Although DANIEL PATRICK QUINN'S previous studio albums such as "The Winter Hills" and "Severed From The Land" have showcased a fascinating, non-conformist talent at work and eager to evolve, his enigmatically-titled new album "Ridin' The Stang" finds him progressing in leaps and bounds and embracing a more accessible direction as he forges ahead.
Not that he's done a ridiculous stylistic volte-face and decided to try and muscle in on the indie rock action - indeed the folky, rustic aspects of his best work have been retained by and large - but "Ridin' The Stang" nonetheless presents the world a more outreaching, dare we say commercially-minded Daniel Patrick Quinn than ever before and the excellent news is that the results suit him very well indeed.
Since the release of "Severed From The Land", DP has relocated from the urban landscape of Edinburgh to the more rural climes of the East Lothian countryside, and the change has clearly done him good. Yes, he's still taking charge of virtually everything musically, but there's a tangible shift towards gregariousness and - especially during the first five of "...Stang"s tracks - there's a distinct playfulness poppoing its' head over the parapet.
Indeed, the album's first two tracks may very well be the best things Quinn has recorded to date. Excellent opener "Northern" harks back to the economic, Fall-style monologue of "Nine Standards Rigg" from "Severed..." and comfortably betters it. Featuring violin, dubby Jah Wobble-ish bass implosions, shakers and a rare immediacy, it's drone-y, but perky all at once and finds DP relating a real-time story of driving up the M6 to Scotland via Cumbria. "The hills lend an ancient aspect to yer days," he notes vividly, before paraphrasing Celtic lore/ John Lydon as he concludes "may the road rise to meet you."
Tremendous start, but with "The Burryman", he arguably betters it. This unlikely slice of folklore concerns a ritual annual event from South Queensferry and features guest vocalist Duncan Grahl (who sounds like an older and more brilliant version of Prolapse's Mick Derrick if you can believe that) being egged on by Quinn and acolyte Chris Dutton as he lurches through the tale of the King for a day character full of "sticky, spiky burrs, covered frae head tae toe..." who just keeps "stompin' along". Musically, Quinn's folksy, Pagan lope hits the spot to perfection too, sounding uncannily like a great lost track from Paul Giovanni's "Wicker Man" OST. It sporadically erupts in drunken bouts of laughter, but never loses the plot and ends brilliantly with Duncan muttering "Even if I piss maself, I'll just carry on!" Chap!
The remainder of the album's first half is equally captivating in its' own way too. Both "Make Hay" and "Clock House" are instrumentals, but retain the economic tunefulness of the first two tracks. "Make Hay!" finds another dubby bassline, pitch-bending synth, bass drum and shaker conspiring in any icily evocative manner akin to DP's "Suilven 007" collaboration before being suffused with an attractive noir-ish tinge towards the end, while "Clock House" comes on like Tindersticks jamming on the "Harry Lime" Theme and is well bloody evocative.
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Like "Northern," "Channelkirk & The Surrounding Area" is on first-name terms with accessibility with a hypnotic beat and a catchy, repetitive vocal hook ("They lived down here for a while!") dipping in and out. It's wrapped up in geography and local history and none the worse for that.
Admittedly, "Ridin' The Stang"s final three tracks all veer more towards experimentalism and spontaneity, and are arguably harder to swallow, but as with most of Quinn's work are worthy of detailed investigation. "Rough Music" is jarring and threatening and harks back to the more challenging aspects of Dan's "Winter Hills" album. It's (possibly literally) a tale of revolting peasants and supplies the origin of the album's title with the line "the clashing of pans, a case of ridin' the stang". It walks with madness, big sticks and evil in its' heart.
Penultimate track "Over And Over" provides a temporary respite, and its' skirly synths and droning, New Order-ish guitar figure evoke an almost mediaeval atmosphere. It's the perfect build up for the closing "The Ennerdale Fence", which proffers skittering, nervous folk, frail and driving all at once, with raga-style guitar and stutteringly basic drums. It's significantly less approachable and accessible than the rest of the album and almost ranks as Quinn's very own "Black Angel Death Song", such is its' air of dislocated menace.
Which, as usual, leaves us pondering where this singular character will go next. However, whether "Ridin' The Stang" really is a bridging point to a more commercial future direction
for Suilven Recordings' supremo or merely a temporary dalliance before he sets out for weirder pastures is largely irrelevant for now. What really matters just now is that it's Quinn's most engaging, sprightly piece of work to date and one which will be returning to this jaded hack's stereo with regularity.
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