In the age of the single download, Jeff Harford rediscovers the album.
Not that the Derby-born Englishman was preoccupied solely with matters of class. He made it his mission to reflect the everyday concerns of an ordinary man, taking his cues from the Southern blues artists whose music lit the pilot flame in pre-rock 'n' roll Britain. He was never going to make it as a mainstream act and never did, remaining instead a musician's musician, respected widely for his bravely spontaneous recordings and brilliant, if erratic, live shows.
The album neatly captures Coyne's discomfort with limitations. Never strictly blues, folk, boogie or rock, the music dips in and out of genre to suit subject and mood, threatening, at times, to lose contact with Coyne as he chooses suddenly to follow a thought as if chasing a butterfly.
On the opening title track, an extract from a performance poetry piece, Coyne delivers a seat-of-the-pants singsong rap, introducing the irrepressible jester character that encouraged him to toy with later songs. From there, he moves to channelling Van Morrison on Marlene, proving himself capable of producing a perfectly formed pop tune. The juxtaposition is deliberate, setting the tone for the undulating ride to come over the remaining 18 tracks.
Several songs touch on prevailing attitudes to the mentally ill or the down at heel, Coyne drawing on his previous experience as a psychiatric nurse and drug counsellor. Others take pot-shots at the Church and the education system. Others are simply love songs. Unafraid to shift from dark to light, from structured lyric to freeform poetry, he reminds us that the joy in his music lies more in its genesis than its performance.
