Let the madness commence...
Inexplicably released somewhat surreptitiously in her native Ireland last year, folk-pop singer-songwriter Cathy Davey's follow-up to 2004s 'Something Ilk' has finally been made available in the UK - and boy has it been well worth the wait.
'Tales of Silversleeve' is a far less serious proposition than its predecessor, (in fact it's chock-full of bouncy fun pop songs) and also proves two facts beyond any reasonable doubt; (one) Davey is bona fide bonkers and (two) Davey is an astounding talent who's well worth keeping an eye on.
With parents labelled as "creative types" (her mother is a sculptor, her father a musician and composer), Davey's abhorrence of, and subsequent expulsion from mainstream education (for writing lewd poetry) will surprise few, and anyone still convinced that the lyrical fruits of Davey's compositional labours are in any way conventional should give this record a spin: 'Tales of Silversleeve' will effectively scupper such a notion.
Although it's now become conventional for esoteric artists to succumb to commercial forces sooner in career rather than later (hang your head in shame Tunstall), Davey tries to have her mercantile cake and eat it, and she just about gets away with it too. Musically 'Tales of Silversleeve' might be highly polished, slick and bordering on conventional; lyrically, however, it's as penetrable as a sober Anne Widdecombe wrapped in wire wool.
Opener 'Sing For Your Supper' is a bombastic, bass-heavy skiffle-beat beast with guttural ethereal harmonised vocals, which is then roundly counteracted by the jaunty, and irrepressibly cheeky 'Reuben'; a toe-tapper of the highest quality.
Then there's the chart-friendly trinity of 'The Collector', 'Moving' and 'Mr Kill'. All are altruistically funky mainstream pop tracks and that's no bad thing. 'Mr Kill' (which just might be the album's best track) features a joyfully whimsical vocal that evokes the legendary Kate Bush, and there's a great moment too, possibly inadvertent, when the music drops just as Davey whispers "okay" before launching into a cantabile canto of "uh oh"s.
Many will be disappointed by 'Overblown Love Song' as it's not overblown in the slightest. The softly spoken piano, guitars and smattering of brass that support Davey's vocal are beautifully melancholic, and there's even a pinch of the 'Withnail & I' soundtrack to be heard. There's a particularly enchanting lyrical hook too "No one and nothing could ever give more / With a few minor chords" but anyone anticipating a full-blown-lighter-in-the-air ballad is hereby advised to buy a box of Kleenex and stick with Bon Jovi's 'Always'.
The forbidding bass and delicately distraught vocal takes 'Can't Help It' into murky territory, as Davey's voice cracks while pronouncing "I'm losing I'll lose / no hard shell no armour", while 'Rubbish Ocean' is a hulking, finger-snapping leviathan that's probably the closest Davey comes to full-on-commercial-ballad-sell-out. The acoustic and apologetic 'All of You' rounds proceedings off in fine style, and it's one of the few tracks on the record where Davey locks the studio door and lone-wolfs it: it's a treat.
Devoted fans of 'Something Ilk' might well rile bitterly against the defiantly mainstream sound of 'Tales of Silversleeve' (and indeed it doesn't appear that any of the musicians that played on the former had anything to do with the latter; the producer certainly did not), but it's their loss. This album is not only a great listen, it's also the most eccentric popular folk-pop album that's been released this year, and for that reason alone, it's worthy of any and all attention.