Wishbone Ash
Raw to the Bone

Stereotypical.

It’s the adjective that strongly emerges in this thirteenth album (in sixteen years of career, up to this point) by Wishbone. Starting from the cover, a crude and clichéd heavy metal stereotype in terms of subject, graphics, and lettering.

It’s irritating to see this glorious group, running out of steam in the eighties like all artistic realities firmly anchored to the classic rock of the seventies, trying to wear clothes that aren’t theirs—namely those of a pop metal that in their hands sounds anonymous, flat, evanescent, aimed at killing all their beautiful characteristics of a nimble and melodic hard rock band well-connected to blues, English folk, and progressive.

Fortunately, this debacle is temporary: the eighties will somehow end, along with the stubborn race by all record companies and producers towards the only two (according to them) acceptable forms of rock music: synth pop/post punk/new wave, etc. and pop metal/class metal/AOR, etc., etc.

Among these two alternatives, the extremely lost Wishbone Ash of 1985 choose the latter. And they prepare themselves for the task by hiring as singer and bassist Mervyn Spence, ex-Trapeze, an “appropriate screamer” with suitable vocal cords but entirely anonymous, always hitting high notes and shooting utterly flat and repetitive musical phrases. Meanwhile, the group’s two esteemed guitars provide with stereotypical staccato accompaniments in the verses and power chords, strongly sustained and distorted to the max in the choruses.

In short, Wishbone Ash miss the mark, who knows whether by their own will or guided by managers, to try and catch the dwindled success by recycling in the mainstream trend… The result is largely insufficient; the songs don’t distinguish one from another because the newcomer always sings, tediously, the same song, and because the two guitars don’t pull anything off, neither together as per their house specialty nor alone.

In this landscape of moderate and “slick” metal (in intentions, because the record won’t win new converts, instead cooling off the affection of many old fans), the eclectic Laurie Wisefield certainly feels more at home, although this is his last collaboration with Wishbone (he will soon become the trusted guitarist for Tina Turner). The other guitarist, Andy Powell, a pure seventies musician in the line of Blackmore, Clapton, and Page, here doesn’t get a look-in, composes little, sings even less, and in my opinion, he finds it really frustrating.

Amen. After this record, Wisefield leaves, and Mervin Spence too, to do damage elsewhere, and Wishbone Ash suspend their activities for a few years waiting for the storm to pass. This is exactly the record with which you should NOT start getting to know this splendid formation.