It isn’t an easy listen, but perseverance will be rewarded.  August Gladstone blends surrealism, intimacy, humour and political activism in ten poetic statements on his debut album, The Golden West.

WRITER, TROUBADOUR, PERFORMER, POET…

He’s described, variously, as a writer, a troubadour, a performer and a poet.  And, with his debut album, The Golden West, August Gladstone presents a solid case to justify each one of those claims.  His lyrical gift hasn’t gone unnoticed; he’s already supplied lyrics to members of Supertramp, Crowded House and Ringo’s All-Starr Band.  I wonder if they were as intrigued or baffled as I’ve been, when August delivered the goods…

August’s music takes its references from the folk revival of the 60s and 70s, and that folk influence – whether in the form of British and Appalachian balladry or whether it’s picking up the baton from Johnny Cash, Leonard Cohen or Bob Dylan – is clearly detectable throughout The Golden West.  But August’s lyrics, and his vocal treatment of them, come from no other source but his own.  In the ten songs that comprise The Golden West, you’ll come across surrealism, intimacy, humour and political activism – sometimes all within a single verse.

LYRICS FLOW LIKE A GUSHING TORRENT

August has described The Golden West as: “…ten tracks of western-inspired antifascist folk-rock poetry.”  That’s a good start, but it doesn’t really prepare the listener for what lies within the album’s grooves.  The Golden West is a gauntlet, a challenge, a deluge even.  It’s one of those rare albums that may not be an easy listen, but will reward handsomely those that persevere.

It’s the bluesy Prayer for the Traveler that gets The Golden West up and running.  It’s a song that combines Johnny Cash and The Incredible String Band with its bewildering blend of sincerity and absurdity.  There are few performers indeed with the imagination to write and deliver such a song, and fewer still with the confidence to get away with it.  August Gladstone succeeds on both counts.

The melodic fiddle/guitar intro to Me & The Bird Onassis gives few clues with regard to the imminent deluge.  August’s lyrics flow like a gushing torrent; there’s treasure hidden within what he’s saying and that treasure will emerge slowly, with repeated listens.  I’m reminded of the late Tom Lehrer by August’s phrasing, particularly so, when the song reaches its ragtime piano coda.

PLAY IT AGAIN!

Talkin’ Wild West is another song that demands extended listening time – and new revelations will emerge with each successive hearing.  The backing – a softly picked guitar, flecked with tasty dashes of slide – sits in stark contrast with August’s quickfire lyrical delivery.  Play it again!

The slide is retained for Silverstrike, a rocky shuffle.  There’s anger in August strumming, as he drawls his enigmatic lyrics.  In contrast, Ballad of Rascal Love is, on the surface at least, a straightforward country love song.  Beneath that veneer, however, lies a charmingly bewildering tale of thwarted intention and violent encounters.  In the folk tradition, death has been described in countless, often graphic, forms.  And, if graphic is your thing, you’ll love: “A blast of black smoke and my head left to Eden, my face changed to gore and my heart fled my mouth…”

“Freedom: is not for the haunted/ is not for the hung/ cannot be forgotten” are the various messages of Freedom, a song styled as a manic Western movie theme.  And August revels in anguish, as he builds himself up to deliver them.

PLAYING THE ‘SHOCK’ CARD

It’s easy to become absorbed by the poetic lyricism of The Golden West, but it’s important that August’s musicianship isn’t overlooked.  As an example, listen to the twin guitars that accompany August’s cynical-sounding vocals on Algorithm Blues.  This guy can play!  And his folk credentials are no idle boast, either.  Listen closely and you’ll hear bursts of the traditional tune, The Maid of Colchester, in between the verses.

A sense of weariness is detectable in August’s voice as he forces out his despairing lyrics: “The road has been long, and I know I’ve done wrong – please wave my sorrow against me,” in Hills.  Gentle guitar and a weeping violin provide the accompaniment, before August plays the ‘shock’ card, with an incongruous burst of guitar rock.

DESERT SONG

The spirit of Leonard Cohen is never far beneath the surface on The Golden West, and it’s almost laid bare in the deliberately dour Bury Me.  But, within the Cohen-inspired foreboding, there’s a lot of humour and that’s emphasized, as a short harmonica solo heralds a fiddle-led hoedown.

This singular album is brought to its close by its title track.  It’s another one of August’s poems, delivered this time to an evocative accompaniment of guitar and spaghetti-western whistle.  August’s recitation is echo-y and atmospheric and I couldn’t help wondering whether tracks like this one rise from the same Mojave spring that gave us Trout Mask Replica, all those years ago.

The Golden West: strangely fascinating – an album that invites deep investigation.

August Gladstone: Website

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