Author: Editor

Juniper hail from Birmingham, UK, but tend toward more the Celtic Fringes for their inspiration. This is, broadly, folk music but not as you might generally recognise it. Yes, many of the songs and melodies are from the tradition, but twists and turns are implemented, bringing in distinct fumes from elsewhere. This is first apparent within the instrumentation, as, besides the expected fiddles, whistles and flute, we get bassoon, clarinet and saxophones. Add in the basement floor of electric guitars, bass and drums and less has the cat been re-skinned, more made entirely bionic. Especially when the percussion section includes Cormac Byrne (The Haar, Show of Hands), the producer of this album, and who couldn’t resist bringing all his kit along too. 

Whilst the six members who make up the band may not have Byrne’s profile, they still have years of grassroots experience, eight years as Juniper, as well as membership, variously, of Filkin’s Ensemble and Joe Broughton’s Conservatoire Folk Ensemble. Indeed, Birmingham’s Royal Conservatoire was, and is, the focus, and how Dr. Byrne, a teacher of percussion there, became involved. 

Opening with first an ominous bass drone, lightened swiftly by a similar note on flute, an octave or three above, a wash of instrumentation, both electric and acoustic invite in a sense of ceremony, of a mystic rite about to begin. This percolates for a minute or two, before a flute picks up a repetitive mantra. Gradually the troupe fall in line, anchored first by a a drumbeat, then by a brisker patter of skins. The flute, possibly a bansuri, remains in charge, leading on the procession, but the undercurrents and additions keep it from being anything other than just hypnotic. As the bass lopes in, you can’t help but be caught up and in the ritual. The realisation that this, ‘The Wren’, is a traditional An Dro suddenly hits, but the style is more Quintessence than Blowzabella. Dominic O’Sullivan provides all the woodwind, and, if you listen carefully, that includes whistles and border pipes. 

A fluster of fiddle, from Amy Vaughan, introduces the first song, a rousing version of ‘Step It Out Mary’, and is sung by Harry Thorpe, who is also the principal provider of guitars, all but the bass variety. His voice is a little frayed, but as Vaughan and Emily Hicks join him, the sound is more solid. Again, the build is strong and atypical, with saxophones, O’Sullivan, and flute, Hicks, to the fore, adding attractive counterpoint. Aidan Hammond, behind an orthodox kit, and Byrne, behind his anything but, keep the rudder steady, as some more inventive bass, from Rob Roberts, dances between their polyrhythms. 

Time for a tune of their own, ‘The Junction’, by O’Sullivan and Thorpe, this is a skittery piece of interlocking instrumentation. An almost oriental feel is imbued by the woodwind and chiming backdrop. Bass and guitar suddenly add a funky turn that slots in effortlessly, saxes beginning to parp. It all becomes a flurry of near free-form jazzy syncopation, if still on the cusp of an acceptable racket. I like.  

Now comes perhaps the most surprising step, as John Hartford’s ‘Tall Buildings’ becomes transformed into a winsome Celtic lament, with picked electric guitar and fiddle. It is a remarkable alchemy, and a keeper. As the harmonies kick in, and a plaintive whistle solo, all those years behind the band are made worthwhile, in an instant. And Thorpe’s voice, earlier deemed thin, is perfect to convey the farewell inherent. That gets followed by ‘Halfway Home’, a pair of conjoined reels, ‘Trip To Pakistan’ and ‘Joyreel”, reels, that is, if Colosseum, the jazz-rock band, were so disposed. Byrne is alight on these two, collectively giving the album its name. The pipes on the second, which is by O’Sullivan, as are they, are tremendous. The wordless vocals are an unexpected treat. 

‘Trajectory’, an instrumental from Thorpe, is as spiky and jaggy as instrumental acoustica can get, strings of all sorts plucked as a graceful breeze of brass blows behind it, before taking the centre stage. The minimalist ambience is given a joyful bounce, at odds with the chill such music often brings. The pure trad of ‘The Flower Of Magherally’ is a complete contrast, a near acapella showcase for the massed vocal talents within the band, which then breaks into Fairport style folk rock central, ahead getting a bit more psych. Was that a bassoon solo? 

‘Hare And House’ has one of those frantic stop/start syncopated rhythms, over which a whistle peals invitingly, before a brief guitar solo that sets a Focus-friendly state of mind. This lot surely must have impressive record collections. Another O’Sullivan composition, it is followed by a tune called ‘Catharsis’, that matches more prog adjacent jiggery-pokery to a harum-scarum march, with all sorts of fancy flute oscillations to gild the lily.  

Finally, closing this uplifting and energetic set, is another of Thorpe’s. ‘A Brace of Yari’, like the opener, is an ensemble piece, but, rather than hypnotic mantra, this is closer to unbridled glee, totally unrestrained. The woodwinds dance joyously, while Hammond and Byrne clatter all over the shop. As the border pipes make a final triumphant flourish, the only question left is why the hell haven’t we heard of these guys before? 

Seuras Og 

Artist website: www.juniperfolk.co.uk 

‘Halfway Home’ – live: