Tuesday, 5 December 2023

Michele Stodart's torch songs

© Simon Poulter 2023
I seem to have a habit of only venturing north of the Thames to hear music you can’t boogie to when it is freezing cold. I also seem to have a habit of hearing said music inside churches that are marginally less cold than on the outside, but that may be just be a reflection of the kind of music that appeals to me.  

One year ago this week I squeezed into my parka and then squeezed into a pew at the Union Chapel in Islington to see Matt Deighton and friends (and family) charm the pants off all and sundry, as he tends to do. So, almost 12 months later, on the final evening of November, I’m a couple of miles down the road in in St. Pancras, in a church, and I’m wearing the parka again. However, for some inexplicable reason, it’s a little smaller than I remember.

The place of worship in question is the delightful St. Pancras Old Church, which dates back to the fourth century, and I’m here for an equally bewitching evening with Michele Stodart. The bassist in festival favourites The Magic Numbers (along with her brother Romeo and fellow siblings and former neighbours Sean and Angela Gannon) has dialled down their indie verve on her solo outings to pursue a flavour of Americana in songs drawn from the personal and the confessional. 

The latest, Invitation, released in September (and now nominated for Album Of The Year in the UK Americana Awards), appeared in the wake of what Stodart described as “life-changing personal circumstances”, without elaborating on the specifics. That said, she has talked of the album coming from “a place of inviting in the darkness, the hard times, the sadness, anger, loss, love and grief...all of the unknown feelings that get woken up inside you.” Which, it must be said, suitably sets expectations the record duly fulfils.

There are certainly a few emotional yards being trod on this album, which at the Old Church, Stodart performs in its entirety, a seven-piece band behind her, including pedal steel guitarist Holly Carter, a violin player and a harpist. They fill out the small stage, set in front of the church’s apse, cohesively providing a bed for Stodart’s smoky voice (she sounds a lot like her brother but in a higher register) and an engaging, enchanting energy. Between songs, Stodart - one of the friendliest, huggiest performers I have ever met - speaks proudly of the women in her life: her teenage daughter Maisie, her Portuguese opera singer mother and her partner Immy, all of whom are amongst the 100 or so folk in attendance. But she is also diffident, hinting at the childhood shyness that she has spoken of (a trait seemingly at odds with being the bass player of a band that has rightly become a Glasto staple).

© Simon Poulter 2023
The inspirations for Invitation are briefly alluded to in her introductions, but there is more depth online, as she descrbed the album as reflecting years of “change, growth and transformation”. It is, she reveals, an “intimate, personal record, with songs that touch on themes of motherhood, relationships, mental health, transformation, endings and new beginnings.”  

That couldn’t be more obvious than from the opening track, Tell Me, which unrolls a conversation between lovers near the bottom of the downslope of a relationship (although not actually written directly from personal experience), one that most of us have experienced at some point in time, and usually late at night. The line “Are there any of the other sides to me that you couldn’t love?” is loaded with jaded ambiguity. 

The seven tracks that follow continue in this vein, to a greater or lesser degree, touching at both the uplifting aspects of romantic entanglement and the bleak. Stodart’s vocals breathe like Patsy Cline through the torch songs Push And Pull and Undone, while the warming, jazzy vibes of The House wrap a proverbial blanket around the ears. 

These Bones speaks of the emotional wear-and-tear of a strained relationship - “I ain’t hanging round to die,” she tells her antagonist, while The Good Fight appears to be moving things on with the opening line: “You took back the key and you closed the door,” while remaining regretful of a love that could have been. 

Drowning brings the album to an end with perhaps Stodart’s bleakest statement of the album: “I lay here surrounded by these four walls of nothingness inside of my mind, getting smaller and smaller this space I’m sinking in”. On paper, depressing (and, even, possibly a statement of depression), it comes wrapped in a shimmer of reverb reminiscent of Richard Hawley, generating something of a dream state to close the record. If all this sounds a little too melancholy to the upbeat crowd lapping it up in this elderly church, sat within the environs of Victorian railway infrastructure and concrete modernism , it’s a euphoric full stop to the first half of the evening. 

Resuming after the interval, Stodart and her band deliver a set of as-yet unreleased new songs that suggest that the pre-Covid burst of creativity that produced Invitation is continuing to bear new fruit. The new material builds out the second half until it reaches a finale to savour. This was the third time I’ve seen Stodart live as a solo artist, and on each occasion there has been a demonstrable outpouring of love and professional respect from her peers (she regularly participates in songwriting workshops and is building up a reputation as a producer). 

Some of that love is in the church, as friends present include acclaimed singer-songwriters Kathryn Williams, Hannah White and Daisy Chute, who are invited up on stage with Romeo Stodart for a seemingly unscheduled (and unrehearsed) but rousing finale of The Band’s Bob Dylan-written I Shall Be Released. It’s the song that also ends The Last Waltz, Martin Scorsese’s film of the group’s all-star final concert. While that included special guests like Dylan, Eric Clapton, Joni Mitchell, Van Morrison and Ringo Starr, the space in front of the Old Church’s altar is filled with no less a celebration of music by Stodart and her friends. It may not have been San Francisco’s Winterland, but its intimacy is just what Stodart’s music is made for.

Friday, 1 December 2023

Peter Gabriel’s i/o - slow train coming

Peter Gabriel has rarely, if ever, done things by convention. He left Genesis in 1975 just as they were filling larger venues and selling records in places other than just Belgium and Italy. When he launched his solo career in 1977 he abandoned the dull custom of titling albums by naming his first four ‘Peter Gabriel’, much to the consternation of his American record company. On the third of those albums he instructed Phil Collins to not use cymbals, purely to disrupt the drummer’s natural inclination to punctuate rhythms with them. 

For the 56 years Gabriel has been making music for a living he has seemingly trodden his own path - and at his own pace. Which, invariably, has been glacial. Those first solo albums came along at a clip – all four released in the space of five years - and even the gap between the fourth and the commercial triumph that was So was just four years. 

But then things started to slow, as a heightened celebrity took Gabriel off in different directions, and not always actually involving making music. The ‘divorce album’ Us appeared in 1992, and its successor Up in 2002, but since then Gabriel has been tinkering at this and that, side projects such as co-founding The Elders with Richard Branson and the late Nelson Mandela, and involving himself in the human rights foundation Witness. There were wildly esoteric ventures, such as Gabriel at his most Brian Pern-like, making music with bonobo apes at an ape language laboratory (apparently, they’re a thing). 

Occasionally scraps of music have been thrown out there - offcuts, apparently, gifted to soundtracks (and compiled into the wittily-titled compilation Rated PG in 2019). There have been more substantive ventures, such as Scratch My Back…, an album of cover versions twinned with responses from their originators, …And I’ll Scratch Yours, featuring creditable versions of Gabriel songs by Paul Simon, Lou Reed, David Byrne, Elbow, Arcade Fire and others. The New Blood album presented orchestral retreads of old Gabriel songs, while there has been the occasional tour, such as the surprise ‘Rock, Paper, Scissors co-headline trundle around North America with Sting. But for the most part, those who have stuck with Gabriel throughout his extended silences and dalliances with whatever-takes-his-fancy causes, there’s been nothing net-new to get stuck into. Until today. Well, until January this year, and every month since.

Picture: Instagram/@itspetergabriel

Let me explain: in October 2021 an Instagram post revealed that Gabriel has been recording at his Real World Studios complex with “a few familiar faces” - long-serving bassist Tony Levin, guitarist David Rhodes and drummer Manu Katché. And then nothing. Until last December when Gabriel’s revived ‘Full Moon Club’ digital newsletter turned up with a link to a brief video in which he declared: “I’m now surrounded by a whole tonne of new material. I’ve pretty much got an album ready, and it’s been a lot of fun playing with the band again.” 

Expectations raised, on 6 January this year Gabriel released Panopticom, the lead-in single from a new album that would be called i/o. In February came The Court, and then Playing For Time in March, but still no complete album. However, it what can be considered peak Gabriel, the releases were being timed to coincide with the lunar cycle, accompanied by an individual piece of bespoke art to add an extra dimension to the release. 

Before long it dawned on most that Gabriel was indulging in mischief. The lunar video updates, announcing the latest release were all part of a plan to put i/o out track by track, full moon by full moon (which meant that, bizarrely, there were two releases in August) - and for free.

Gabriel announces i/o on YouTube, December 2022

To add to the giveaway, each track was released in two versions - a ‘Dark Side’ mix by Tchad Blake and then later a ‘Bright Side’ mix by Mark ‘Spike’ Stent. In his last instalment Gabriel revealed that this drip-feed had been an “experiment”. Like his friend Brian Eno (who appears on the album), the studio is his laboratory, much as a real laboratory was the creative workshop for his late inventor father, Ralph. It’s where the album - named after the ‘input’ and ‘output’ connections on electrical equipment - explores the interconnectivity of everything, and the perils, pitfalls and benefits of the bigger questions being asked about technology’s future. 

Thus, i/o’s release today is something of a literal anti-climax, but there is logic to its approach. “There’s not a huge income from the streaming services,” he said of technology’s present in an interview with Mojo’s Mark Blake. “Some of the themes [on i/o] are about connecting with nature, so it felt appropriate to do something on every new moon, as our ancestors used to.” But while monthly releases via streaming platforms might be uber meta, some musical traditions haven’t been completely jettisoned: “We’re storytellers and we love stories. And there’s more of a story on an album than there is on a single track. But the world is moving in the direction of shorter, faster, and when the tide goes one way it’s attractive to go in the opposite direction. The slower, longer thing has its place, and I’m notoriously slow.” 

Listened to as a whole, Gabriel’s distinction between new and tradition makes sense. In both single and complete forms, the new music bears testament to his penchant for fastidious production, intricate layering and disparate instrumentation but, 21 years on since Up, there is a notable maturity to i/o, both in terms of the 73-year-old’s growing sense of mortality, but also his enduring fascination with a world continuing to evolve.

The ‘Dark Side’ and ‘Bright Side’ mixes of i/o

Panopticom directs that from the outset, in Gabriel’s own words positing an “infinitely expandable accessible data globe”, ‘The Panopticom’, which connects like-minded people to “see what’s going on” in order to make the world understand itself better, a notion inspired by the work of groups like Forensic Architecture, Bellingcat and the aforementioned Witness. With a similar bass riff to Digging In The Dirt, Gabriel’s confessional about marital breakdown, it combines grandeur with a singalonga chorus (though the line “Panopticom - let’s find out what’s going on” only just sits on the right side of dodgy…). As the first single off the first new album in 21 years, it sent up a bright red flare that Gabriel had not lost his mojo in terms of writing with meaning, purpose and intrigue. In fact, it’s a hallmark of the entire album, which paints alternating strokes of mood, energy and substance. 

The Court tackles the online age with a Cuban rhythm interspersed with the staccato refrain of “And the court will rise”, an acerbic reflection perhaps on the tendency for Internet platforms to be judge, jury and executioner on public discourse, and leads well into the i/o’s title track, which drives one of the album’s core themes, the philosophical consideration of human progress. The track i/o has a genuinely uplifting quality that on repeated hearings suggests an overwhelmingly optimistic view of “the interconnectedness of everything”.

Four Kinds Of Horses is one of the album’s highlights, and a dramatic, ambitious consideration of the contemporaneous themes of spiritualism and religion as they intersect with geo-politics. Developed out of a tentative collaboration with XL Records founder Richard Russell, it emotively combines an orchestral arrangement from John Metcalfe with Gabriel’s core band as well as keyboard layers from Eno. Gabriel’s singer daughter Melanie, who has toured with her father, also makes an appearance (“another lovely moment for a dad”). 

Anyone who has seen Gabriel live will attest to his dad dancing, (In Your Eyes, in particular), to which we can now add Road To Joy. It’s another big, brassy pop tune in the manner of Sledgehammer, which funks along foot-tappingly, and is blessed by backing vocals from the Soweto Gospel Choir (who previously appeared on Down To Earth, Gabriel’s theme song for Wall-E). But despite being seemingly infused with happiness, it’s not the clappy celebration of life it might appear to be on first listen. In fact, it based in another side project Gabriel is involved in, dealing with near-death experiences and ‘locked-in’ syndrome. It is nevertheless delightfully engaging. As is This Is Home, late on in the album, which started life as a suggested idea from DJ Skrillex about partying late into the night, before Gabriel turned it on its head by making it about family life, underpinned by a warming,  soulful groove.

The similarly up-tempo Olive Tree is about another ‘brain’ project, examining how interacting with nature can broaden the potential for enhancing the human experience. “Part of the theme of this song and of [i/o] really is that we are part of everything,” Gabriel explains, “but these natural worlds of non-human intelligence are out there and we haven’t yet been smart enough to understand what they’re communicating and how they communicate.” 

So Much, which features more of Metcalfe’s orchestration and Melanie Gabriel’s vocals, tackles ageing, but not in a maudlin sense. “When you get to my sort of age you either run away from mortality or you jump into it and try and live life to the full,” Gabriel explains. “The countries that seem most alive are those that have death as part of their culture.” Mortality, another theme of the album, appears in the contemplative, Randy Newman-esque ballad Playing For Time, which reflects on the passing of time. Having recorded Father, Son about his dad for the Up album, Playing For Time is a “an elegy of sorts” to Gabriel’s late mother Edith, who was his musical influence. “When my mum died, I wanted to do something for her,” he explained in the Full Moon Club release, “but it’s taken a while before I felt comfortable and distant enough to be able to write something. She loved classical music, so we have a beautiful cello playing there.” The song is full of childhood memories - ”some of which are good, enjoyable and positive and some of which are obviously sad, dealing with loss.” 

There is even more emotional heft at work in the beautiful, ethereal Love Can Heal, for me the standout song on the record. Written several years ago (and debuted on the tour with Sting, when it was dedicated to Jo Cox, the murdered Labour MP, whom Gabriel had met at a conference), it draws musically from what he calls a “sensual pallete”. It is a daringly soporific exploration of the role emotions play in human connectivity. “I know I bang on about this ‘emotional toolbox’ and how one of the roles of songs is the potential to change how you feel and change your mood according to what you’re listening to,” Gabriel says. “Hopefully, Love Can Heal has its place in this emotional toolbox.”

The core PG band - Tony Levin, David Rhodes and Manu Katché
Picture: Instagram/@itspetergabriel 

By the time i/o reaches its 12th and final track, the listener will have been through a range of emotions and music evoking a plethora of life experiences. The temptation is to think Gabriel is just another rock star in his eighth decade processing the years passed, but there is a settled acceptance to his songs, that age is just a number, and that despite the maths, there is plenty to live for. That is certainly the cause behind Live And Let Live, November’s final Full Moon release and a closing song to savour. The very last song to be completed, it’s about “forgiveness, tolerance and optimism”, but also about the positive impact music can have on the human mood.

In his Mojo interview with Mark Blake, Gabriel addressed his reputation for being somewhat dilettante: “If it’s fun and it’s interesting, I’ll do it”. i/o may have taken 21 years to release (in fact some of the songs on it go back even further in their origin), but it won’t necessarily be the another two decades before it gets followed up. “Who knows, I may just keep going,” Gabriel told Mojo, teasingly. There is even more new music in the works, though in what state of readiness - by Gabriel’s standards of perfection - remains to be seen. “I think you can over-saturate people and they get bored with you,” he said with knowing modesty. “One of the reasons I am still able to make a living doing this is that there are long periods of absence.” 

All of this might sound like Gabriel is a very serious man indeed. He is, but there has always been a twinkle in his eye. “I’m 73 now, at an age when I might as well just play around and have fun,” he told Blake. i/o may cover some complex even baffling themes, but you could never cause Gabriel of tossing off something generic or formulaic. If anything, he’s still not afraid to metaphorically walk on stage in a red dress and a fox’s head (as he did for real at a Genesis concert in 1972, much to the surprise of his bandmates). 

i/o gives firm demonstration that he refuses to become a heritage act in his dotage. “Sometimes you have to take the road that requires fear and courage,” he told Mojo. Doing things differently “makes it way more interesting for me”. He is happy to face rejection, if that’s what comes. Listening to i/o, that is not going to happen any time soon: it’s an album of rare consideration and deep thought about the world reflective of the length of time it has taken to reach these ears. While that world will have changed many times in the 21 years of i/o’s gestation, the final yards of recording and producing it have created an album of beauty, grace, intelligence and wit, qualities that you rarely come across in this day and age.  

Peter Gabriel’s i/o is released today on Real World Records