Wishbone Ash
Blue Horizon

In the realm of rock bands that are definitively unsinkable, that is, those that persist unwaveringly after fifty years of career to produce new music even though it is now destined for a select few, applause must go to these Wishbone Ash for their admirable, surprising vitality and freshness. “Blue Horizon” is from 2014, it might be their twentieth-twenty-fifth album, has a beautiful and striking cover, and sounds superb thanks to skill and passion, vigor and restraint, class and personality.

The longevity of Wishbone Ash can be explained by the tenacity, energy, and motivation of one of its original members, specifically guitarist and singer Andy Powell. Despite every setback, argument, departure, or dismissal of musicians or managers, including the loss of record deals, etc., he has steadfastly reformed the group and put it back on the road and in the market. With a strength of mind common to few other historic leading guitar figures of super veteran formations: off the top of my head, I think of the Uriah Heep of Mick Box, the Journey of Neal Schon, the King Crimson of Bob Fripp, the Lynyrd Skynyrd of Gary Rossington.

Wishbone Ash remains the world’s most competent band in structures and arrangements based on the interpolation between two solo guitars of equal, mirror-like dignity and importance: more than the Allman Brothers, Iron Maiden, Thin Lizzy, Night Ranger, already mentioned Skynyrd, Doobie Brothers, Little Feat, Boston, and so many other formations full of guitarists. Wishbone taught everyone the art of focusing music on the brilliant and playful interaction of two twin instruments, on their continuous chasing, uniting, and then diversifying, harmonizing, and the next moment counterpointing, being together in the foreground or taking turns, always ready to pass the baton to the other in a continuous, exquisite, and dynamic becoming.

Of course, one might add that this focus on guitar work is somehow favored by the fact that the vocals are not much to speak of... The lack of a powerful and charismatic frontman is probably the reason this band missed the train to great, lasting success. In this album, the lead vocals are constantly in Powell’s hands, who manages but is not endowed with particular temperament, or timbre, or power, extension, communicativeness... in short, none of the hooking qualities of the greats.

The first and last tracks of this album revive the beloved initial folk rock phase of the group, set aside in the superficial eighties and then exhumed starting from the nineties, with guitars climbing to draw melodies of typically British old-fashioned mood, while the rhythm lingers towards grooves almost akin to a Celtic jig, or bandstand-like (the brushed snare drum closing the album) and there is even the appearance of the violin of a guest musician, to reinforce the highland atmosphere.

The musical space between these two folk extremes is filled with pleasantly varied tracks, almost all very successful, so much so that I only see one filler, namely the orthodox rock’n’roll and nothing more “Mary Jane.” As an old fan of melodic rock played well and with the heart in the right place, I am almost moved when listening to tasty, adult, successful hard rock numbers, or even Southern psychedelia, but also vaguely jazz fusion and all with an almost abnormal solo guitar work which is entirely functional because, I say again, there is structural capability and diversification of sounds (we are certainly not in the presence of work like those of Malmsteen... two solo verses, another verse, and end).

In order of appearance, worth noting is first and foremost the second track “Deep Blues,” which comes through with a simple simple staccato riff, beautifully in Ac-Dc/Bad Company style. The peculiarity is that for the mentioned bands, the track would end there after three and a half minutes, instead, in this case, it expands into a very honorable duel of the two guitars, which resolves after a good minute and a half in a final harmonized part of great effect.

“Strange How Things Come Back Around” moves in elegant up-tempo in the verses, to then stretch out a bit prolapsed in the choruses, but there is again a surprise after the usual three/four minutes: instead of fading out with the canonical little song interspersed with the central solo, the music at that point returns in stateliness and launches into a long tail of psychedelic double guitar solos that seems almost to be listening to the lamented Duane Allman together with the companion Dickey Betts of the good ol' Allman Brothers times, with those quiet and crawling, very musical notes.

It is the beauty of making records no longer having the record company imposing radio-friendly and banal tracks on you... Hardly anyone bothers with Wishbone anymore, they have acknowledged it and have long since resumed creating music in absolute freedom, contenting themselves with being able to offer it only to a now small handful of old fans, besides some forward-thinking youngster out of the pack, capable of fully focusing on their particular prowess.

The same talk of music without constraints or almost can be applied to the fourth track “Being One,” which lingers cyclically in time changes, from 4/4 to 3/4 on Powell’s solo occasion and then back in 4/4, but with different accents, for the answering solo put together with great touch and melodic content by the other excellent guitarist, the Finn Muddy Manninen.

The subsequent “Way Down South” pulls the same trick as “Strange...”: starts with an offbeat guitar and singing trick common to a thousand other pop rock episodes, but then expands into a very lyrical and atmospheric finale, with Manninen unleashed with his magistral-sounding, warm, long, and slightly nasal Les Paul à la Mike Oldfield, so to speak.

The last excellence is the mention of “American Century,” a gem with a merit of a preamble (repeated then at the end) of guitars working in unison and then in harmony and then in counterpoint, creating a pyrotechnic rhythmic/harmonic interlock worthy of the deeds of the magnificent Gentle Giant! The sung section, by comparison, is much more ordinary and less astute.

I immediately rethink and say a couple of words about the eponymous song of the album, a matter of over seven minutes placed almost at the end where the perfect timing and never invasive but excellent effectiveness of bassist Bob Skeat shines, capable of ensuring a great groove to the balanced, agile hard rock of the group.

The Wishbone Ash have had nothing to lose for many years now, like many other dinosaurs of classic rock. It is so lovely to find them and hear them so still on form, indeed better, more precise, lucid, clever, and entertaining than ever. Great album.