Everything I write is a letter to you
Every word I sing is expressed anew
There's truth in everything
In cancer, in solitude
How ruthless everything
Candid and nude
Everything I see anywhere I go
Emboldens the disdain of all there is to know
There's not much in everything
That much is clear
How fruitless everything
That we hold dear
When I was lost in the choir
You sang in my ear
The strongest memory
From the faintest ink appears
*I ain't dead of dying
Let me make that clear
There's no use in crying anyhow
So hold your tears
When the trade winds stopped blowing
You welcomed me inside
In the brightness of your smile
There was no place to hide
(*chorus)
The bottle is empty
And that is just as well
For drinking is a virtue
That was conceived in hell
(chorus)
And so I find a bar room
And drink 'til I can't see
The waning of the moon
In my ragged company
(chorus)
Take all my longing
And rip it to shreds
Wear it upon your body
In your signature black and red
It's a garment I'm not wearing
So tear out the threads
That were were weaved and sewn in tawdry
Miscalculations on our bed
*All my longing
To fall upon deaf ears
All my longing
Will echo through the years
All my longing
Cast aside, it disappears
Yet all my longing
For you will reappear
Gift all my longing
To the one you love
]Let it fit his hand
Like a ring under a glove
There's a song I am not singing
To the raven or the dove
A song reviled and banished
And lessened by its love
(chorus)
All my longing reached out
With a hand made of clay
Which shattered in the night
And melted in the day
In a whisper, in a shout
All my longing come what may
And I hope that you are hearing
All of my longing today
(chorus)
Matthew Dickson: Guitars, Vocals, Percussion
Roscoe Wilson: Bass, Lap Steel, Banjo, Mandolin, Guitars, Backing Vocals, Harmonica, Percussion
Toots: Meow and Swagger
credits
released February 23, 2019
All songs written by M. Dickson
Produced by R. Wilson
Liner Notes by Andrew Grozier
Acidic, Matthew Dickson’s debut album, was a wonderfully reckless record of discovery. It displayed the scattered influences of the Glasgow born songwriter; a journey through a land of psychedelia, country, folk and blues. Poetry overflowing the songs rim. It held the sound of a freewheeling, careless youth, a joyful freedom. The European Blues, our second helping of Dickson’s music, is a far more reflective creature. A more sombre and precise album, filled with the same incredible musicianship and poetry, but with a more seasoned pen and more knowing guitar.
It is, taken as a whole, a plea to endurance, a prayer for the strength to keep going, for the will to remain. There is a nostalgia to the songs, a reflection accompanied though by a settling in for the forward motion of life and, if you listen carefully, love.
As we begin, Everything floats by briefly at the top of the album, a swift track of nostalgia disguised as a love song. It is a reflection upon Dickson’s own past work, a knowing glance back with a wise smirk to the present, “there’s not much in Everything, that much is clear”. It sets up the tone of the record beautifully. We are here for serious work, the musician suggests, but let’s not take it too seriously.
From Everything we are dropped immediately into the stomping, hand-clapping of Holy Town Blues, brutal and visceral with religion seeping through wounds. Track three follows on fast, plunging you into the steady-hand pour of country, blues and rock & roll that will follow.
Dead Or Dying is a resigned plea to keeping on, “There’s no use in crying anyhow, so hold your tears”. Every time Dickson beats us up on this album he will offer a shrug and an outstretched hand, a welcoming grin at the world and its failures. He puts a hand to your back and pulls you toward the nearest bar. A soft, perfect country song, Dead or Dying is a refusal to quit when pushed to and a reminder that there is always another day, and another route for an escape. A notion, or at least a feeling, that lingers throughout the record.
We roll through the haunted and haunting Temple Song and the brilliant Blood of the Land – a song that could happily and easily hang around Neil Young’s On The Beach – before arriving at Anything, the final track of Side A. A beautiful country number with Dickson’s stunning poetics evoking the struggles of love, “angels can be grounded with wings” he sings mid-verse. In typical Dickson style, Anything has poetry falling around a strummed acoustic guitar like autumnal leaves tumbling.
21st Century Blues kicks off Side B like a tornado kicking up dust before the instrumental Birra pulls us back. With the title cleverly hinting at both the ghost of religion and of conflict that haunt this record and the alcohol that runs through its country veins, it is another intelligent nod directed toward the listener. This is the personal mixed with the political. The struggle of being an individual lost in a world at once both too small and too large. Summed up in a five minute instrumental.
Dickson then returns to the introspection of Everything and Anything more pressingly on I’m Thinking of Quitting, a stunning piece of Cohen-esque song-writing, a poem that becomes a rumination on life. The struggle that life can be, and the resignation it brings. But with the smile in his voice as he almost-croons the songs title we know that there will be no quitting, that he will continue on. There is a reason that this is track nine of eleven. There is still work to do beyond this and still life kicking. How do you put that last bottle down when there is yet a drop to drink?
“Take all my longing, rip it to shreds, wear it upon your body in your signature black and red.” Dickson has a talent with words, and with opening lines in particular. All My Longing is a beautiful and beautifully dark meditation on love. Unrequited, briefly held, lost and unrequited once more. A letter to a lover lost or never truly held. A more poignant love song I cannot remember. It is almost useless to attempt to write about this song, and I don’t really need to, “All my longing, cast aside it disappears, yet all my longing, for you will reappear.”
The European Blues is as personal as it is universal. A truly timely record coated in the sounds and spirits of another era. Accompanying the quiet introspection scattered through the record, covered in a dust, is an ember of faith destroyed by disillusion, anger and frustration at the world. There is something strangely ancient to Dickson’s sound, something universal; almost mystical or spiritual. There is religion here, buried, not yet resurrected, perhaps never to be. And yet here is the very modern, universal struggle of loves lost, of isolation, of anhedonia, of helplessness in a world sprawled perhaps too large.
That does not mean that there are not rockers on this album. The aforementioned Holy Town Blues stomps on the world in anger, “there’s blood in the river and meat from the bone, all your gold and silver, I’ll tell you it’s gone”. 21st Century Blues meanwhile smirks, with the swagger of Blonde of Blonde era Dylan and the word-spit of John Cooper-Clarke, at the world we’re in. Blood Of The Land is a haunting sonic portrayal of inner turmoil. You can feel the confusion and frustration bubbling over. Dickson’s voice reaching high, near breaking point, “I don’t know how much longer I can keep my mind”.
The balance though is never lost. Whether country, folk or rock, the album flows beautifully. The production and musicianship of producer (and player) Roscoe Wilson is key to this. The warmth of Wilson’s now signature production sound gives The European Blues its smoky, welcoming bar-room feel. The Glasgow born producer’s musicianship throughout the album; quietly pushing guitar lines through songs or subtly texturing tracks with lap-steel, banjo or mandolin, adds a depth and a sonic otherworldly-ness that perhaps hits its peak with Temple Song but remains consistently throughout the piece. A nod here in particular for the genius of the ‘pecking chicken’ telecaster of 21st Century Blues. Wilson produces nine of these eleven tracks, and it is this that separates The European Blues most from Acidic, the consistency of feeling and sound, this understanding of tone and emotion holds tight throughout, creating a perfectly balanced whole.
The song-writer too knows his song. Dickson uses his voice as an instrument, wavering right on time, dipping and rising as he pleases. His voice is incredible in itself. Accompanying his stunning poetry, akin to Cohen or Dylan, the vocal carries comedy, drama and anguish effortlessly. There is no one out there I believe, amongst modern singer-songwriters, with as emotive a voice as Dickson, and with such skill to display it.
The writer, because that’s what Matthew Dickson is, a writer, in music and letters, ends his album on the self-produced, flickering movie reel of Last Cinema Show. A meandering walk through the mind, with shimmering guitar and drifting words. A beautiful coda. It is a hero strolling gently off into the distance, considering life. “I imagine I was a good man…Last Cinema Show”.
This is a stunning album. We are lucky to have Dickson writing and recording. We are lucky too that he decided not to quit. Long may he run.
Tele Novella continue their mystical journey to the heart of lovelorn country & western on their upcoming Kill Rock Stars full-length. Bandcamp New & Notable Jun 29, 2023