Rolling Stone Australia — July 2017

July, 2017 RollingStoneAus.com | Rolling Stone | 89

Glen Campbell
Adiós Virgin EMI/UMC ★★★★
Country golden boy cheats
Alzheimers with one last LP

The rhinestone cowboy’s fi nal
curtain is handmade and lov-
ingly tended. The handful of
Jimmy Webb songs, the fi reside
duet with Willie Nelson, a back
porch demo from Roger Miller
a nd , a t l a s t , C a mpb e l l’s fi rst stu-
dio recording of “Everybody’s
Talkin’” add up to finely fin-
ished business. Having joined
the country TV hero as a teen-
ager in the early Seventies, Carl
Jackson’s steady hand at the
desk gives Adiós a warm-heart-
ed glow and one of its best songs:
“Arkansas Farmboy” is his men-
tor’s life story, written for a voice
he clearly knows like his father’s.
From honky tonk tears to a rag-
time twist on Dylan, it’s a fare-
well that stands tall even beside
its bonus hits disc. M .D.

Ben Ottewell

A Man Apart

Cooking Vinyl Australia ★★½

UK singer-songwriter sticks with

the tried and tested

Ben Ottewell’s solo career has

rarely strayed far from the cam-

pus-friendly, blues-informed

folk-rock that rocketed Gomez

to fame in the 1990s, and his

third LP does not buck the trend.

These world-weary songs are oc-

casionally syrupy (“Walking On

Air”) though his capacity for ur-

gent, incisive songwriting does

emerge on “Own It” and “Lead

Me”. A Man Apart is, howev-

er, a bit too pleasant overall, the

more insipid tracks approach-

ing the grey banality of some-

one like Joseph Arthur. Fur-

thermore, the growly vocals of

Ottewell’s youth continue to give

way to a smoother, more generic

trill, taking him further into the

middle of the road. BARNABY SMITH

Jade Jackson

Gilded ANTI- ★★★★

Compelling debut from Cali

alt-country singer-songwriter

“I grew up my father’s daughter;

he said, don’t take no shit from

no one,” sings Jade Jackson on

“Aden”, before a wounded fi d-

dle slices open the track’s care-

worn guitars. It’s an apt opening

salvo for an LP that occupies the

sweet spot triangulated by the

brash defi ance of Lydia Love-

less, Nikki Lane in full Western

mode (locomotive shuffl e “Trou-

bled End”), and the world-wea-

ry self-affi rmation of Tift Mer-

ritt (“Gilded”). Punchy barroom

drums and ragged guitar tex-

tures (“Good Time Gone”) fl at-

ter producer Mike Ness (Social

Distortion), while Jackson’s easy

poeticism and vaporous, laconic

delivery shine on nostalgia piece

“Back When” and “Finish Line”.

It’s a consummate debut. G.H.

Rancid

Trouble Maker

Hellcat/Epitaph Records ★★★

Ninth album from enduring

Californian punk rockers

Given that this is only Ran-

cid’s third album in 14 years,

it’s something of a surprise to

see Tr o u b l e Ma k e r so soon after

2014’s Honour Is All We Know.

But that’s where the surprises

end. The 17 songs that comprise

their ninth LP – of which eight

don’t even make the two-minute

mark – contain all the Rancid

trademarks: anthemic, heart-

felt melodic punk (“Telegraph

Ave”), fl at-knacker venom (“All

American Neighbourhood”)

and two-tone/ska (“Where I’m

Going”). It’s all quite acceptable,

but as with each of their LPs

this millennium nothing grabs

you by the throat with the life-

affi rming power of their classic

mid-Nineties output. ROD YATES

Who’d have thought that

“House of the Rising Sun”

could be the masterstroke

on any album this far from pre-

jazz New Orleans? alt-J’s majes-

tically ebbing and simmering version is more

palimpsest than cover, its melody melted like

candlewax and its story warping halfway into a

dream of birds and forest fi re.

It’s folk, see – but it’s a long, long way from

(trad.) As a joke that’s pretty clever, but it’s the

emotional immediacy of the experiment, with

its plaintive pump organ and cathedral-load

of classical guitarists and ravishing swells of

strings, that defines another victory for this

post-nu-everything trio from Leeds.

The way they seamlessly dovetail that with

the sneery Syd Barrett rant of “Hit Me Like

That Snare” is typical of their audacity. “Fuck

you! I’ll do what I want to do,” goes the re-

frain. And they do, weaving jibberish and wolf

howling into the thwacking electro-buzz of

“Deadcrush” and then night-swimming into the

haunted nylon strings of “Adeline”.

Little of this is heralded by the mesmeris-

ing dervish groove, fragmented word pictures

and accumulating sonic weirdness of the stun-

ning opening track, “3WW”. And after all the

silliness and poignancy, nothing quite prepares

us for the vaulting choral-folk architecture of

the climactic “Pleader”. Pastoral and electron-

ic, daft and devastating, Relaxer is another wel-

come sigh of loosening bonds. MICHAEL DWYER

Bernard Fanning
Brutal Dawn
Dew Process★★★½
Former ’finger frontman serves a
bittersweet breakfast

Howbrutal?Thesequeltolast
year’sCivil Duskstutters to
lifelikeasuddenwake-upina
prison cell. “Shed My Skin” is
a shudder of old demons and
“How Many Times?” fi nds its
way into a darker place again.
“America (Glamour and Pres-
tige)” is as brutally dismissive
as the title implies and “Fight-
ing For Air” seals a broad theme
of grasping at straws of re-
demption in troubled times.
The remedy is in Nick DiDia’s
full, warm, woodgrain produc-
tion with crafty echoes of clas-
sic Seventies Americana from
Dylan to CSN, and in songcraft
strong enough to warrant the
twin-album gambit. M.D.

alt-J

Relaxer Liberator Music/Infectious Music

★★★★

alt-J’s Bold

Ambition

UK future-folk trio’s third LP is a

collage of absurdity and beauty