Breaking new ground and terra firma alike, Breabach are back with a beauty.

LOOKING CONTENTEDLY FORWARD

The title suggests a band happy in their shoes, taking stock of all accumulated before, and now looking contentedly forward at horizons new. That, too, is the image presented on the sleeve, as the quintet stare confidently out. Given it’s been a funny old year or two for the band, with concerns raised by absences and delays on the road, needing necessary replacements in the ranks, its some relief, stating, if not shouting, business as normal. For which, praise be.

Breabach aren’t the showiest of the many bagpipe bands that they usually get included in with, yer Mànrans, yer Skerryvores and yer Skipinnishes, but may well be the classiest, there always that much more considered authenticity about their twin piped assault, knowing exactly when to step on that brake and bring out something gentler. Here, joined by a number of guests, they embark into some new pastures, that draw elements of bluegrass, country and cajun into their trad and contemporary Caledonica.

UNFILTERED & UNDILUTED

It is with the delicious dual skirl of pipes that the album opens, for Sandy’s. At a time when so many practitioners of the pipes are seeming to prefer the whistle, it is a delight to hear that prevailing trend bucked, as both Calum McCrimmon and Conal McDonagh give the tune good laldy. Megan Henderson’s fiddle and the guitar of Ewan Robertson build supporting scaffolding about them, it all held together, as always, by the exemplary double bass of James Lindsay. This is pure Breabach, unfiltered and undiluted, the tonic enriched by a switch to whistles as it ends.

Bantraichean loses none of that momentum, ahead the Gaelic vocals of Henderson and Robertson busting out with a typically driving Hebridean song. Lindsay’s bass is all over the shop for this one, playing his big old stand-up much like Peggy plays the electric equivalent. The title translates as widows, surprisingly so, given the spritely cadence of the vocal and instrumental delivery.

Hold The Line is the first overt shift across the ocean, and features the vocal of Darius Rucker, country superstar and erstwhile Hootie and the Blowfish frontman, trading lines with Robertson. Here, for a song about the Paralympic athlete, David Smith, his tones impart some distinctly Americana tinged hues, contrasting well with Robertson’s more earthy brogue. With pedal steel and drums to fill out the sound, whether the fiddle is Henderson or another guest, Eamon McLoughlin, I’m uncertain, but it fits in like a top end burger in an artisan bun.

HIGHLAND MELLOW

A similarly mellow feel inhabits Angel Hill, although we are determinedly back in the Highlands once more, with soaring whistle over picked guitar and flickers of shimmering fiddle. Bowed bass from Lindsay completes the widescreen atmospheric. You can almost sense the tumbling burn, in full spate, as Lindsay swaps to chunky finger plucks. Where Angel Hill? There are several, but I’m banking on it being the one overlooking the Sound of Sleat, in Kirkton, also a burial place for all those bantraichean referenced before.

Blàth Na Bealtainne, up next, is another newly written Gaelic song, lyrics by Niall O’Gallagher, set to a tune by the Mull multi-Mòd winning singer, Alasdair Whyte. A sombre and almost hymnal presence permeates that melody, wafted in on a bed of harmonium, with ethereal strings and whistles. The vocals shared between Henderson and Whyte himself, it is a song about the bond beholden between father and daughter. The equivalently staid beauty of Ardmor March follows, with some of Henderson’s most plangent fiddle play across the album, it blending in, with gaunt magnificence, alongside the whistles and guitar, more of that harmonium for extra emphasis. And, just as you yearn for them, in come the pipes.

CEILIDH HOEDOWN

The title of the next set, Daiquiri Drive Through, tends to jump out from the surrounding titles, it so clearly smacking of flavours seldom encountered in the Gàidhealtachd, or, at least, something I wouldn’t associate with ordering in Ardnamurchan. It is a tremendous ceilidh hoedown, fusing the fiddle styles of Henderson and McLoughlin, with pedal steel singing behind them. The whistles dance out, before the ensemble usher in a further guest, guitarist, Kerry Marx, whose electric twang is as exhilarating as it is unexpected, the sawdust kicked well up, as all the players trade licks. All this underpinned, of course, by the never overthought bass of Lindsay and the appropriately scampering brushed drums of John Blease. Tremendous fun.

The Wee Spree is another haunting vocal air, this time with Robertson taking the lead. The spectral aspect builds, as a choir affects to build behind his strong tenor, the instrumental backdrop fractured by ghostly FX, and what sounds like a church organ, had the uberstrict Gaels of the Wee Free Church any use for such frippery. I’m wondering if the name of the song may be a play on that. It’s the full goosebump, following the preceding frolics, and underscores the ease with which this accomplished group of musicians can flit between styles. It is also the perfect stage setting for Henderson to close proceedings, with Latha Dhomh Sa Bheinn, initially just her voice and Robertson’s guitar. Another guest featuring on this one is Ewen Henderson, her brother and the Mànran man. Beautifully uncluttered, it lets the curtain down gently, with Breabach confirming exactly why they are such powerful draw on the current crowd of Scottish traditionally derived outfits.

SILKILY STRONG & SINUOUS

So, with the hurdle of the ‘difficult’ 8th album duly conquered, and with ease, welcome back Breabach, or at least the fully formed complement. Produced ably, as ever, by the redoubtable Innes White, now surely taking the mantle of hardest working Scotsman away from Lindsay, a previous holder of that title, the sound is silkily strong and sinuous. Gorgeous album.

Here’s Blàth na Bealtainne, and, yes, as Megan Henderson sings, it is the bond between Ewan Robertson and his daughter, their daughter, actually, that is visualised, perhaps explaining how the song means so much to them.

Breabach: Website

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