Ryley Walker
Golden Sings That Have Been Sung

<<No thanks, only real drugs.>>

Exactly what the young man himself replied after I tried to hand him a good j. A phrase, shall we say, a bit cryptic at first glance, yet it managed to make me smile: seeing him all sweaty, walking so briskly on the sand, somewhat softened me, and after attempting a brief approach chat, that short statement lingered there, etched with its considerable slur among my neurons. It was a post-concert on the beach that time, nothing less than an extremely trippy odyssey towards the shore, inexplicably following a memorable live rendition of this album. I must say, well done.

<<Only new staff.>>

Exactly what he replied after my retreat of j. The question slipped out of me naturally, as it would have been interesting and delightful to savor a bit of that gem preceding this album with a couple of piadas and beers around, but maybe it's for the best: here, it's nothing to scoff at, and the beer would have been good anyway. And what a lovely sound: if the previous little album is a stroll through meadows complete with an apple in the backpack and spring allergies, this is its twilight. Perhaps I'm influenced by the lunar phases that melt the sun, perhaps because it was an evening live performance that introduced me to these tracks, but I see this folk slithering in the dark among little flames.

A tuneless trumpet breaks down the stone.

A little John Martyn making progress, but also progressive. And then there's a lot of jazz, besides the solid and indestructible foundation of 60s style folk references. Excursions in fingerpicking where a John Fahey sometimes echoes without ever reaching his metaphysical heights, a vocal expression that when not already mentioned, sometimes resonates in a Nick Drake with reduced cosmic pessimism, with the overall elegance of either a John Renbourn or Bert Jansch. And it's nice that in 2016 all this sounds so good.

But we're not here to judge anyone. I'm writing about an album that I like and that I doubt will wear out for me as much as Primrose Green. Maybe now it lacks the artist's impact, perhaps the guitars were more delirious before, but the fact is that at the next live performance, I'll hand him a j again.

LP