LP - Ryley Walker - Primrose Green
"On first listen, it’s easy to mistake Ryley Walker’s sophomore
album as the forgotten effort of a heralded ’60s British folk-jazz
quartet. Opening with its earthy title track, Primrose Green whisks
listeners back several decades. The Chicago songwriter wields his guitar
with masterful ease. It’s more than an extension of his body — it’s an
extension of his imagination. His fingerpicking style takes off on its
own, ambling down a path, kicking pebbles and scuffing its heels, too
busy looking up at the sky and wondering how large it really is to be
concerned with where exactly it’s headed. It moves comfortably at its
own pace, all the while blissfully unaware of its own complexity.
At just 25 years old, Walker is seemingly decades ahead of most of
his contemporaries in both technical skill and composition. The
fingerpicking on “On the Banks of the Old Kishwaukee” wanders with a
tumultuous spirit. Walker is wedded to his instrument — so much so that
he was once fired from a job at Jimmy John’s for practicing in their
walk-in freezer. That discipline eventually brought him to lacquer his
fingertips at cheap salons in pursuit of a smoother sound. Several years
later, he can last through dizzying codas on “Same Minds” or cheeky
Irish licks on “Griffiths Bucks Blues”.
Who knows where he learned it, but Walker is hyper-aware of his
vintage folk precursors. From the Nick Drake simplicities of “Love Can
Be Cruel” to the Van Morrison weight of “All Kinds of You”, he follows
up his debut album (also titled All Kinds of You) by burying himself
deeper in the ’60s folk of Tim Hardin and John Fahey, coupled with free
jazz wanderings. It’s a history well noted and well tailored to his
songs.
Much of the reason Primrose Green can stand on its hind legs is
because of the ornate work of Walker’s backing band. Walker’s decision
to bring jazz musicians on board came from careful observations of the
folk giants before him. John Martyn had double bassist Danny Thompson;
Tim Buckley had guitarist Lee Underwood. Their folk sessions saw jazz
musicians wandering into the studio beside them, wringing out a final
product littered with improvised licks. Similarly, Walker has guitarist
Brian Sulpizio and pianist Ben Boye. Primrose Green coalesces bare
pastoral swirls of upright bass and dreamlike piano with the kind of
background chatter you would find at a coffee shop. Joined by cellist
Fred Lonberg-Holm, drummer Frank Rosaly, double bassist Anton Hatwich,
and vibraphone player Jason Adasiewicz, Walker incorporates
improvisational jazz without compromising the album’s folk core.
Whereas William Tyler, Steve Gunn, and Daniel Bachman create long,
instrumental escapades, Ryley Walker does the same but with hearty
vocals added to the mix. His voice scratches with an undercurrent of
soul on “Summer Dress”, washing up against the shores of Bert Jansch.
What he does differently, though, comes in his looser tone. Every rustic
growl etches curlicues into the song’s core. Even the explosive
electric fuzz that interrupts “Sweet Satisfaction” fits snugly thanks to
his clear calls that howl over it all.
Ryley Walker, much like his contemporaries, isn’t trying to build an
image. That’s how he belies his age. He’s the nondescript,
shaggy-haired musician who looks like any other 20-something with an
acoustic guitar in his bedroom. But when he’s got a microphone in front
of his lips, he transforms into a man twice his age. Walker couldn’t
care less about who’s who in a world of competing buzz and social media
politics. He isn’t looking to have a billboard face that draws onlookers
into his set. Walker wants to jam, and if you want to listen while he
does so, that’s fine. He doesn’t care if you applaud. He doesn’t care if
you even remember his name. For Walker, it’s about breathing life back
into ’60s folk until it bursts with springtime charm, and Primrose Green
is 2015’s ultimate encompassment of that sound." - Consequence Of
Sound" - Dead Oceans
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