Bluegrass hued acoustica from the Moselle delta, in North London, the Tommys give the genre a good thump.

Release Date : 2nd August 2025

Label : Self-Released

Format : Digital

THUMPING TOMMY

Odd name, The Thumping Tommys, opening up all sorts of possible avenues, none, thankfully, associated with the march in London last week, even if thumping the organiser might have been a thought, figuratively, to bear in mind. One of those bands who seem to have been around forever, a favourite at festivals band, perpetually performing on a different stage to the one you’re at, never have I actually clapped ears on them. Thus it is a surprise that this is only their 13th year of a somewhat fluid existence, with this being their 3rd full length release, with a couple of EPs along the way for good measure.

Centred about one Benedict Amadeus Scrivener, he seems the only constant as they morph between 3, 4 and 5 piece line-ups, he toting guitar and singing, and writing, their mix of blues-infused Irish, American and English folk music. As such, it is no surprise that other instrumentation is largely based around banjos, boxes and fiddles, with the ability to call also on cello and trumpet when required. The current line up is rounded out by Matt Redman (banjo, mandolin, accordion, piano, percussion, mandocello and much more), Eleazar Ruiz Speafico (bass and vocals) and Nathan Mansfield (violin and trumpet).

IMPLICIT ENGLISHNESS

The set opens with Viking Walker, where walker is as in the dead or white, and how these embodiments of a viking past invade our sleep. Set to a bed of accordion and a sinuous mix of guitar and fiddle, the tune is a good deal less threatening than the idea, the melody making it sound quite inviting. Of note is the implicit Englishness of Scrivener’s voice, a slightly hoarse instrument that carries elements of fading matinée idol, in the stretch of some of his notes. This, I think, is deliberate, however unexpected a pairing it is with the essentially Irish-American of the arrangement, Just as that gets accomodated, Scrivener slips out a doozy of an electric guitar solo, as if to underline the rejection of expection or preconception. It’s good, it then ending on what sounds like a dobro.

UNENCUMBERED BY GENRE OR CONVENTION

If Late At Night (On The Central Line) suggests a rabid trip down into the tubeway station at midnight, it isn’t, being a far gentler passage, a whimsy set to acoustic guitar, fiddle and mandolin, in the mould of Ralph McTell. Mansfield’s fiddle weaves all over Scrivener’s vocal, Redman’s mandolin sallying forth when opportunity arises. Speafico’s bass sits exactly where you need it, with the notes steady, sure and unobtrusive. The title track then ups the ante into bluegrass territory, again with an impeccably English accent, conversational rather than received pronunciation. These guys are clearly unencumbered by genre or by convention, and, I’ll say it again, the playing is magnificent, Redman and Nathanson taking turns to rotate about the axis laid down by Speafico. Did I say Scrivener is no slouch on guitar, either?

As if to make that point, Silvanus is the sort of trad.arr. based on medieval melody, the sort of construction that John Renbourn might enjoy. But, following the arrival of his bandmates into the tune, it suddenly takes a sudden swerve sideways, into more complex and almost Balkan territory, before slipping back into the verses. Scrivener takes his voice close to breaking for this, but just about keeps it on point. A baffling construct, it builds back up the Eastern European fumes, this time with piano, ahead a brakes back on, bringing it to a swift halt. But I rather like it.

ROLLICKING HIBERNIAN HURLY BURLY

The Dealers Blind confirms their chanson sans frontières approach, a rollicking Hibernian hurly burly, if through the lens of an Irish bar in Chelmsford. 5 string banjo and an uncredited whistle lead the way. Realising I have neglected the lyrics thus far, here some concentration is needed to catch the drift, or whether there is an apostrophe missing from the title. The conclusion arrived is that it relates to the dealing of cards and the inevitable outcome. Uncertain whether my difficulty is a concern, I also conclude that it isn’t, it easier to treat the vocals as a sound rather than purporting any great wisdoms. Feeling happy about that, the song then slips into a runaway train of a coda, the instruments all accelerating at speeds, if not uniform, certainly close enough, for a ramshackle crash landing.

One More Whisky, without an ‘e’, I note, is then a guitar rag, with a piano honky-tonking away merrily, together with that boom-boom-boom bass that such material demands. A neat Barney Kessel style jazz guitar solo adds momentum, as guest vocals from Jennifer Sanin take the next verse. All that is missing is some dixieland trumpet, which takes exactly that moment to parp right in. Some choral Hollywood Light Of The Silvery Moon type vocals close the song, before the brisk 1,2,3,4 which opens My Old Bowler Hat. another boozy barroom ballad, which gambols along with ungainly glee. The fiddle and banjo are perfect. If Madness were an acoustic band from Milwaukee, they might sound like this one.

A STREPSIL?

On An English Morning is actually very English, musically a cross between the Kinks and the aforementioned McTell. if a McTell with a sore throat and sucking a strepsil. Cello and fiddle give a slightly raw smoothness to the overall feel and it is an ungainly match that, like most the songs here, actually hits the intended target. What has become my favourite follows, This Old Town (Won’t Die Alone). The words matter for this one, and seem to, I think, address climate change. The fiddle solo and subsequent mandolin solo are superb, but I am lingering on the lyric, seeking confirmation. Which doesn’t come, ear of the beholder and all that.

As if to have me wonder further, High Life In Tbilisi, is then a love song to the capital of Georgia, somewhere clearly dear to Scrivener’s heart, somewhere he has played and would like to again. Artūrs Uškāns adds presumably region appropriate accordion, with some lilting piano from Redman, it is a slight song, but no less charming for that. Needing a bit of an upboot of tempo, You Came Along is just then that ticket, one of those call and reponse blugrass specials, all in top gear, instrumentation and breathless backing vocals all. You’ll be singing along before it ends, I guarantee. All it lacks is a two bar bass solo, but I bet that comes live.

Hummingbird, the closer, flies in on a fleeting memory of Old Man River, before becoming another sad song from an old black and white movie. Sanin is again on hand to add some sympathetic harmonies. Noel Coward and his Blue Grass Boys, anyone, if, once more faciliated by strepsils?

FULL OF LEFTFIELD CHARM

Please don’t get me wrong, were Scrivener to sing with a trained and schooled voice, much the pleasure of this record would be lost. He is a vocalist attuned to his backing, and they to he, complementary each to the other. And, in a time where so much “Americana” seems to demand the diction of somewhere midway between Oxford and Arkansas, it is refreshing how Scrivener sticks to his principles. Don’t go expecting anything big or clever from this record, it isn’t art. But it is fun and full of leftfield charm. Next time they play another stage to the one I am at, I’ll move over to theirs.

See if you can work out what’s going on in the Dealers Blind:

The Thumping Tommys online : Website / Facebook / X / Instagram

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