Fiddle music from Scotland, bareback and without frontiers. Genrify at your own risk.

Release Date: 5th July 2024

Label: Hudson Records

Format: CD / vinyl / digital

Whilst this may be a debut, Laura Jane Wilkie is already well known to these pages, if primarily for her work as one of the fiddlers three for Kinnaris Quintet, the feisty five woman ensemble who purvey traditionally derived quality (largely) instrumental material to thirsty ears. She is also an occasional part, a founder member, of the more experimental Fat-Suit, Glasgow’s indie jazz-funk-folk fusioneers, where her fiddle adds some Celtic hues, other colours included. As well as with the Kinnaris Quintet, she was also at this years Celtic Connections, as part of the three piece chamber jazz trio, Gloriosa, moreover being on speed dial for the live performances of any number of other Scottish artists.

Here this offering her take on the tradition of “waulking” songs:, the chanting of working women ,as they prepared cloth: tweed or tartan, by “waulking” it against a firm surface, such as a table top. Waulking is the rhythmic beating of the cloth, against said surface, tightening and spreading the fibres so as to improve water resistance. With words a mix of Gaelic and vocable gibberish, here they are mostly dispensed with altogether, with the spirit otherwise conveyed by a hand picked crack band, including Ian Carr, Sarah Hayes, Hannah Read, Joe Rattray and one of her Gloriosa sidekicks, Alice Allen. A native of Tain, in Easter Ross, Wilkie was familiar with this tradition, even without knowledge of the Gaelic, drawing on the inspirations of friend, Rona Lightfoot, a standard bearer for Gaeldom, and also Lightfoot’s mother, a living repository of the songs.

I Am Sad In The Braes Of The Glen is the opening line of this song, or would be, were it English. With Ian Carr’s picked guitar, Wilkie’s fiddle sounds sounds initially mournful, before becoming more quizzical, the backing expanding to include piano and a background drone of cello. There is a build in tempo and of layers and it sets well the pace and tone of the album. Carr is again the main accompanist for Lift Up My Love, his acoustic leavened by the twinkle of electric guitar from Hannah Read. Hayes has switched from piano to flute, adding echoed textures. The arrangement feels fluid, the mood subtly shifting as other instruments, Allen’s cello being one such, join. Wilkie occupies the centre of the mix, without being the focus.

I’m Not Alone sees Carr strike out with a chiming fingerpicked melody, with Wilkie, after a brief flourish, slotting alongside. Piano, as single notes, joins the fray, with Rattray’s bass now a prominent anchor. A conventional slow reel emerges, if beset by gentle clashes of near discordant guitar and piano. The melody is passed around, and, suddenly it is over, the most instant track yet. Mermaid, which follows, was the blue touchpaper for this project, says Wilkie. As Carr pairs up with Hayes, before Wilkie starts with a skitterish and scrapy melody, almost at cross purpose, the opposing parts finding common ground, as Wilkie shows off her ease across the whole of her strings. Here she really is the lead, even as Carr, also on harmonium tries to change the mood. Some ghostly keening vocal from Hayes adds a mystical touch, the song concluding with some band unison play. And if you thought those vocals mystical, a humming chorale of sirens now pipe up, introducing A New Story, a song in two parts. Rachel Sermanni is the lead hum, but the chorus includes Rona Lightfoot, amongst others. The fiddle filters through, taking pole position, piano, bass and guitar slowly taking up their places. A bridge and the second part is a closer knit ensemble performance. It is all quite lovely, with echoes of the Balkans, as Hayes adds flute, before Carr closes, with some well chosen notes.

A Man Ran Off is a further paired set, with additional input from surprising sources. It begins slightly off key, with a fugue pattern seeming to build, between piano and guitar, as Wilkie chips in and out, her playing now suddenly quite baroque. She has added some Bach to the melody and that sleight of ear offers a whole different framework, the band now sounding a bizarre mix of chamber and jazz club, the latter through swirling organ. It is all very odd and very beguiling; possibly my favourite track. The beating wings of a bird seem then mimicked by piano, cello and fiddle for Albatross, before the chorale return, this time in a wordless mélange, ushered in by Carr’s guitar. A new age-y effect is summarily delivered, with the realisation hitting that this has to be one of the least traditional traditional Scottish records of this year.

Pizzicato strings and guitar mirror each other for The Sailor Has Good Chat, which now belies that entirely, as it is as near orthodox Hebridean fare as Wilkie has yet allowed herself. Her playing avoids the obvious, however, always playing progressions that avoid expectation, yet that somehow fit perfectly. For all that, it develops a fair old list to it, some westward swing, if you will. The closing track, Try, is an outlier, she says in the notes that accompany each piece; it is a self-written, and dedicated to her parents. Her playing is acute and incisive as anywhere on this album, the melody more akin to a complex jazz construction. Hot Club De Tiree, maybe? (Sorry for inflicting that on you….) Sermanni is crooning somewhere in the mix, the band play is perfect and it is, all in all, a good taster for when she comes next to make a record.

Here’s Mermaid:

Laura Jane Wilkie online: Linktree / Facebook / X (formerly Twitter) / Instagram

Keep up with At The Barrier: Facebook / X (formerly Twitter) / Instagram / Spotify / YouTube