnt from them the power of the sword/Strapped each day for things I could not control") neglect that seems to be setting up a well-worn salvation ("She then whispered in my ear/I wonder if you ever felt loved, wonder if you ever felt true love"). But then it upends expectations as she realises it's all a Venus fly trap ("She said "boy I see you haven't got a conscience, consequences blind and rotten to the core/A psychopath dressed as a saint you spun your tale and now you target me/You don't deserve to feel the warmth of love").

The penultimate two tracks have a lighter touch. Set to a chiming guitar walking beat, the country-tinted 'Sing' positively bursts with emotional radiance ("You brought me passion/Your smile lit a spark/Drove away shadows/Released me from dark") while 'Walk Out' has the narrator setting off to Rio to find sunshine and love ("Don't need/This grey world no more...Going to find myself a Conchita/Win her love and then I'll marry her/Drink tequila as the sun it sets on the happiness I've found").

It doesn't last though and he can't resist closing on one more overcast shadow with 'Time Is Quicker Than Me', a song about his street fighter father and the attrition of ageing ("There's a man in our street/Not too good on his feet/He's seen battles/His bones have been cracked/By so many attacks through the years") and the relentless march of time ("It shows no remorse as it uses its force to destroy/And though I was fast time will always laugh last/It's a tyrant/Takes what it needs, on our youth it will feed "), and yet finally ends with a defiant fist in its face in pride rather than regret in what was ("He rails at the gods as the pavement he plods, filled with pain/Remembers the times when his fists moved sublime/To their target /Then buy all a drink/The resentment would sink deep below").

Not, perhaps, an album to generally lift the spirit, but nevertheless it's good to know that in these wastelands, there's still minstrels ready to make their voices heard.

Mike Davies

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