Is the recorder the most cruelly maligned instrument of all? Despite a beautiful and clear tone, for too many it is too potent a memory of primary school, of awkward tots parping ineffectively in assembly. Like the smell of cooking cabbage, it is something most of us prefer to expunge from our experience. Finn Collinson has taken it on himself, almost single-handedly, to rehabilitate this fine woodwind, and this is his 3rd album of recorder driven melodies.
Once more grouping himself with Archie Churchill-Moss and Evan Carson, in, this time, an all-instrumental set, the subtle charm of an array of different recorders, in several octaves, is drawn out and displayed, with no small amount of finesse and charm. If you can’t then see and hear this humble instrument anew, frankly, you have no ears.
Described, by Collinson, as a journey around the UK, a mix of tunes, both traditional and self-composed, encapsulate threads of animals, nature and his own family history, across settings that range from Walberswick, in Suffolk, through to Devon, Somerset, Wales, Cumbria and the Scottish Highlands. With sensitive group arrangements, the trio apply a loving lustre to the nine tracks, abetted, where necessary, by Jim Moray, who also mixed the album, on bass guitar and occasional background keyboards.
‘Tara’ opens proceedings as a jaunty hornpipe in celebration of an eponymous and much missed hound. Carson, always one of the subtler of percussionists in the idiom, applies a lively patter of bodhran, with the strum of Moss’s guitar providing the rest of the necessary supporting structure to Collinson’s wide-open trill. ‘Byway to Foxhole’ follows, slowing things down to start, allowing a 3/2 rhythm to then speed things up. Moss adds his more usual accordion to his staccato guitar part, a pitter-patter of percussion complementing the whole. The melody that runs over the top has Collinson invoking both a medieval gavotte and, oddly, echoes of some of Ian Anderson’s Tull-y prog-folk, especially as Moss adds some off-kilter guitar.
With each of these coming from Collinson. It is the traditional that the trio now turn, with a pairing of ‘Allonby Lasses’ and ‘As Sweet as a Pink’, both tunes from Troutbeck, Cumbria. Again, Moss has as much autonomy as his lead player, his guitar parts inventive and much more than merely rhythm. ‘Hare of Twenty’ dips into Welsh folklore and is a further spritely dance, having me wonder whether there has been any thought of the threesome turning a hand to the ceilidh tent. Might be a thought for a future Shrewsbury Folk Festival? (Edit: Collinson has indeed familiarity with that thought, and is a sometime member of acclaimed dance band, Stroma, if there playing guitar and whistles!)
Dropping the band for a moment, ‘Song for a Linnet’ is a solo piece. Rather than his usual alto recorder, here he plays a Norwegian variant, the sjøfløte (seaflute). An 18th century melody, it makes the plangent air all the more penetrating. It seems fitting and appropriate that it was recorded, live, in a single take, at the church opposite Collinson’s childhood home. A similar mood inhabits ‘Inverbeg’, written about and for the deserted chapel there, on the shores of Loch Morar. His accompanists gradually build up a positively propulsive rhythm, again invoking a distant whiff of folk-rock, itself then picked up and run with, for ‘Bicknoller Hill’. So much so that I found my mind imagining and relishing the idea of it, fully plugged in and powered up. As electric a tune as acousticity can get, it is the real cracker in the pack.
Down to earth with a gracious bump, ‘The Complaint’ lies on a bed of finger-picked guitar, and is based on ‘Colin’s Complaint’, an old Scottish ballad. With any Caledonian aspect seemingly side-stepped, this could grace the court of any medieval monarch, if with presciently jazz tropes leaking into the guitar parts. In turn haunting and festive, it is a track that lingers long, imprinting a need to return to it, even after just one play.
Guitar again provides the intro to ‘Slängpolska’, which pairs a Shetland reel with a polska from the south of Sweden, if each reimagined and re, um, jigged. Possibly the most conventional pair of tunes here, this is exactly, if asked, how you might expect recorder, guitar and percussion to sound. Which is entirely lovely, if acting also as contrast to the myriad of assorted textures that come before it, thus highlighting the varieties this gifted band have at their disposal. Recommended.
Seuras Og
Artist’s website: www.finncollinson.com
‘Tara’ – official video:
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