Willard Grant Conspiracy
Mojave

What to do?

Define folk rock for the umpteenth time by weaving in, among a million etceteras, some magic formula like timeless, out of this world, and wandering/roaming around terms like poignant, melancholic, or whatever?

Or, again, bring out the usual Cave, Young, Cohen, or some other name of those who tear your soul apart?

Okay, if we have to do it, let's do it. Because if you have never heard of these guys called Willard Grant Conspiracy, those are the coordinates.

Then?

Then (how about?) we make it narcoleptic and the sweetness of the end of the world…

We do traditional instruments and baritone voice...

And we do, just when you least expect it, some abrasive scrubbing, as if the Velvet ended up in the Big Pink house and not Uncle Bob.

And very sharp words over sleepy music… electric tinkling over acoustic dreams... and all those little facts summarized by the phrase “of time was the course suspended”... even though this thing about time I may have already mentioned.

The singer is (or rather was) a gentleman of about one hundred kilos with a really not cool face. He died in February of this year, and this is not a review, it's just a small tribute.

I’ll close by saying that the track that concludes the album “The visitor” is one of the most beautiful pieces I have ever heard.

In slow motion and crescendo, it breaks hearts and souls and tells of the nightly guest.

Which guest? That one…

Ah, here Mr. Robert Fisher, which was the name of that gentleman of about one hundred kilos, seems almost to be in telepathic contact with that famous lady who spent much of her time closed in a room…

And even that lady received such visits…

And if in a piece you hear the Velvet, and you hear the folk, and you even hear Emily Dickinson, I do believe something extraordinary has happened.

Don't you think so too?