david a jaycock

While we’re here we’ll stick with Static Caravan for a wee while because there’s been a flurry of activity from Birmingham’s most eclectic imprint of late. First up something truly wonderful from David A Jaycock. Now long time observers – we were going to say enthusiasts but hey that would be stretching the boundaries of belief – will be all to aware of the passing affection afforded to this most exquisite and creative aural alchemist – previous releases for the likes of early winter, red deer, blackest rainbow and devon folklore tapes (the latter whose errant absence is responsible for a gaping gap in our treasured collection) have all served to provide lasting documentary evidence as the breadth and depth of Jaycock’s richly inscribed sonic spectrum detailing with perhaps 2011’s ultra limited ‘a magnifying glass for the ants’ set standing out as his most challenging sound exposition to date (warning take heed this is very drone noise / experimental and far outside the usual Jaycock comfort zone – classy all the same) with ‘the killing of uncle Faustus and other mythologies’ setting very the high the benchmark to which all that follow are measured. That is until now. Perhaps I was sleep reading but I’m certain I recall reading somewhere that the reason for this release being delayed so long (its been on the release work sheet for several months) had something to do with the masters going amiss and into the bargain causing something approaching heart failure on the part of all interested personnel. Gestation periods aside ’ten songs’ is well worth the wait, limited to just 250 CD copies all sporting within a Brooke Bond  Tea ‘Inventors and Inventions’ card – ours in case you are taking notes is #23 /50 ‘reading for the blind’ – ‘ten songs’ finds Jaycock turning in his most accomplished collection to date, a bold statement indeed but true none the less. A most intimate account that returns to the innocence and purity of that aforementioned debut platter, for within these grooves Jaycock weaves an intricately disarming web upon the fixing of which the tremors and trembling of timeless tones touch with a measured mellowing and a curiously lasting magicalia. Combining aspects of rustic, pastoral and the occasional daubing of delta folk blues essences (the latter best exemplified by the shrill becoming beauty of the misty eyed prairie ramble that is ’tangles’ where sitting on Jaycock‘s creative shoulder you‘ll find John Fahey) ’ten songs’ provides reward with each repeated listen. The tonality unapologetically shadowy is spiked with the kind of reflective albeit skewed intimacy afforded to the flicking through of an old picture book or a family photograph album, the musicality exact, focused and very much cut from a near forgotten tongue – one thing is for certain – ‘ten songs‘ never dulls or tires, here you‘ll be greeted to the lolloping snooze of the serene ’dancing on graves’ with its braiding of wheezing motifs and sighing corteges there is carved beneath the surface scratching of its bitter sweet almost stilled haunting lull the carving of a bloodline that crookedly draws dots to

the fractured psyche found on Barrett’s solo catalogue. Somewhere else the fracturing ghost like chill of ‘Brighton in sunshine’ is distractively drawn and bedevilled by woozy apparitions who converge to recite an eerie carnival schooled in penny dreadful folklore and surrealist Victoriana shanties. Creaking under the weight of a fading melancholia the forlornly reflective and hollowing ‘ghosts and gold’ is scratched deep to the core and spirited away in a feint macabre dusting that oozes the kind of trademark yearning shadow play that was once the forte of odd fellows casino who again is called to mind on the dark / light dimpled freak folk folly that is ’vernacular ticket sales’. The mood parts to the disarming after burn that seasons the smoky mountain drift of ‘wolverine returns’ itself found seduced and delectably traced in a melting homely hue of wood carved prairie inclines and porch perched reclining wherein the quick stepping banjo rushes stare down the deftly nimble finger picking in a dusty duel in the basking shade of an evensong glow. All said though our favourite moments of the set comes with the onset of the parting brace ‘decanting sand’ and ‘traveller‘s lament‘ – the former a gorgeously hypnotic fayre fashioned out of dissolving soft psych overtures and clipped in the hollowing shimmer of a twilight aura all wrapped up and cosy toed in a surreal like dreamy lullaby with the latter mournfully harnessed upon a tear stained hurt hymnal hook to sound not unlike a deeply wounded Shady Bard being consoled by Tex la Homa. Essential in case you hadn’t worked it out for yourself.


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