At this stage of the game I tend to wear a similar
expression to that chap on the cover there every time I put one of these records
on. That is, a bemused, "what the f!%* am I doing with my time" look that's half
embarrassed at what I am doing and half wishing I was elsewhere doing something
else. But then again, I'm only writing about this stuff, I'm not trying to sell
it and so for the star of the show to be looking like he knows he's selling us a
pup before we even start does not inspire confidence that I'm in for forty
minutes of top entertainment.
And indeed I wasn't; what we have here is a straight collection of the sort of songs a Kim Cordell would no doubt enjoy belting out in her pub (i.e. British music hall/American/musical type standards) played ragtime style on a piano with added percussion courtesy of somebody on the spoons. Instead of Cordell leading the charge though, there's a Greek chorus of singers (who may or may not be the people on the cover) who, instead of raising the roof in an alcohol fuelled singalong frenzy, dampen the mood by droning out the words in a curiously detached, defiantly emotion free style that's akin to the half hearted, one key chanting of reluctant schoolkids singing hymns at morning assembly than anything redolent of anyone having a good time. Puncture flat and with just as much bounce, this is tired stuff that never comes close to catching fire. Or even smouldering to be honest.
As for the music, well Nicholls has got the sort of crazy flipper fingers you need for ragtime and there's no doubt he can play, but if you listen to him in isolation then he doesn't sound like he's paying much attention to the score. Rather, the music is the sound of a man amusing himself by playing whatever he wants; there's no discernable 'tune' to any of it and it's left to those singers to mould the songs and provide the structure and tunes that make them recognisable. For example, I found I can sing 'The Sun Has Got His Hat On' over the top of the piano on 'Ship Ahoy!' with neither undue benefit or detriment to either; the music underneath is almost interchangeable. And (it has to be said), it's very, very samey.
Which kind of sums up this curious piece of vinyl - there's not much to like about it, but there's not much to actually hate either beyond the vague feeling I've just wasted forty minutes of my life in arriving at that conclusion. In the end it's just there, twelve inches of dullness in search of an audience. Who that might be I honestly couldn't imagine, and it would probably take a lot more than the three and a half pints on the cover before anyone believed listening to this was filling a gap in their life.
And indeed I wasn't; what we have here is a straight collection of the sort of songs a Kim Cordell would no doubt enjoy belting out in her pub (i.e. British music hall/American/musical type standards) played ragtime style on a piano with added percussion courtesy of somebody on the spoons. Instead of Cordell leading the charge though, there's a Greek chorus of singers (who may or may not be the people on the cover) who, instead of raising the roof in an alcohol fuelled singalong frenzy, dampen the mood by droning out the words in a curiously detached, defiantly emotion free style that's akin to the half hearted, one key chanting of reluctant schoolkids singing hymns at morning assembly than anything redolent of anyone having a good time. Puncture flat and with just as much bounce, this is tired stuff that never comes close to catching fire. Or even smouldering to be honest.
As for the music, well Nicholls has got the sort of crazy flipper fingers you need for ragtime and there's no doubt he can play, but if you listen to him in isolation then he doesn't sound like he's paying much attention to the score. Rather, the music is the sound of a man amusing himself by playing whatever he wants; there's no discernable 'tune' to any of it and it's left to those singers to mould the songs and provide the structure and tunes that make them recognisable. For example, I found I can sing 'The Sun Has Got His Hat On' over the top of the piano on 'Ship Ahoy!' with neither undue benefit or detriment to either; the music underneath is almost interchangeable. And (it has to be said), it's very, very samey.
Which kind of sums up this curious piece of vinyl - there's not much to like about it, but there's not much to actually hate either beyond the vague feeling I've just wasted forty minutes of my life in arriving at that conclusion. In the end it's just there, twelve inches of dullness in search of an audience. Who that might be I honestly couldn't imagine, and it would probably take a lot more than the three and a half pints on the cover before anyone believed listening to this was filling a gap in their life.
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