The Wild Man Of Europe
Album: Gave Up The Ghost
Label: Self Released
Tracks: 12
Website: http://www.thewildmanofeurope.com

First, The Wild Man Of Europe is not a solo performer but instead (at present anyway) a six-piece outfit - for all that it's centred around the songwriting and singing talents of Alec Bowman. I commented positively yet cautiously last February on The Wild Man Of Europe's debut eight-tracker Old-Fashioned Flames, which featured a slightly different personnel - Alec, with Rosey Haze and Jim Broughton who continue into the present lineup that now also encompasses Rich Park, Rikki Steele and Jane Park. The music they produce is just as idiosyncratic, and for the most part attractively so, and yet much of it still doesn't quite yield up its delights even on two or three hearings.

Again, sometimes it's hard (especially for the first-timer) to warm to the croaky and slightly weary timbre of Alec's vocal style, and sometimes the disconsolate melancholy feels a touch overstated. But there's much on the plus side, the delivery and musical setting does vary quite a bit more on this new offering, with good use of different textures like cello and flute alongside the guitars, harmonica and rhythm section, and there's some Tull-like jiggery-rusticity along the way (on Nowhere To Go), ending the album with some early-Fairport-esque folk-psych-rockery (Sleepwalking Blues - a misnomer if ever there were…).

It's interesting, in that context, that the subtle and often intricate musical settings, which invite listening more closely, may somewhat belie the angry and discontented passion of Alec's lyrics. It's a thought-provoking juxtaposition, and only gradually starts making its own kind of sense - in which regard the album's a definite grower I'd say. And there's a tighter, tougher and more edgy (almost indie) quality about the ensemble work on tracks like All I Ever Can Say.

One of the stronger tracks musically is Chapter One, which positively glowers with disaffection, with flute and harmonica vying for supremacy against a growling fuzz guitar; then there's the eerie Carrion, with its prominent saw embellishment, and the thoroughly disaffected stance of Forest Floor's shift-worker (another gem of observation). Don't worry too much about the rough edges, but concentrate instead on the quality of the music and the imaginative vision of Alec Bowman as this record grows with stature on further listening.

David Kidman