Richard Kitson
Album: Hermit Hill
Label: Self Released
Tracks: 9
Website: https://www.facebook.com/richardkitsonmusic

Four years ago, Sheffield-based musician and singer-songwriter Richard released his ostensible-debut CD Home And Dry, which brought together a number of songs he'd written over the previous ten years. That impressive collection displayed an astonishing maturity, consistency and individuality of expression; even while wearing specific influences (mostly Bert Jansch but with a soupçon of John Martyn, Davy Graham and approved delta blues) on the sleeve, Richard's own personal brand of modesty prevailed.

For his long-awaited followup CD, Richard has again taken the ever-unassuming stance, for as far as his tremendously assured guitar technique is concerned he has absolutely no need to prove himself (just look at the succession of support spots for well-respected names that adorns his CV), nor is his songwriting in any danger of being overshadowed quality-wise (except by his nifty, naturally inventive fingerpicking). Hermit Hill is a more even collection than its predecessor, in that it avoids the slightly derivative air of the overtly bluesier pieces on the earlier album. Its songs cohabit to form a kind of chronicle of a period in his life when for two years Richard was unemployed, broke and anxious about his future. Well, they say that the greatest songs are born out of hard times, misfortune and heartbreak…And so it goes - right from the sheer aching desolation of the opening track, the title song itself. I'd be deceiving us all if I didn't admit that much of the credit for the impact of this song should go to Richard's support musician April Lodge, whose viola playing graces this and a further pair of tracks (Scarecrow and Weeping Willow), imparting these three songs a quite special character - but hey, it don't come any better than this beautiful, mournful, pindrop atmospheric portrait. But that's a real hard act to follow, even tho', for sure, the rest of the album is still good, very good indeed in fact, and Richard's own guitar is all that's required to put the songs across succinctly (he also provides some vocal harmonies at appropriate points on a handful of tracks). The strongest songs tend to be those with the starkest imagery - The Murder Mile, Scarecrow - which often border on the macabre while evidencing Richard's affinity with the landscape through which he travels and the people who populate that landscape. Having said that, the philosophical introspection of Feathers is also memorable and attractively phrased. A couple of tracks (It's A Long Way Back and Can't Help Myself) may seem maddeningly familiar, in that they either melodically or riff-wise seem to reference existing folk-blues standards, and The Elm Street Cats feels a touch Broonzy-esque maybe, while Bicycle Man kinda put me in mind of Roger Davies, but in no way are those comparisons meant to imply any quality of derivativeness in the writing. There's also just one (surprisingly, given Richard's guitar prowess) somewhat brief instrumental essay (Strines).

All in all, with Hermit Hill Richard has produced another convincing and captivating blend of the personal and the artistically accessible, and his invention and musicianship are to be heartily commended.

David Kidman