Chip Taylor. The Cradle Of All Living Things. Train Wreck Records

Now well into his 80s and recuperating from a recent health scare, Chip Taylor shows no signs of slowing down with the release of The Cradle Of All Living Things, a two CD release containing no less than 28 songs. Delivered in Taylor’s now trademark and well worn spoken word delivery, his voice is suffused with a sense of wisdom and grace while the songs are almost homilies as Taylor remembers lost friends, seeks peace with the world and, overall, considers a philosophy that, while not exactly Candide like, does seek to find solace and hope even when all around is pretty crappy.

Much of this is laid out in the opening title song where Taylor essentially “blesses” a list of worthies – parents, workers, scientists – who strive to make the world better. It Is Written is in a similar vein with Taylor espousing the sentiment, “Don’t worry, just hurry/ And hold me tight ‘cause the book of love got it right” and love seems to be Taylor’s preferred panacea to the world’s troubles as evidenced on several of the songs here such as Someone To Live For and I Don’t Know Much. Meanwhile, one has to admire his sheer chutzpah on Planetary Scheme Of Things where he suggests that he doesn’t want his preferred lifestyle to interfere with any supreme being’s grand scheme of things. Most affecting of all is the supremely tender I Don’t Know Much, a song which serves both as a statement of love to Taylor’s wife and also a song to be sung to every child by their loving parents and grandparents.

Elsewhere there’s the excellent country waltz of Oh It Feels Kinda Different which finds Taylor name checking Elvis, John Prine and Kris Kristofferson on a song which pines for jukebox days and seems to be a swipe at music streaming for free. Anthony is a wonderful and moving tribute to the late Anthony Bourdain with Taylor extolling the virtues of good food and good faces, the joy of companionship. The album closes with what is just about an internal monologue on Why Didn’t I Think Of That Before with Taylor musing on life and mortality in a most moving manner, just as affecting as Johnny Cash’s last recordings. It’s a powerful ending to an album which is perfectly played and which finds Taylor, in his twilight years, a sage for all ages.

Robin Adams. Sun Behind The Storm.

Following on from his hugely enjoyable foray into American hobo/boho folk’n’blues on Wrong Road Home, Glasgow’s Robin Adams returns to more familiar territory on Sun Behind The Storm, a brief eight song collection which is perhaps the most personal and elemental of his albums so far. It’s stark, just Adams and his guitar for the most part, yet within the bare bones of the songs there’s a sense of beauty and wonder, mixed with pools of despair and defiance. For those who suggest that Adams is following in the footsteps of singular singer/songwriters such as Nick Drake, John Martyn and Bert Jansch, the album goes a long way to confirm this.

There’s a sense that Adams is reflecting on the past here. The title song was originally released as a single 10 years ago but never made it onto an album until now. There’s also a song written when Adams was just 18 along with a song which first saw the light of day on an album, Refugee, curated by Adams back in 2016, a song which is increasingly pertinent today. There is certainly a nostalgic bent to the album for those of a certain age who remember the heyday of “bedsit” albums featuring earnest (and oft times tortured) young men pouring out their innermost thoughts. Having said that, Adams rises well above any such nostalgia, able to sit beside the likes of Will Oldham in his reclamation of folk music.

The album opens with the stunning title song. Adams’ guitar playing is quite beautiful here, so reminiscent of Jansch at times, while the song itself sees him finding solace in his belief that better days are ahead no matter how dark it seems. This slight sense of optimism is so fragile however that the overall feel of the song is one of uncertainty, of a hope that could easily be shattered, the singer withdrawing into a comfort zone of his own making. This inner world is further explored on Hit The Ground Running, a song which details the fragility of the balance between hope and despair as Adams sings “Doubt comes crashing down, breaking into fragments.”  Catapult is a song written when a youthful Adams was struggling with depression. Closeted, agoraphobic, Adams rails defiantly against his dread mood, singing, “Don’t walk, don’t run, don’t go outside in the sun. Don’t have a life that goes beyond the thought of now – I don’t think so, somehow.”

The remainder of the songs are less introspective although several still pertain to personal experiences as on the charming To The Sea which Adams explains as being about the joy and anticipation one experiences whenever a seaside trip is planned. It’s a couthy Scots equivalent of all those CSN&Y songs which celebrate the ocean and is all the better for that. Sweet Sturnidae is the second song of the album which we would call stunning as Adams pulls out all of the stops, singing about the mesmerising spectacle of murmurations of starlings (Sturnidae being their orthinological name). Here he’s accompanied by Graham Smith (of String Driven Thing fame) on violin and Pete Harvey on cello and the song has a glorious autumnal feel.

Pushed And Pulled opens with a Dylan like harmonica wheeze as Adams goes into folk rock mode on a song which, with a Dylan like opaqueness, seems to refer to the plight of refugees. The song opens with the line, “We’re all ghosts floating out at sea, you and I and humanity” as Adams likens their plight to pawns on a political chessboard. It’s followed by the much more direct The Devil’s War And The Deep Blue Sea, originally recorded for a charity album. Sadly, it’s a powerful song which is even more pertinent today than when it was originally recorded. Overall, Sun Behind The Storm is quite breathtaking in its honesty and delivery.

Steve Dawson. Eyes Closed, Dreaming. Black Hen Music

And so, the third of Steve Dawson’s “pandemic” trilogy hits the shelves, drawing to a close his year long release strategy on a very triumphant note. As with its predecessors, Eyes Closed, Dreaming was recorded remotely with musicians joining in from Nashville, Los Angeles, Toronto and Vancouver with never a join to be heard, the whole skilfully woven together by Dawson in the producer’s chair. In terms of the trilogy, Eyes Closed, Dreaming is a close cousin of the first release, Gone, Long Gong, both being a collection of songs excellently played and using both his fellow players and his undoubted guitars skills quite perfectly. And while Phantom Threshold, the middle release of the trilogy was an intriguing collection of instrumental music, it’s great to hear Dawson back on his rootsy song saddle.

More top heavy on covers than Gone, Long Gone, Eyes Closed, Dreaming nevertheless features four excellent songs written by Dawson and Matt Patershuck which easily equal those on the earlier album. Two of these find the writers delving into the area of Child ballads. A Gift is a beautiful song, tinged with a hint of danger and played with a tender sense of purity, the highlight being Dawson’s pedal steel playing. The Owl is not dissimilar although it harks more to the ensemble playing of the Pentangle in their heyday. Meanwhile Hemingway is an intimate reflection on the author with Dawson’s acoustic guitar opening recalling Bert Jansch before a string section billows in giving the song a very nice yet restrained sense of majesty. The best however is the gentle meditation on the nostalgia and affection contained within a simple Polaroid snapshot on the song titled Polaroid. The lyrics bring to life the experience of taking such a snap as Dawson sings of the picture “slowly fading into view” and the way that “light was reflected from your face and onto this very page.”

Elsewhere Dawson rewards those who love his gutbucket R’n’B with the opening song, Ian Tyson’s Long Time To Get Old which is suffused with his slide guitar licks while Allison Russell sings gustily along with him. There’s more of this Ry Cooder like humbucking on a grand cover of Jack Clement’s Guess Things Happen That Way while Cooder comes to mind again on the Hawaiian styled Waikiki Stonewall Rag and on the lazy swingtime of Singin’ The Blues, both allowing Dawson plenty of space to impress on Weissenborn, National guitar and ukulele.

Rounding up the covers, Dawson breathes new life into that old folk chestnut, House Carpenter. With Tim O’Brien on mandolin, Dawson performs it in a modern bluegrass fashion giving Billy Strings a run for his money. He closes the album with a solo performance of John Hartford’s Let Him Go On Mama which is perky and affectionate and, it goes without saying, perfectly performed.

Aside from a cover of Bobby Charles’ Small Town Talk which, for this reviewer, didn’t really take off, with Dawson straining to get the right vocal vibe, Eyes Closed, Dreaming is a further reminder that Dawson really deserves to be as well known for his solo endeavours as for his multitude of studio sessions and production work.

Website