In the way one might build a fleeting impression of the world as glimpsed through a passenger side window, back-alley slang, billboard jargon and ‘blue-collar psychogeography’ create a fractured tableau of road-weary, offbeat poetry. Just like the abstract cover art (courtesy of Jenny Nelson) Walker’s wordplay proves equally expressionistic. Rang Dizzy, the first single released, slides in on Robert Kirby strings (arranged by Douglas Jenkins of the Portland Cello Project) as the vocal melody skims over busy kit work, reminiscent of Dave Mattacks. Listeners are in safe hands with this close-knit ensemble, their assured, spontaneous feel guaranteed to keep you hooked and guessing throughout. The musicians behind Walker, pulling everything off with panache are: Bill MacKay (guitar/piano), Ryan Jewell (drums) and Andrew Scott Young (bass/piano). Exuberant flourishes roll into a Mr Bunglesque carousel loop, before settling into a verse that finds Walker weaving between a Tony Levin inspired bassline, as he sings, “If I could wear a capsule / Of all the world’s hairline fracture / The biggest wig in the show.” The songsets a few precedents for the rest of the album early on: lyrically Walker’s operating at peak surrealist humour time sigs and grooves deviate wildly the musicianship is staggering, and tracks look to be clocking in roughly around the five-minute mark. The ceremonial grandeur of Striking Your Big Premier opens. Famed for his work with The Red Krayola, Stereolab and The High Llamas, McEntire has a deep understanding of the sonic palette, and part of the record’s lush, full-bodied finish is thanks to him. Chicagoan heavy weight John McEntire (of Tortoise and the Sea and Cake) was on production duties this time aroundand his influence is quickly recognisable. Regardless of how you categorise it, it’s an obvious, irreverent departure in sound from the off. The man himself is cool calling it ‘Genesis Cos-play’ and iTunes labels it prog-fucking-rock.
String it together and that’s the vibe on Walker’s fifth LP of original material. Somehow, you’re tuning into various college radio and classic rock stations with curious ease: first there’s a little Joni, then Steely Dan, new wave, Pink Floyd, maybe even some no wave, Zappa or something off Jagged Little Pill. Imagine yourself in a Midwestern state towards the end of the twentieth century.
So, three years on from the fraught, contemplative mood of Deafman Glance and the most hopeless period of the songwriter’s life, where do we find Walker? In a career defined by reinvention, Course In Fable, self-released on his Husky Pants imprint is a bold, batshit masterstroke the likes of which we’ve never seen. It was only later when he opened up publicly about his struggles with addiction that it registered. From my impression of the Illinois native from his slacker shtick and droll twitter commentary, caught off guard I assumed it was a joke I wasn’t wise to.
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His symbiotic interplay with long time collaborator Bill MacKay saw the band relying heavily on improvisation, as they began to experiment with post-rock and free jazz, pushing their stage shows to dizzying new heights.Īfter one of the performances, Ryley Walker signed a poster for me and penned ‘Avoid bad drugs’ above his autograph. Catching him on 2017’s Golden Sings That Have Been Sung tour, fans could see the guitar virtuoso evolve in real-time, as the American primitive and British folk stylings so effortlessly evoked on his first two albums gave way to some surprisingly leftfield undercurrents. Live acts don’t tend to come much better than Ryley Walker.
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