Robert Fisher of Willard Grant Conspiracy has put up some dates for an Australian tour in late September. The problem it's a solo tour and so much of what makes Pilgrim Road such an astonishing album is the subtle, powerful orchestration. Listen to Vespers' finale or the gentle, awkward squeeze box in The Pugilist and you find hushed rewards.
But I shouldn't complain, Fisher's voice is worth the ticket price alone. As all the magazine critics have already pointed out, Pilgrim Road is the genre's best this year. What frustrates me is the lazy and wrong comparisons to Nick Cave. Fisher's roots lie in a very different place, deep in the heart of the bare-floor boards and picket fences of the South.
Cave seems to owe his influences to things beyond music - most obviously literature. His journey from punk savant to gothic grandeur has been so long and pockmarked by throwback (Grinderman) that it seems to my youthful eyes that Cave's only musical influence is his own artistic journey.
Uncut got it right by declaring Pilgrim Road the Americana album of the month. It's there in the plucked strings of The Great Deceiver and in the softly warbling voice of Iona Macdonald when she backs and then gently pushes past Fisher's baritone.
Certainly Pilgrim Road's ten tracks and 40 minutes have caught me off guard and vulnerable, I'll admit I wanted to fall for it as soon as I read the first glowing review. And so I will take the album inside and now defend it whenever necessary. But even if I hadn't decided to like it before hearing it I dare think Pilgrim Road would be incredibly hard to push away. Just when a moment in a song threatens to drag, to remind you of another song, Fisher allows in a single instrument or voice - crafting a new and entirely honest experience.
No comments:
Post a Comment