Proving any saying around the sum of two parts, heavenly songs from an impassioned duo.

Release Date: 26th April 2024

Label: One Little Independent Records

Format: CD / vinyl / digital

Catnip on paper, the potential of this new collaboration promises a duo of no small impact, the sort of alignment that one usually only dreams about. Kathryn Williams needs no introduction, her clear purity of expression a landmark over rather more years than she would thank me for, and Dan Willson, aka Withered Hand, with the flame of his creativity only now really hitting critical paydirt: his How To Love of last year was much appreciated by this writer. Their aquaintance barely five years old, Willson has said this about how this album gestated: “We talk and spend time together, conversations become distilled into the songs (and) it’s hard to separate who’s done what and where the songs sprang from.“ What could be better? Well, let’s just say their collective address books, melding together a tremendous band of musical chums, that’s one thing, and the wisdom of Creative Scotland, in overseeing and underwriting the process, is another.

Arrow, the first song, starts with a solid thump of Louis Abbott’s drums, and meshed guitars, acoustic and electric. Immediately hits the realisation that so well matched are their voices, and so similar, it is hard to initially tell the one from another. But it is Williams first, the next line traded by Willson, his voice the slightly more ragged instrument. Swapping lines and singing together, it is a potent mix. Slipping in and out of harmony into unison and back again, so well do they gel that you take your ear of the ball, wondering at the sheer sound. As you go back and listen again, so the words jump out: their arrows “still aiming for the gold”. Fallen arrows figure often, as they frequently do. That second listen also reveals some mellifluous cello from Pete Harvey. Quite the opener.

Grace has a graceful descending note construction, carried over languid, understated backing. It is a song conjured by a memory of William’s father. Strings, some Harvey, some synth and mellotron, slot in and the song takes you into a daylight dreamtime. If anything, the vocals are even more striking than in the song before, which is quite astonishing. A woozy organ, from Chris Geddes, then sets an immediate mood for R U 4 Real, a older half-song Willson had prepared earlier, which had been awaiting the new sonic life gifted it by Williams. It is very catchy, my ears finding elements of The Lovin’ Spoonful in the mood, and, really, the Commodores in the organ backline of the chorus. A Sunday morning feelgood song, then.

Our Best starts with a flicker of some eastern promise, swiftly becoming quite the psychedelic ballad, one, that is, that, come the chorus, could bring up the credits of any half-decent bittersweet rom-com. The organ adds a some balsamic texture as the pair “just have to do our best”. So far I think they are doing just fine, with that confirmed by the ease with which they can press on the accelerator into the uptempo Shelf, a country-ish number, with twinkling piano and mellotronic flutes. A mish-mash of memories and mementos, it is a sweetly commercial number. The bumpy bass line, from Graham Smillie, adds to the level of pleasure. Whilst some captured conversation adds to the mood, somehow it detracts a little at the same time, being a little hard to decipher. (However, in straining those ears, I was able to discern the tell tale end squeeze of a accordion, this credited to Willson’s Fence Collective cohort, Kenny ‘King Creosote’ Anderson, whose backing vocals make up part the chorale across the record.)

Wish kicks off with Willson railing outside Waverley Station in the rain, rain being the metaphor around loss, a frequent stranger at this feast: “Try not to wish it all away“. Both Willson and Williams openly acknowledge individual bereavements form part of this songwriting union, Scott Hutchison, of Frightened Rabbit, for Willson, and, I guess, the direct reference within this song, but possibly his brother Karl, with Williams mourning the comedian, Jeremy Hardy. Sweetest Wine opens with perhaps Williams’s smoothest vocal lustre, the two trading lines that again draw on loss. The cello underlines some wistful guitar play, possibly from additional guest, Kris Drever. This song, with a mix of maudlin reflection and proactive pragmatism, ends with the curiously uplifting message to “come on, wither on the vine“, in appreciation the sweetest wine comes from the oldest grapes, and to cherish that thought.

Needing a lift after that sobering thought, Weekend seems initially a chippier number, albeit through a lens of uncertainty, about the ritual of a Saturday night being too much to handle for many: “I don’t belong to the weekend”. Doo-doos and a bouncy vocal harness the desperation of trying, failing and trying again, of putting a brave face on an ultimately doomed endeavour. Sing Out, however, seems to offer both a turnaround and a solution, an anthem for living life how the hell you wish, and rejecting the ritual. It is near triumphant, with handclaps and shouted repeats. An end of the set showstormer is duly delivered for their upcoming shows, and I can imagine audiences needing little cajoling to holler along. Actually not one of their own songs, I was intrigued to discover it a Cat Stevens song, from the Harold & Maude soundtrack he wrote alongside Tea For The Tillerman, back in 1971. (Their version is better, by the way.)

Elvis, eh? Songs about the Don’t Be Cruel hitmaker don’t seem to ring quite true for this project, but, don’t worry, it isn’t, the song called Elvis here relating to the bespectacled one. Written after a Costello concert, it cleverly drops in an occasional EC song title. And, intentionally or otherwise, has some of his style in the construction, if kinder. Which in no way prepares you for Big Nothing, the final track, however much that title sounds, too, typically Costello-esque. With a short spoken intro around, again, the passage of time, it bursts into the most upfront and out there arrangement so far. Its propulsive momentum is in direct opposition to the sentiment of the song, being a plea for stillness and calm. Juddery bass and shimmering keyboards, with the strident proclamatory vocals, add up to an odd cross-purpose of intent. Am I alone in thinking it oddly reminiscent of the Rolling Stones’ We Love You? It’s a rum ‘un, right enough, anyway, nevertheless still a delicious paradox, a musical exception to prove the rule they don’t do songs like this. (But, if they did, and all that?)

The month of May sees the pair hit the road, promoting and playing this engaging and thoughtful recording. It will be exciting to see how these songs pan out in, presumably, a slightly stripped back format, uncertain if a band will join the two of them. Irrespective, catch them while you can, lest the genie in their bottle may not be allowed to, as in the song, wither on the vine. In the best sense, I hope it does, with more sweet wine to come.

Tour dates, all in May:

1 – Mono, Glasgow
2 – Gosforth Civic Theatre, Newcastle
3 – Perth Theatre, Perth
4 – Summerhall, Edinburgh
5 – Kitchen Garden Cafe, King’s Heath, Birmingham
7 – The Holy GrALE, Durham
9 – Horse & Bamboo Theatre, Rossendale
10 – Halle St Michaels, Manchester
11 – Edge Arts Centre, Much Wenlock
12 – The Musician, Leicester
22 – Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool
23 – The Bear Club, Luton
25 – Hope & Ruin, Brighton
26 – Water Rats, London
29 – Town Hall, Selby
30 – The Courthouse, Otley
31 – Folk House, Bristol

As a taster, here’s Grace, with some cheeky role-reversal in the video:

Withered Hand online: Website / Facebook / X (formerly known as Twitter) / Instagram

Kathryn Williams online: Website / Facebook / X (formerly known as Twitter) / Instagram

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