Brown Horse. Reservoir. Loose Music

Loose Music have long proved themselves dab hands at discovering emerging American artists and releasing their albums over here in the UK. They’re no slouches however when it comes to home grown talent and their latest discovery, Norwich based Brown Horse, shows that they still have their ear to the ground.

The band, a six piece outfit, are grounded in the classic sounds of 1990s alt country. Listening to the album recalls days listening to off kilter songs by the likes of Granfaloon Bus, The Silver Jews and Clem Snide, or indeed, Loose Music’s own early sampler albums which were instrumental in bringing this strain of music to a wider audience.

Much of the album sounds endearingly home made in its execution. Accordions huff and puff, guitars and fiddles are scrubbed and scraped, the Felice Brothers come to mind at times, another band not afraid to sound as if they just tumbled out of bed and pressed the record button. The stall is set from the opening song, Stealing Horses, a wayward journey through tumbledown country rock, Neil Young grunge and Palace Brothers shambles mixed into one fine opening number but it’s eclipsed by the following title track which sounds as if it needs crutches as it limps (quite magnificently it has to be said) across a blasted heath of scowling guitars, plaintive banjo and wheezy accordion.

With singer Patrick Turner sounding suitably wounded and vulnerable across the tracks, he’s in need of support and the band set out some excellent scaffolding to support him. There’s a reliably chunky country rock feel to Shootback and Everlasting actually has some polish to it with a stately piano added to the mix while the lengthy Paul Gilley, a song about a drowned songwriter (the writer of Cold, Cold, Heart, and I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry, both hits for Hank Williams), approaches the best of the early Whiskeytown days. For those who want a full blooded Neil Young like guitar thrash then Bloodstain and Silver Bullet should satisfy that fix.

Outtakes, towards the end of the album is another accordion inflected wheeze which also features some very fine twangy guitar and they close on an intimate note with Called Away, a delicate and wistful song which, with its rippling guitars and slithers of harmonica, banjo and accordion, give it a fine back porch feel.

Reservoir is quite an astounding debut album with the band showcasing a true affinity with classic alt country and we’d suggest that you get a copy so you can tell folk that you were with the band on the ground floor. 

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Dean Owens (featuring Will Kimbrough & Neilson Hubbard). Pictures. Songboy Records.

After his epic (and hugely rewarding) series of releases which dug deep into the sounds and legends of the American south west wilderness, aided by Calexico and other luminaries of the Tucson scene, Dean Owens returns to his own roots on Pictures, an album suffused with memories and personal reflections. It’s a welcome reminder that Owens, prior to his immersion into the torrid and dramatic Sonoran desert landscape, is equally as able to summon up the windswept romance of the Lothian hills and the daily grit of growing up in Leith, both detailed here with a huge sense of affection, almost rose tinted at times, tinged with regret for lost loved ones but leavened by some happy times.

Recorded during lockdown, Owens reached out to two of his erstwhile collaborators, Neilson Hubbard and Will Kimbrough who joined in on the endeavour from their Nashville base. Together, the trio hark back to the sound and feel of earlier albums such as Into The Sea and Whisky Hearts with Owens here firmly on home ground. A set of vintage photographs within the album cover are proof, if required, that this is a deeply personal album but we have to say that kudos are due to Hubbard and Kimbrough for their vibrant contributions (on guitars, keyboards and percussion),  giving the album a fully fledged band sound.

The album opens with Hills Of Home, a lilting slice of Celtic Americana if you wish, which finds Owens gliding over landmarks from his past as, presumably, he sets out on a transatlantic flight. His description of the bird’s eye view of his homeland soon migrates into a reminiscence of how he started off in the music business, back to the day when he first heard “the big music.”  He next dives deep into a love song, Pure Magic, on which he admits to his own blemishes, family traits from ancestors leading to mood swings (lion tamer and clown) and a hangover from his father’s stout (and much shared in the Scottish male) lack of patience. His salvation is in his relationship, his love, and it’s well expressed in a song which is gently borne along with sublime guitar and keyboards from his U.S. partners. In a similar vein, Neilson and Kimbrough add deft touches of piano and guitar to the sombre Sometime, a song which carries a seed of optimism and which can be seen as a thread of hope written when the world was, to all extents and purposes, shut down.

The spirit of Ronnie Lane looms large on Staring At The Lid (a song inspired by a saying of Owens’ father) which is enlivened by Kimbrough’s slide guitar and mandolin, perfectly evoking Lane’s raggle taggle travelling music and that mood is also present on Buffalo River, a delightful slice of whimsy which portrays Owens setting out on his adventures, protected by his ties to his homeland while Dalry Cemetery, an affectionate portrait of an ordinary but slightly eccentric  pair of characters is also reminiscent of Lane (and laden with Leithian lore). The past also looms large on Boxing Shorts, the most autobiographical song here on which Owens recalls his youthful endeavours as a boxer, paying tribute to his mentor with his band mates giving the song a slightly southern soul groove with punchy horns coming in at the end.

The album closes, much as it opened, on personal notes. Friend opens with Owens singing “We scattered your ashes in your favourite place…” as he offers a song soaked in loss, sadness and, ultimately, affection. It turns out that it’s a tribute to his late four legged friend, his much loved dog Alfie. Pictures, a slightly more upbeat number with the trio returning to the lilting airs of the opening song finds Owens commemorating his past adventures, his memories and his eternal ties to a friend (pictured on the album sleeve and to whom the album is dedicated) who has passed on. With a lonesome banjo dribbling out the last notes of the song it caps the album quite wonderfully. 

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