Concrete Prairie

For Bath quintet Concrete Prairie their iteration of subversive story-telling, nationhood narrativising, their laying down of the folk-law has been termed ‘bruised Americana’. Admittedly, this is an almost apt description, but, for these ears they dispense a more distinct strand of Arcadian-arcana.

Their very name wryly suggests a grey expanse, a Ballardian bleakness, an endless horizon of high-rise hellholes and low-rent sinkholes. That said, surviving and thriving in adversity is a university in itself, great minds and strong characters inevitably emerge from the depths, shining their light on the shadows that lurk outside. The underbelly contains many a beast within.

Comprised of Joe Faulkner (guitar, harmonica, lead vocals), Adam Greeves (mandolin, harmonica, vocals), Dan Burrows (bass, banjo, vocals), Georgia Brown (fiddle) and Tom Hartley (drums) they conjure up warbled woes, West countrified blues, catch-throat catharticism, upbeat carpe diem dreams to combat structurally-led nightmares.

On this self-titled debut album, the ails, travails and wails of the British Isles are view-skewed through skewered squints, individual and communal triumphs and struggles articulated in uniquely British diction and deadpan delivery: ‘Pick up the pieces’ drolly delivers the idiom “shit hits the fan”; ‘Time to Kill’ has the brilliant couplet “the apogee of apathy”; ‘Winter Town’ addresses the whims of crass tourism, the legacy of the key-ring circus clowns leaving town once the sun’s gone down.

Throughout these tracks an array of themes such as time’s passage, fate’s message, belief’s leverage, memory’s advantage and superstition’s damage are all acutely expressed. Like all effective passing on and down of wisdom, knowledge, truth and meaning, they are coded, wrapped up in seemingly superficial sentiments. Yet, scratch and peel away the layers and where there’s pain there’s gain.

There’s nowt as clear as folk …