We are now in a new era, with incredible music popping up at a rate that we the ‘cognoscenti’, the rabid fans and critics , we cannot even keep up with the flow. This New Hampshire US collective is overtly melody-centric, which can do no harm in terms of my personal enjoyment. Brian Coombes is the person behind this unusual project, a rediscovery of a Jack Kerouac unfinished novella “The Haunted Life”. I had already purchased the incredible “Which Way the Wind Blows: the Music of Anthony Phillips” in 2019 and I knew full well that this will be as sparkling as that tribute album certainly was.
From the onset of the striking “Haunted”, the shared essentials settle into a comfortable gliding stride, a compact beat bodyguarding an enchanting main melody, with Justin Cohn’s uncanny David Gates-like vocal tone, while the insistent bass and keyboards weld into a well-oiled arrangement that sets up the ideal platform for a wicked electric guitar flurry that seeks only to maintain and not overpower the mood. One can only admire a vocalist that can modulate and tweak his voice ,so as to diversify his impact on the material, and our man wastes no time in sweetening the tone on the luscious “It’s the Small Things”, though it starts out with hiccupped cleverness. This a short piece that provides a smooth a silk delivery, feeling like a cross between Traffic and Stealy Dan, though the trumpet intervention is pure brassy gloss, gives the impression on settling into jazzy urban jive. The honeyed Bread impression continues with “The Haunted Life”, rebooting the opener into another realm altogether, as Justin has a unique voice that gleams in the night, certainly one that can hit the higher notes with impunity, yet utterly clear, concise and frankly, ravishing. I find myself surrendering already to the beauty of this singular style of music, a hyper-melodic, impeccably played, perfectly paced, well-constructed sonically, just the right amount of oomph without having to cater to any clichés, displaying a wide gamut of variations that gives credence to the fine tradition of adult rock with folk and progressive expertise. Having Tony Banks of Genesis co-write and perform on this track says all you need to know , as he rarely offers his services to others.
Slight deviation on the program with “If I We’re Silent and We Listen”, the musical atmosphere definitely becoming more cinematographic, the arrangement bolder yet remaining dreamy, the rhythm guitars greasy and culminating with a chorus that has ‘standing ovation’ all over it. The voice gracefully navigates the orchestrations, the lyrics hitting the mark and emitting an unambiguous sense of genius. The symphonic latter section is utterly fascinating, showing the band’s abilities to intertwine the simple and the complex.
“The Ballad of Joe Martin” definitely winks at classic Americana, more a West Coast feel of sand and cacti, if you see what I mean. Expertly sung and fabulously played, imagine if you will a heady of Blue Rodeo or Tom Petty at their finest. Justin doesn’t go nasal thankfully but there is a hint of Dylan and the Band that cannot be denied. While certainly not prog in the orthodox sense, its just melodically so astute and entertaining that it had me searching for my bottle of tequila and a couple of lemons (I don’t drink much at all but when I do…).
“Channing Channels” wears its title with precision, a bluesy-jazzy ditty that has a Mid-West shuffle to die for, a squeaky guitar solo this side of Skunk Baxter and, need I repeat it again, a delightful vocal. Coombes peels off a stellar keyboard segment that screams out quality.
“The Ballad of Wesley Martin” sandwiches the deal with another feast for the ears, Justin reaching higher up in his range, offering a slight countrified tonality without falling into that genre’s occasional propensity for corny lyrics and predictable arrangements. Ed Wagley’s precise drumming keeps time better than a Rolex and the clarinet from Kate St-John here kills it, a sultry flutter that shuts the eyes and opens up the ears. The chorus is world class, the type of song you get to love at first hearing, A stinging guitar swirl seals the deal.
I will not split hairs and fumble with the ball, “Splitting Atoms” is the killer track here, with the clear understanding that every second heard previously on this album was a 100% delight, at least I can use the argument that this track has a level of progressive masterclass that defies logic, and hence, wins my heart, a whopping colossus of emotional intensity I have rarely witnessed from any band, anywhere. The wailing vocals at the end had me kneeling at the shrine, in rapt jubilation.
After such an orgasmic anthem, “Restless Wanderers “ still cannot disappoint at all, coming across as a welcome resetting of one’s shattered jaw. Take out your cheap sunglasses and head on up to “Big City Small Town Blues” for some good old fashioned, ZZ Top meets Dr. John concoction, complete with a classic (and I mean classic) slide guitar barrage that will have ‘you all’ tumblin’ down’ from your heavenly stairway. Justin even echoes his voice as if he was hiding in the back room of a saloon, having a few shots with Stan Ridgway. That’s a fact!
Just when you think you have this album pegged as a rock album with some progressive intonations, Coombes slaps the nearly 13 minute epic title track leviathan on us, an apotheosis of prog-folk that has both voice and instruments (that bass guitar is thrilling) that will knock not only your socks off, but the sandals, loafers and boots will be blown into the stratosphere as well, never to be found or worn . Here , everything clicks with sheer unadulterated beauty. The lead vocals and choir rekindle my fond and romantic memories of ‘Suite : Clouds, Rain” from David Gates first album, back in 1973, a majestic piece that made its rounds in the prog world. As the arrangement flows like a suave river of life, the grimy guitar riffs returning for another well-deserved encore curtsy, and the clear tribute to summer fading and winter on the inevitable horizon, means that we need to fall once again to the crusty leaves on the ground and bask in the last rays of a warming sun. The instrumental dais is spot on, celestially pure and intense. This inspiring finale will surely be on the podium for year end honours in the epic composition category, as it’s a phantasmagoria of sounds that cannot fail to bewitch and enrapture even the coldest of hearts.
5 rosy glimmerings