Are you a friend or an enemy? Or aren’t they, all too often, both the same thing? Carthy sings it how it is and has never been so sure of who she is. Best not file under folk.

A LOVELY SURPRISE

Well, this is a lovely surprise, to see and hear Eliza Carthy seem to be so buoyant. Given most of last year was given over to care of the Daddy, as he became retired on medical advice/instruction, as well as taking on his farewell tour, hand in hand with Jon Wilks, a most satisfying proxy arrangement, who can have realised she was also laying down amongst her most personal work in ages. With barely a nod to tradition, this album, available in a baffling array of differing bundles, is more a throwback to her late 90’s sound, Red Rice, Angels & Cigarettes, and into her statement waving Anglicana, of 2002 than anything more recent.

Yes, there is a just recognisable awareness of folk music, if mainly through her fiddle play, but these 15 songs tend more toward intelligent indie, and encompass a variety of alternatives influences that hark more to this last 100 years, than any much further back. Furthermore, it is lovely to see her granted more than merely digital release, something we have bemoaned in recent times.

TRUSTED COLLABORATORS

The Restitution might seem, and is, a tangible link to her recent musical past, being the group of individuals that, largely, have grouped around her since Restitute, her album of 2019. Several have a considerably longer track record with her, notably Ben Seal, who from serving drinks to Carthy at Edinburgh’s Bongo Club nearly a 1/4 century ago, has become one of her most trusted collaborators, here providing their bass and vocals, as well as co-writing and co-producing. Elsewhere it is Saul Rose, David Delarre, Phil Alexander and Willy Molleson, all trusted hands on melodeons, guitars, keyboards and drums, respectively. And any number of special guests, some of whom may surprise.

A FORTHRIGHT BANGER

Self-identifying as one of “the loudest, loneliest women in love“, songs here have her reflecting on motherhood, betrayal and forgiveness, all of which form part of Call You In, which opens the feast. A forthright banger, the table is immediately set, as descending piano chords strike over a motorik beat. As Carthy’s voice chimes up, it is richer and warmer than memory might recall. Delarre adds characteristic flickers of his echo drenched guitar, and it bounds along beatifically. Who the “laughing seagull” on the roof, I am uncertain, but Carthy, should you read her personally into the lyric, continues: “I will never stop waiting for the moment you forgive the things I said and the things I did“. No bitterness expressed and little even regret, it just sounds so accepting of the situation.

And, whilst the brief acapella start to A Tree Used To Grow Her might reel of the tradition, as indeed does the melody, the arrangement is anything but, with fuzz bass judders and treated guitar, it becomes something quite apart. Molleson’s drums are, again, terrific. As spoken phrases from Jos Vantyler reveal, it is a song concerning, in part, the felling of the tree at Sycamore Gap, and has flurries of fiddle that scythe in. A veritable choir add an accusatory chorale, including Finn Curran-Carthy, Carthy’s son and Sally Jacquet. Broadly, yes, folk-rock, the rhythm section ensure it avoids any the plod that definition can often invoke.

BOUNCY FROTHY POP

With the title track then picking up on a bouncy synthetic soul lick, courtesy Alexander’s keys, once more a pop-frothy confection belies the visceral lyric, aimed both at herself and “frenemies” accumulated. Note a bonus disc is called “Enimends“, which further carries the love-hate burdens endured, as “the loneliest girl in the world is going solo“. We know the next one, Mr. Sits In The Dark, a recent single that addresses her “don’t call him a legend” father. It fits better in the context of the other songs here, than as a stand alone, which is a plea, sort of, to play this record in one sitting and in order. It allows the cumulative build to be realised the better.

Swing 4U is the first to overtly contain Rose’s squeezebox, and begins as a near shanty, if then with a loopily atypical off-kilter rhythm. A simpler construction, I can hear this sung by the crowd at Sidmouth, Shrewsbury or wherever. As Delarre goes aggressively off-piste, is that Carthy, adding heavy metal fiddle riffage? And that’s even before Saul steers in some slinky dub. Queen Of Harps, aka Anise Pearson, a Scottish-Malaysian rapper, vocalist, and harpist based in Edinburgh, adds a suitably toasting talkie bit.

The band then apply the full skank for U From The Future (YFTF), these last two song titles surely being, at least, homage to the Prince of Paisley Park. Carthy avoids the temptation to de-regionalise her accent, and it works better than you might expect. (It would be lovely to hear this, mind, with Sly and Robbie, were that still possible, or even with EII and the Red Hot Polkas as they currently are. )

DISCO TO PUB JOANNA

Moisturise, announced in by a plummy Tim McInerney, is a paean to the importance of skin care as you age disgracefully, I first heard out of context, and I confess I found it a little hard to engage with. Another Caribbean tinged concoction, it is a little too busy for my old ears. Within the running order, as in see earlier comment, it makes much more sense, but is still more frantic than I prefer, not least as it goes full cruise ship disco. Much more to my taste is Eat The Weak, a (presumably) tongue in cheek sing song anthem around the old Joanna. Actually about eating a mermaid, and from the view of those doing the guzzling, it features that Zelig-you-love-to-hate, Jools Holland on superb piano and, seemingly, Robyn Hitchcock on something, possibly the bonkers middle eight, where it threatens to slip out of control.

These last few songs have started to slide from the main theme and context, so it takes Honey to bring the album back on track. “If only I was easy, if only I was kind, if only I was worth it, if only I was fine; if only you were easy, if only had spine, if only you were worth it, ah, if only never mind” it says, ouchsomely, at one stage. Kicked off, btw, with a rich metal riff and sleazy Hot Rats fiddle, it becomes a conventional vitriolic of no small pleasure. Delighted could come from the early work of Eels’ Mark E. Everett, and I mean that as high praise, an adroit merge of musodiversity, where the clattery fairground keys shine. Another shout for Seal’s deeply blurred bass and the multi-tracked and multi-textured fiddle pattern. It is a late blooming favourite as it leaps out the wax.

AS CATCHY AS MEASLES

Delarre emits yet more of his inner shredder, for Never Again, which becomes one of those rock-rap fusions that, oddly, has me thinking Chumbawamba, missing only the quiet bit between the shouty bits. Alexander chucks out another gem from his swirling organ. I can’t quite work out where it is going, as per the narrative, but when has that ever mattered. As it ends, and near segued in is the post-pop punk of Tick, which makes up for being fairly slim on structure by being catchy as measles, even as it becomes little more than chanting and handclaps.

Are there any styles we haven’t yet encountered? Howsabout the fizzing blues-lite of Except 4U, which swaggers confidently out. “First they took your head off, and they threw it over there, then they took your heart out and they threw it over there, oh“, it starts and has the panache and punch of a never heard Squeeze classic single, especially as the background duh-duhs creep in. Carthy may not sound much like either Difford or Tillbrook, unmistakably no-one much other than herself. This is probably the only constant here, across this multi-faceted disc, or discs, depending on format, but is still enough still to render the whole cohesive.

LUXURY LINER LICENCE

Eggshell then plinks in on a repeated piano note, and the singer has returned to a gentler croon, singing over the same instrument, as it alternates between cascading ripples and that same plink. Imagine some orchestration, which nearly appears through studio magic, and we could be back on a cruise ship, if, this time, a century ago, and the Queen Mary, between the wars, crossing slowly across the Atlantic. That mood stays constant and concentrated for the closer, The Wine Song, as a Carthy, in her cups, slides slowly below decks: “Me and the wine get on fine” feels so desperate as to cause worry about her. “It’s just you people that waste my time”……. eek. Uncertain if there is a (positively) 4th street in Robin Hood’s Bay, please let some of this be artistic license.

So, a surprise on so many levels, this is so not the album that may have been expected from the Grande Dame, 2nd gen., of English folk. Indeed, I am not sure I can see many of the Daddy’s die-hard fans taking that much to it, but isn’t that, in a way, the point? Some songs work better than others, it’s true, but all hit probably painful spots of recognition. I certainly hope 2027’s round of festivals get their lugs around this and snap her up, and the band, for next summer.

Here’s the title track:

Eliza Carthy: Website

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