“It was country as hell. But it was funky country”. Thus Ronnie Hawkins (the godfather of rock ‘n roll, if you didn’t know) on ‘Music from Big Pink’, the groundbreaking debut of his erstwhile protégés, The Band. The Hawk was a wise old bird, knowing that country music needed an injection of new values and influences if it wasn’t to go the way of Doo-wop, skiffle etc. and become a museum curio. Although The Epstein on this, their debut album, rarely sound like the Canadian masters, they too have treated country music reverently, but have thrown a fair few wild ideas into the mix. The results are mostly wonderful.
A good example is ‘The Dress She Wore’ which starts like an old Tennessee waltz but develops in odd but satisfying ways. For example, frontman Olly Wills sings the song like an English ballad rather than something you might hear in some bloodletting bar in Mississippi (there are even moments that suggest The Moody Blues!) and later on the backup singers transform the material into a sort of celestial carnival ride. Like The Band, The Epstein know the importance of harmony singing in this kind of music and the singing here and elsewhere is fabulous: otherwordly but human, massive and yet mystifyingly lonely. Jon Berry’s slide guitar meshes with these voices beautifully.
These qualities are also present in the beautiful little tone poem, ‘6:06p.m.’, which seems to capture the pain and resignation of country music perfectly, in the way that certain Grandaddy songs used to. It’s tiny, and you might miss it on first listen, but it forms a lovely interlude at the heart of the record.
‘Dance the Night Away’ owes a slight debt to The Mavericks (not least the title), but its incorporation of various Mexican and Latino influences prevent the song becoming too stereotyped. Notable among these is the fine Mariachi trumpet solo near the end. Altogether, the song is rather generic, but it’s undeniably vivid and romantic.
Other songs represent examples of almost pure Americana. ‘Leave Your Light On’ is old-timey string band music, whereas ‘Black Dog’ is an infectious goodtime stomp, full of cackling banjos and sly fiddle flourishes. On these songs, the group are competing directly with an entire subsection of the American music industry, but the quality of the songwriting should make converts over there as well as over here. My own personal favourite is ‘I’ll be Gone’, which comes close to a Lynrd Skynrd tribute song, but the beauty of the instrumental work, backup vocals and especially the stoic toughness of Wills’ lead vocal triumphantly trumps criticism.
The only disappointment on the record comes at the last. My first encounter with the group was on hearing a rollicking number called “nyc blues”. It is track 10 on the album, but in a radically slowed down and laid-back form. Pretty as it is, I can’t help thinking of Eric Clapton’s lame-o version of Layla that became so depressingly popular. Rev it up again, boys!
Still, this is small beer compared to the excellence of the album as a whole. The Epstein is a top-rate band and they have produced a record that is moving, playful, energising and sincere. They will have to fight a powerful prejudice against country music from UK music fans and press, but judging from their current popularity (they played Glastonbury this year), they have all the equipment they need to climb the mountain.