Any PR one-sheet that compares its subject to TINDERSTICKS immediately has my interest, so let’s just get that out of the way. Formed as the wave of what passed for “alternative rock” was reaching its crest in 1991, the Brits were an anomaly in the same way (though not in the same style) as THE AFGHAN WHIGS, more akin at times to explorations of soul music or late ‘60s R&B than the “loud-for-loud’s-sake” bands of the time. But this isn’t a TINDERSTICKS review, so let’s throw that line of thought on the fire…for now.

Though 12 albums deep into his recorded output with various unnamed projects and bands, guitarist/vocalist Ray Vale is joined by Violet Booth at the piano for SLOW BURN DRIFTERS’ Golden. Imagine a deserted, possibly abandoned country church. We walk in, dusty leaves rustle around and under our feet, and we enter to behold an upright piano through the cracked but sunlit windows. The sound from that piano and of the leaves is that of ‘The Wind’, the exquisite opening track. ‘Forever New’ carries a bit of Morricone in its guitar tone, but the ghosts of early Stax Records pass gently through heartfelt lyrics of love gained, lost, and remembered.

The title track is slick funk on downers, “All that remains, golden / Undying light, golden” a picture of the lyrics found on the debut as a whole. You’re not gonna get any grand philosophical meanderings from Vale, but what you will get is gems like the above and “Turn on the static, pull down the shades. Kill the lights / Turn on the laughing gas. I wanna do this right.” from the following ‘Look Away’. It’s the most musically dense tune on this outing, and its burning jazz rhythms and effects do the words justice, slashing guitars and stabbing keys almost criminally – and definitely beautifully – harsh.

‘I Still Live There’ is the antithesis, somber and sparse piano from Booth a trembling part of this skeleton dance of a song, the ache of a past departure and regrets too raw to be anything but autobiographical. A word on Violet Booth’s piano; essential. At least for the songs found here, her restraint and sense of contributing to the songs as opposed to overpowering them make her work within them irreplaceable.

The curtain draws close in ‘Under The Skin’, a sonic cousin to ROKY ERICKSON’s blistering ‘Burn The Flames’, the theatricality of MARC ALMOND also a reference, N’awlins brass joining in to create something that might’ve come from a less vitriolic VAN MORRISON, if such a thing were possible. I’m reminded of Robert Frost’s immortal ‘Nothing Gold Can Stay’ through most of Golden, and that – if nothing else – should please fans of thoughtful, contemplative art. Ray, you had me at Tindersticks.
Review By: Lord Randall

SLOW BURN DRIFTERS
Golden
Independent