wrong way up - brian eno & john cale

Their paths had crossed for many years. After performing together with Nico and Kevin Ayers on June 1^st 1974, Brian Eno worked on John Cale’s 1974 masterpiece Fear. Eno also appeared on 1975’s Slow Dazzle and Helen Of Troy and 1984’s Caribbean Sunset. In 1988 Eno set up his own label, Land, and one of his first signings was Cale.

After becoming a father in 1985 Cale had radically overhauled his life, eschewing his heavy drinking in favour of exercise and family stability. Cale had recently set a number of Dylan Thomas poems to music, a project that was recorded as “The Falklands Suite” in 1988 with a full Russian orchestra and Welsh choir. Eno produced the sessions and as the suite wasn’t long enough for a full album, suggested recording some additional songs. “The Soul Of Carmen Miranda” was the charming first result, which married Eno’s skewed pop sensibilities to Cale’s classical stylings and closed Cale’s 1989 Words For The Dying album on a pleasingly optimistic note. So delighted were the pair that a full-length album of grown-up pop songs was suggested. 

Cale spent a couple of months in the spring of 1990 in Woodbridge, Suffolk as Eno’s houseguest. They worked office hours at Eno’s Wilderness home studio and at the end of each day Cale would take himself off to the squash court while Eno tinkered into the night. At first excellent progress was made. They wrote lyrics together by shouting out random words resulting in some interesting phrases (plus a fair amount of nonsense - what exactly is a ‘crow of desperation’?), and an enthused Cale encouraged Eno to sing on record for the first time in over a decade. ‘We were recording in a well-lit, comfortable upstairs room filled with equipment,’ Cale later wrote. ‘The sun shone in and the birds were singing. I thought - this is how records should be made.’

Sadly the idyllic start didn’t last. It soon became clear that the duo’s working practices created an awful amount of tension. Eno’s methodical, painstaking approach saw him spending hours perfecting a single drum sound or treatment, sharply at odds with Cale’s sometimes haphazard and chaotic methods. Despite claiming that ‘part of the charm of collaboration is to feel out of control’ Cale was bitterly disappointed to discover that Eno had been surreptitiously erasing sections of the music without his consent. Although many songs were still unfinished, an unhappy Cale returned to New York in July where he reworked a number of his vocals and posted the tapes back to Eno.

This falling out is clear from the finished album as some tracks are full-blown collaborations (“One Word” is a prime example), but others, recorded later, are performed almost exclusively by one or the other (Eno’s “The River” doesn’t feature Cale at all). The guiding force is mainly Eno – the complex rhythm tracks he created before Cale’s arrival demonstrate his love of unorthodox drum sounds which in turn gave rise to typically Enoid tunes. Cale dominates only on “In The Backroom” and “Cordoba” though both contain shimmering Eno arrangements. Working at Eno’s own studio also allowed Brian to utilise his choice of musicians. Many of them (notably Robert Ahwai and Nell Catchpole) continued to work with Eno on the abortive My Squelchy Life and 1992’s Nerve Net. 

Nonetheless, Wrong Way Up was undoubtedly an artistic success. By not pandering to any current trends the album avoids becoming dated and today seems oddly timeless. Although some of the programming may seem a little clunky, the keyboard washes and gently chattering rhythm beds are superb. Cale and Eno’s voices complement each other harmoniously to the extent that on “One Word” it is appropriately impossible to tell them apart. “One Word” was also issued as single backed with a number of out-takes, including Cale’s emotional “Grandfather’s House.”

Other tunes range from the staccato opener “Lay My Love” via the engaging “Empty Frame” (basically an old-fashioned sea shanty, with telling lyrics about trying to turn a ship around) through the happy singalong “Been There Done That” to Eno’s beautiful song for his newborn daughter Irial, “The River.” It closes the album on a delicately positive note as some of Eno’s warmest vocals mesh with another heartrending Nell Catchpole string arrangement.

The highlight of Wrong Way Up is arguably “Spinning Away” – a gorgeously melodic adult pop song.  As Eno whiles away the day sketching (deftly described as ‘my pencil turning moments into lines’), stirring strings and Cale’s mournful viola gradually work their way to a climax. The song takes an age to fade out, perfectly encapsulating the dreamy mood of a warm summer’s afternoon.  

The cover, inspired by the royal playing cards, amusingly highlighted the personal tensions between Cale and Eno by inserting daggers between their photos. Even before the album was released Eno was asked if he would work with Cale again. ‘No way,’ was the succinct reply and, apart from a small Eno guest spot on a recent Cale album, they haven’t, which is a pity as Wrong Way Up is something of a creative highpoint for both. Eno hasn’t written such archly romantic or darkly catchy songs since and Cale’s careworn vocals have rarely had such sympathetic settings.

A few years back Eno’s label, now called All Saints, reissued Wrong Way Up (though intriguingly the revised cover has lost the daggers, implying a thaw in their relationship perhaps) with a couple of bonus tracks originally used on the “One Word” single, so it’s a good time to explore this overlooked gem.

from gardens where we feel secure

Originally released in 1983 Virginia Astley's delightful From Gardens Where We Feel Secure is a genuinely unique album of melodically varied, rich mood pieces specifically designed to reflect the passing of a hazy lazy summer’s day from dawn to dusk. The original vinyl’s sides were even titled ‘Morning’ and ‘Afternoon.’ This progression through an idyllic countryside is accompanied by field recordings, which include sounds of creaking gates, donkeys, birds, lambs and distant church bells. The gentle flutes and delicate piano creates a peculiarly English air (dubbed ‘pastoralia’ by Wire magazine) - a mixture of Britten, Vaughan-Williams and the Famous Five, and the album sometimes only just manages to remain this side of unbearably twee; but repeated plays unveil a childlike purity and simplicity that is utterly beguiling.

Virginia Astley was born in 1959. Her father was the renowned composer Edwin ‘Ted’ Astley, responsible for the music for a huge number of TV action serials of the 1950s and 1960s, with The Saint and Danger Man being two of the best remembered. In a move away from fast paced jazzy soundtracks, Ted Astley also composed the score for Kenneth Clarke’s monumental 1969 historical documentary series Civilisation. Virginia’s elder sister Karen married Pete Townshend and Ted orchestrated a number of songs for the Who. In the late 1970s the Astley family moved from suburbia to rural Oxfordshire, a tranquil setting which was to inspire Virginia.

In the early 1980s she formed the Ravishing Beauties; a short lived, all female band comprised of Virginia, Kate St John and Nicky Holland. They played a few gigs supporting Teardrop Explodes and recorded a John Peel session before splitting in 1981. St John later leant her woodwind and arranging skills to artists as diverse as Julian Cope, Dream Academy and Roger Eno, while Holland worked with Tears For Fears and the Fun Boy Three amongst many others.

Astley however struck out on her own, worked on demos with John Foxx and in 1982 released a well-received single “Love’s A Lonely Place To Be.” It reached number 5 on the indie charts and featured two simple tracks on the b-side, “A Summer Long Since Passed” and “It's Too Hot To Sleep.” The evocative titles exactly summed up the delightful instrumentals and in 1983 Rough Trade issued the From Gardens… album – full of this material. Virginia’s first solo album is precisely that - she plays all the instruments herself and the gentle piano and woodwinds are mixed with touches of synthesizer and the tape recordings that she’d made near her rural home. 

The melodies are deceptively light and airy, though as the day progresses the rise in temperature causes a corresponding increase in tension, which is subtly reflected in the music. Evocative aural pictures are drawn – the flute that emerges from the dawn chorus sets the morning mood of cheerful optimism, a mood that continues until a donkey brays harshly at the conclusion of “Hiding In The Ha Ha.” The afternoon tracks become darker. The repetitive squeak of a rusty swing becomes a creaky rhythm track, as does a loop of a bleating lamb. This creates a mildly uneasy air, which increases with the faint addition of farm machinery buzzing in the background. Lovely piano and flute (recorded so clearly you can hear Virginia breathing between notes) maintain continuity with the morning music but despite the vaguely disquieting afternoon, the soothing hoot of an owl accompanies the final “It’s Too Hot To Sleep.”

From Gardens… reached number 4 on indie chart in 1984 and Virginia was persuaded to attempt a follow up. Sadly the proposed Tales Of Winter only ever got as far as the single “Melt The Snow”, three versions of which were added to the Japanese reissue of From Gardens… in 1987.

The album was especially successful in Japan, where her rather prim English rose image proved to be enormously popular. Ryuichi Sakamoto offered his services as producer and in 1986 Virginia’s first proper album of songs Hope In A Darkened Heart was issued. Her delicate songs worked remarkably well set in Sakamoto’s synth arrangements, which suited her beautiful diction and clear as a bell vocals. David Sylvian collaborated on the single “Some Small Hope,” a peculiar tune that sounded as if it had been composed in another century, on which his lugubrious croon provided a fascinating contrast with Astley’s schoolgirl clarity.

The following year Virginia Astley dropped out of the music business to bring up her new born daughter Florence, only re-emerging in recent years with All Shall Be Well and Had I The Heavens (partially inspired by Thomas Hardy’s novel The Woodlanders). 

In interviews Virginia Astley would often talk of her desire to unite poetry with music – the Ravishing Beauties had used Wilfred Owen’s Futility on their only single. Whilst this ambition took some years to manifest itself fully (recent work has seen Virginia recording her own poetry), From Gardens…  still contains a lyrical, poetic quality in spite of the lack of words. 

From Gardens… has had a long life - Miranda July’s 2005 film Me And You And Everyone We Know uses “A Summer Long Since Passed” over the end credits, and Rough Trade reissued the whole album in 2003. Although the new digipack version replaces the precious dried flowers of the original cover with a sea of purple blooming in a very English forest (and the back now features a hazy photo of a child as Alice In Wonderland in front of a charming thatched cottage), these images, taken by Virginia, give a very accurate impression of the music within. Pastoral, nostalgic, romantic, soothing and wistful - in recalling a happy past, a time which will probably never be repeated, the poignancy of From Gardens… grows stronger with every passing year.

NB: The Japanese 1987 Rosebud reissue RBXCD1001 added “Sanctus” and three versions of “Melt The Snow” as bonus tracks, but the current Rough Trade CD RETRADECD001 goes back to the original track list.

paramour - the debut album from deadman

Paramour is an atmospheric wonder, with wide-open Western vistas that conjure up dusty dreamlike images of sun scorched Arizona or northern Mexico. The songs are full of murder, outlaws, victims, retribution, angels, crosses and ghosts creating hauntingly tender soundscapes that fuse the Old West with the 21st century.

Dallas based Steven Collins formed Deadman in 1999. Leaving his previous band the Plebians, Collins struck out on his own after hearing two records that would influence his future direction. The first was Shylingo, Tim Gibbons’ 1998 album. Gibbons was an old friend of fellow Canadian Daniel Lanois, though his music was firmly rooted in the Southern desert and the Mexican border. The second crucial album was Willie Nelson’s Teatro, recorded at an abandoned porn theatre in Oxnard, California, converted to a studio by Lanois. According to Collins, ‘I thought, “Man, this is what I want to do, this kind of sound, Mexican and vibe-y.” It was sort of dark, and I was attracted to it.’ Both records were engineered and co-produced by longtime Lanois associate Mark Howard, so Collins contacted him. Collins had a bunch of songs ready to go but needed the right band to record them. A bassist friend, Britton Beisenherz, had been hassling to work with Collins for some time, and when drummer John Scully rolled up Deadman was born. As the trio rehearsed at Britton’s place, Steven’s wife Sherilyn began adding keyboards or gentle harmony vocals and before long it was clear that she was in the band too. Steven was wary at first, ‘I thought she might get bored with it. But it's worked really well, because it keeps us together… She’s an integral part of the sound.’

Vital to the success of Deadman’s sound are Steven and Sherilyn’s delightful harmonies, which wrap around each other so well that at times you can’t tell who’s who. One critic even compared their beautifully delicate duets to those by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell – if Gaye and Terrell had ‘ever found themselves down on their luck and drowned in tequila…’

An ep of early songs, Quatro Canciones, was privately issued in 2000 and the band backed Tim Gibbons on the impossibly hard to find Streets Of Dallas album, before Mark Howard’s schedule finally allowed him a couple of weeks to record with Deadman. Sadly, by this time, the Teatro studio had closed but Howard decided to move the band onto the Paramour estate, high in the Hollywood Hills, for a few weeks in the summer of 2001. There, in a reputedly haunted house (it features in Scream 3 and Halloween H2O), the band recorded their debut album.

Although influenced by traditional Tex / Mex music Deadman weren’t afraid to embrace new technology – Sherilyn used an omnichord (a hand held rhythm and strings gadget) on a number of tracks and Britton sometimes played a synth bass. Every song inhabits new sonic territory. The most ‘old fashioned’ is opening track “The Ballad Of Padre Miguel” with its Spanish guitar and weary tale of a guilt-wracked priest who has betrayed his vow of celibacy. “Rosa Marie” contains some shimmering lap steel guitar, Hammond organ and dreamily sensuous vocals, which hover in the heat haze, and “The Pale Rider” summons up the spirit of Clint Eastwood with brooding synths, a snaking bass, and a propulsive woody sound from the drums. As with most tracks on Paramour the highly visual and poetic lyrics of “The Pale Rider” touch on timeless Western themes of betrayal, law-breaking and retribution (in this case the song is about two outlaws, William and Phoenix, and their plan to rob a bank in Denver and kill everyone so that there are no witnesses). Elsewhere, “Sun Goes Down” lightens the mood with a jaunty reflection on falling in love with music in various locations, “Blue River” sounds like U2 recast as a soulful Texas band, and “Lonely Times” recalls Dylan and the Band with some bluesy harmonica and lyrics for ‘lonely people, feeling blue… just like you.’

Arguably the most impressive track, “Three Murders” comes right up to date with a harrowing true story that Collins had read in Texas Monthly about the frightening lawlessness in Juárez, just across the border in Mexico. Collins’ resigned and despairing vocals offer little hope. 

The album concludes with a couple of bonus tracks – a gently sincere reading of Paul Simon’s “America” is enhanced by Sherilyn’s touchingly sentimental vocals before a long pause ushers in an untitled instrumental, which ambiently shimmers and sparkles.

Mark Howard’s expansive wide-screen production suits the songs remarkably well, creating darkly emotional tracks that would sound equally at home in a smoky after hours bar or a stadium. This oddly successful mix of the Cowboy Junkies, Mazzy Star, Willie Nelson and U2, achieves its aim perfectly, creating images of a mysterious yet romantic border culture. Steven Collins was pleasantly surprised by the result – ‘I thought it would be a sort of quiet, hear-a-pin-drop kind of record. It turned out to be a bit more epic than I thought it would be…’ 

Paramour established Deadman as a force to be reckoned with and the band have gradually built up a strong but sadly still small following (Steven only recently gave up his day job at Southwest Airlines) amongst Americana aficionados and rock, folk and country fans alike.  

the red and the black

Following on from Remain In Light earlier in the week I've dug out my copy of Jerry Harrison's 1981 album The Red And The Black.

What an amazing record and what a hugely under-rated one too. It's not even in print at the moment, for no good reason.

1980 was a momentous year for Talking Heads. The release of the acclaimed Remain In Light was followed by a very successful tour, which saw the old four-piece band expand to ten in order to perform the new complex funky sound. Keyboard player Jerry Harrison was behind the extended Heads line-up, responsible for hiring and rehearsing the new members whilst vocalist David Byrne continued to work on My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts with Brian Eno. In 1981 however, Talking Heads effectively split up for a year, with Byrne embarking on an ambitious suite of music entitled The Catherine Wheel for Twyla Tharp’s dance company, and drummer Chris Frantz and bassist Tina Weymouth relocating to Nassau where they founded the Tom Tom Club. 

Jerry had plenty of half-written songs, many of which predated Remain In Light, but it was only in the spring, when his mother was taken ill and he returned to Milwaukee, that he decided to finish them. Jerry rented a friend’s demo studio, converted from a cold war underground bunker, and began recording backing tracks. The atmosphere in the bunker was darkly oppressive and contributed strongly to the dense feel of the album. Jerry was keen to explore complex polyrhythms and by crashing grooves together he created unusual interlocking patterns (“Things Fall Apart” seems to throw 7/4 against straight 4/4 over 3/4). The multi-layered vocal lines achieve much the same effect - that of confusion, or as the title of one song puts it - “Worlds In Collision.” 

Back in New York Jerry worked on the melodies with Nona Hendryx. The remarkable voices of Nona and Dolette Macdonald had graced the expanded Heads and the original intention was to record a funky ambient album with wordless vocals. Of these, only the eerily impressive “The Red Nights” survived. Bernie Worrell, from George Clinton’s Parliament / Funkadelic, had seriously funked up Talking Heads’ nervy white sound and Jerry called him up too. In June, recording shifted to Eldorado studios in Los Angeles where the Heads’ extra guitarist, Adrian Belew, added some avant-garde overdubs before returning to the newly reactivated King Crimson. Jerry was aware that his record was not as commercial as a Talking Heads album. The close typed detail on the back cover hinted at this as it described the music within. ‘It’s all this information… that’s just what the music is like… a little inaccessible for some people…’ 

The doomiest piece, the pounding dark nightmare that is “Worlds in Collision”, is overlaid with squalling Belew guitar, plus barking dogs and what sounds like a Nazi rally. Thankfully the following track “The Red Nights” immediately lightens the mood with delicate airy synths and gentle wailing – the effect is akin to stepping from the bunker into bright sunlight. 

Jerry’s limitations as a singer are cleverly offset by the generous use of Nona and Dolette, who act as a sort of Greek chorus, offering shrewdly judged response vocals. The opening "Things Fall Apart" has a lovely circular vocal line. Jerry wanted his lyrics to connect directly with the audience, most obviously in the straight to the point pep-talks that occasionally appear. “Magic Hymie” contains this handy piece of advice – ‘There's a way out of that corner you painted yourself into... you gotta decide you wanna do it, and then you're just gonna do it, okay?’ and in “Slink” he offers this – ‘have you ever needed a gram? I have, but I got over it, uh-huh, I got over it.’ The album is full of similar snatches of simple reassurance. In particular, Jerry is of the opinion that life can be bearable if we all accept a measure of personal responsibility – what he can’t stand is helplessness and denial of accountability. This potentially heavy message is delivered with such conviction and verve, via the engaging rush of the music, that it becomes almost subliminal. 

The Red And The Black was sometimes criticised for being a poor imitation of Remain In Light’s art-funk. Jerry happily admitted using the same techniques ‘to build up layers and textures between instruments.’ But what irritated him was the accusation that he had copied Eno or Byrne. Tina Weymouth leapt to his defence – ‘Jerry was playing the things people have assumed Brian or David were doing. It’s unfair when they say he’s copying them.’ Jerry was more philosophical – ‘there’s always attention paid to the lead singer or major songwriter, that’s inevitable.’ But he admitted that it could be ‘very annoying because you just know people are crediting someone else with things you did.’ Fairness and credit where it is due are concepts that often crop up in the lyrics. 

In retrospect The Red And The Black is both a radical extension of RiL and a strong precursor to the all-out dance fever of the next Talking Heads album, Speaking In Tongues, especially in Bernie Worrell’s explosive keyboard textures. It’s not all multi-rhythmic conflict however. The brilliantly light yet complex drumming of Yogi Horton and some cool bass work from George Murray assist in creating some top-flight pop songs of which the bouncy “Slink” is probably the greatest Talking Heads track that the band never recorded, (though they did perform it live in 1982). 

All the songs are laden with hooks and catchy melodies, yet constructed with all sorts of twists and turns which raise them high above most other songs. Jerry's contributions to Talking Heads songs are often overlooked - it seems as though he was determined with this record, to demonstrate exactly what he was capable of. It's a powerful album and one which hasn't really dated. The next Heads album, Speaking In Tongues, is very much of it's time. Still a fine record, but constrained slightly by the 1983 production. TRATB by contrast has a timeless quality.

Unavailable for many years (and only on CD as an expensive Japanese import) The Red And The Black is something of a neglected gem. Not only is it a valuable step in Talking Heads’ evolution but it is also an excitingly original album in its own right. If and when it is reissued it should finally see off an undeserved reputation as poor man’s Heads album. In fact 1983’s Speaking In Tongues is arguably a poor man’s The Red And The Black!

remain in light

Talking Heads 1980 Remain In Light is like no other album ever made, before or since. And it was a huge hit, and a massively influential record. And Talking Heads have little idea how or why.

Remain In Light is full of solid grooves, all piled on top of one another. It all begins with David Byrne and Brian Eno's very white version of The Funk and they are assisted in their explorations by the other Heads - Chris Frantz's superb drumming - which isn't African in it's origination (despite what the press releases at the time said), it's simply rock hard, on The One, funky drumming - Tina Weymouth's equally assured bass playing - Jerry Harrison's often overlooked mastery of textures and always appropriate keyboards. Plus there are a number of extra excellent musicians, including Adrian Belew on some astonishingly elephantine guitar solos and atmospheric squeals and Jon Hassell, who adds extremely eerie trumpet. The backing vocals are delightfully complex, layers and layers of vocals creating choirs of chanting. It's far beyond anything the Heads had ever done before. 

Remain In Light is one of those albums you either like or you don't - there's no middle ground on this one. It was actually the first Heads album I heard, but I loved it.

Stuff to listen out for - 

Born Under Punches - the weird percussion, the jumpy, nervy delivery - "don't you miss it, don't you miss it, some of you people just about missed it...", the glorious backing vocals, the sheer funky feeling despite the somewhat bizarre rhythm.

Crosseyed and Painless - that loopy 'facts' rap, the glorious backing vocals again, Eno all over this one. Again it's uplifting, joyful and utterly danceable.  

The Great Curve - Adrian Belew's guitar work is breath-taking. There are literally hundreds of vocal lines, all tumbling over one another, interlocking weaving in and out vying for the listener's attention. The choruses are hugely infectious and totally uplifting. I must have played this song hundreds of times and yet I still discover something new every time.  

Once In A Lifetime - how on earth was this a hit single? It's seriously odd when you think about it. The video is fabulous too. The song has that great "water dissolving" bit that gets the vocals all jumbled up, the bass line is superb, and the mad preacher vocals are just the icing on the cake.

Houses In Motion - the brilliant title, the weird feeling of hopelessness in the lyrics, Hassell's wheezy arabic trumpet, Eno's matter of fact vocals.

Seen and Not Seen - "He wonders if he too might have a similar mistake", Byrne's spoken hesitant delivery is superb, the mysterious backing track with pseudo handclaps etc is great too.

Listening Wind - the whispering backing vocals ("Mojique...") and Byrne's lead vocals are both brilliant. There's a great moment when the double tracked Byrne sings something different: "He feels the power of the wind around him" - but the double tracked vocal sings "beside him". For no good reason I adore this bit. The song has a delightful dreamy quality and some cool Belew sounds.

The Overload - Byrne wanted to write a Joy Division type song. But he'd never heard anything by them. So he wrote what he thought would sound like Joy Division. When he later heard some of their music he was disappointed, they sounded more like a conventional rock band than he had been led to believe. Anyway I love this - the slowed down drums, the ponderous keyboard / guitar whirls, the spooky vocals.

Talking Heads would never be as inventive or as unusual again.

uncle frank

My tickets for the Zappa Plays Zappa tour arrived. Looking forward to this gig in November - Dweezil Zappa honouring his dad, the late lamented Frank, by touring with a crack unit of musicians playing Frank's best loved pieces. Marvellous.

As a result I played Frank's 1974 live album Roxy and Elsewhere today. Most of the tracks were recorded live at the Roxy Theater, December 1973 and a couple were taped, er, elsewhere, on the Spring '74 tour. As with most live Zappa there are very few overdubs, except on one track - the amazing “Cheepnis”. A song all about 50s monster movies - so it's full of theremin type sounds and some super cheesoid narration -

'Bullets can't stop it! We might have to use Nuclear Force!' –

“Cheepnis” has loads of wonderful backing vocals sploodged all over it, as the basic live track is all but submerged beneath a riot of effects and vocals. And it's fantastic.

Other highlights of this double album - the wonderful “Be-Bop Tango” dance contest, the amazing percussion all the way through the album, and the genuinely lovely ballad “Village Of The Sun”. A real rarity in Zappa's oeuvre in that it's a straightforward song, with sensible lyrics recalling a real place called Sun Village where Zappa used to gig in his youth. There's a surprising fondness in the words and the vocal delivery.

Of course, just so you don't think Frank's gone all Barry Manilow on you, it's sandwiched between the supremely complex instrumental madness of “Echidna's Arf (Of You)” and the hilariously subversive Nixon baiting of “Dummy Up”.

So that's all right then.

daniel lanois

Last Sunday Doctor Martin and I saw one of the best gigs I've been to in many years.

Daniel Lanois is not only one of the worlds most successful and talented record producers, he has also been making his own records for the past 21 years.

From the delightful Acadie in 1990 right up until this year's Black Dub, his albums are imbued with a spirituality, an honesty, a sense of righteousness that few other albums possess. Emotional, but upliftingly so, his songs ring of hope, of love, of life itself.

Many of Lanois' recordings have involved the talented bassist Daryl Johnson, who also harmonises with Daniel beautifully, and the supremely brilliant drummer Brian Blade. Anyone who knows about drumming recognises that Blade is quite possibly the best drummer alive. His innate sense of rhythm and the sheer musicality he epitomises is second to none.

Daniel Lanois worked with Texan blues singer Chris Whitley in the early 1990s and after Whitley's untimely death a few years ago got back in touch with his family. Lanois was impressed with the songs and musicianship of Chris' teenage daughter Trixie and offered to help out. Very quickly, and with Brian Blade and Daryl Johnson on board, it became clear that a genuine band vibe had developed. The mix of Johnson's funk, Blade's jazz, Trixie's blues and soul and Lanois' increasing fascination with Jamaican dub music, the new songs that arose were unlike anything that any of the band had done before.

The project was named Black Dub and early, live in the studio videos were posted on youtube - these betray an almost unbelievable amount of confidence from the quartet. Some of the songs were so funky that it hurt.

Most of the summer of 2011 has been taken up with touring and the band played two nights at the intimate Jazz Cafe in Camden. I saw the first show and it was just wonderful from start to finish.

Much of the album was played, but looser, freer and more alive than on record. At times Blade would begin a song only for the others to pause and watch him in awe before joining in. Blade sat happily drumming as if he had not a care in the world, effortlessly awesome, his hands a blur, playing the most stunning drumming that I have ever witnessed. Frankly, I could have watched him all night, but the rest of Black Dub were also worth paying attention to.

With Daryl Johnson unable to tour, his place on stage was more than ably filled by Jim Wilson who contibuted superb vocals as well as deft and powerful bass. Lanois, heavily bearded and wearing a straw hat, played some astoundingly strong guitar, some gorgeous pedal steel guitar and sang like an angel. Trixie Whitley, aged just 22, displayed so much confidence in her powerfuly emotional vocals, in her angry guitar work and when she occasionally played alongside Blade on her own drum kit. But she was also clearly quite shy and not the slightest bit cocky. Indeed her humility was incredibly refreshing and endearing. There was a lot of smiling going on, as the band was clearly having such a lot of fun. This rubbed off on the audience.

Best track of the night - so hard to choose, but the propulsively exciting "Ring The Alarm" takes the prize for the most amazing drumming, Trixie's "I'd Rather Go Blind" had the most thrilling guitarwork, and "Love Lives" was perhaps the strongest in vocal terms. For me however I think it was Lanois' "The Messenger" with some stunning three part harmonies - song of the night, I reckon. Laid back, cool and effortlessly lovely. This is how music should always be.