Charming latterday fare from the journeyman player known as Boulder Fields; not afraid to wear his influences on a well-frayed sleeve.

Release Date: 14th June 2024

Label: Let There Be Numbers Records

Format: CD / digital

No, me neither, but since when has that stopped any ability to give ear to some fresh talent, especially when said talent has been maturing a good few years, the voice and pen of maturity unencumbered, much, by the taint of success. If that sounds harsh, it is not intended to be, as this is really something quite spesh. I like to think that we at ATB are always willing to step up to an otherwise unvisited mark.

So who, or what, is, or are, Boulder Fields? The answer is in the singular, they being Cam Fraser, and they being he. A veteran of some consequence, it was his then band, The Cateran, that supported Nirvana on their first UK tour. He later formed Broken Books, an underperforming punk band until Ray Neal, of fabled Connecticutters, Miracle Legion, jumped on board and showed that there was a quieter way of doing things. All things come to an end, in their case accelerated by covid and lockdowns. Since then, and as a result, Fraser has further explored that quieter side, and this, his full length debut as Boulder Fields, is a near all acoustic example of Glaswegiana, that never more widescreen country infused music style that hails from Scotland’s central belt. (OK, he is based in Edinburgh but you get my point……)

To give the functionality of a band, and the ability to perform as one, he is joined by long-time collaborator Aly Barr on bass, guitars and vocals, together with the talented Suzy Cargill, on drums and vocals. Producer, Richie Werner, also adds organ on several of the songs, with Jamie Watson, of Snow Patrol association, adding some distinctive finger picked guitar. So it’s about time to see what he’s all about.

Opening with Conmemorativo, the vibe is immediate, an acoustic overdrive that positively reeks of a frayed powerpop. A comfortable and comforting voice, Fraser has the agreeable tones of a more subdued and conversational Michael Stipe, with the song construction also not a million miles from early R.E.M. It’s great start, with forwardly propulsive drums and a loping bassline behind the guitar and mandolin. A hand clappy coda sounds wonderfully unrehearsed, devoid the deliberate cynicism such a production touch often adds. Not least when he has so much cynicism of his own: “I know, I know, we’re not good for anything. And that’s fine with me.” I’m in!

Track two, Measures, deviates not a jot from this template, a good move, as this sort of summery strum is just the sort of tonic for when sophistication palls. A bouncy chorus of ragged harmony, the ooos especially endearing, can only add to the building of warmth I’m getting and feeling. The raggedier end of the Bluebells comes now to mind. Wipe Out The Stars alters the arrangement, adding some keyboard, if, less so, the melody. But that seems immaterial, that enough to imbue what once was joy with pathos. Fraser bringing desperation into his now pleading vocal, in a song to and about his home turf of Edinburgh.

Uncertain if horses can wear slings, I suddenly realise that is what horses get lifted in, rather than wear on a single limb. Horse In A Sling is, I think, a metaphor, a moody musing on the meanings of life, with flamenco-lite scatterings of acoustic guitar, Jamie Watson, gilding the wistful beauty. A lovely Knopfler meets Nebraska Bruce moment. Strings is then an acoustic grunge workout, with more of Watson’s guitar noodling around the impassioned stomp. “Isn’t that clear? Yeah.” (Yeah.)

Rescue Dog offers a Kinksy moment, and I’m realising Fraser has far more strings to his muse than might have first seemed apparent. Werner offers up a gurgling twinkle of organ for some background colour. A story song, a love song, even, to his dog, that is both plausible and positive. So a rare beast. Take Off starts with some fingerpicked guitar, ahead a motorik shuffle beat to drive it forward. The lyric is more bitter than sweet: “Don’t call her now, don’t call her then, don’t call her anytime, you’re never going to see her again…...” Ouch. Light Like A Knife, up next, could be almost be an out take from Forever Changes, with it’s psychedelic acoustica. These gifts keeping coming.

Can’t Even Say is more in the vein of hushed confessional that many of the songs here appear to be. with more of those patchwork harmonies that lift the song beyond the bare skeletal form. In that sense, yet another influence might be the less polished side of Evan Dando. Marieke is the longest track here, at 4 1/3 minutes. Feeling to be more critical than loving, if with love still hanging in there, I get a whiff of addiction about the pessimistic concern. This leaves only the closer, Wool Pulled Down, with Fraser now channeling John Prine, in a delicate and simple melody, bedecked with a straightforward and self-deprecating message around how to survive, or try to. It is bleakly charming and a good note on which to end this pot-pourri of indie Americana influences and themes. Give it a punt!

Here’s that catchy opener, Conmemorativo:

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