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In the landscape of songwriters of the last decade, Albert Niland occupies a very small place. So small that, in the end, we might confuse him with the anonymity of those who make their way in the music world quietly, almost without expectations. For passion.
Niland's path, to date, is completely different from that of his much more famous compatriot Damien Rice: an artist who, despite supposedly dodging success and notoriety, has reached and seduced the general public. Against his will.
Irish from Galway, Niland grasps his acoustic guitar with an elf hat on his head. That's how we can see him in one of the few, rare photographs circulating on the web. And that's how he appears on the cover of his latest CD, out a few months ago: "A Night in Dublin."
"Dirty Day" is his debut album, a sort of EP almost impossible to find now: 12 refined and elegant tracks in their simplicity, almost surprising in the mastery of someone who manages to play their instrument with vigor and gentleness at the same time. The voice seems to navigate by sight on the notes of nylon and metal six-strings plucked now gently, now frantically, chasing the melody; neither beautiful nor ugly, a perfect complement to an acoustic ensemble of rare beauty. And it is precisely the varied and colorful fingerpicking, the slaps, the barely hinted drums, an occasional accordion (in "Sea Of Love"), the simple clapping, that is the common thread of an album almost out of time, far from the coarse and simplistic categorizations in which we try every time to trap the creativity of those who know how to touch our strings.
"Dirty Day" is a special album, conceived and created by someone who makes the muffled and gentle sound of the classical guitar the background of 12 very simple stories, almost whispered. To be listened to lazily, as a backdrop to an evening of chat, accompanied by several pints of beer, just as if we were sitting at a table in a crowded Brazen Head, in Dublin. Or as the soundtrack of a journey, to accompany kilometers that pass by quickly, among fleeting thoughts, expectations, landscapes, and cities to cross, foreign skies under which to sleep.
Track-by-track reviews give me anxiety, so I will avoid telling you what I think of each single song. I will limit myself to revealing that "Underground", "Albine Ape In Barcelona Zoo", and "Spanish Heat" are the tracks I am most attached to. In the first, Niland's simple whistling in the concluding part seems to physically bring good Albert right where you are listening to him. As if he were playing next to you, in the same room.
I'll stop here. Too often, some records are closely tied to particular moments in our lives, and this inevitably influences our tastes in a way that is too subjective. Instead, I invite you to search for it and give it a listen, however fleeting, if you love the genre. Perhaps it will be worth it.
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