As the sleeve notes state, “...some of the dates for the ‘Small Circle’ tour were played as a three piece, Clayhill in it’s core form. On returning we couldn’t resist the temptation to record these, and some new tunes, as a one take live session with our front of house man Johnny Mac (no relation) at the helm. A seaside souvenir...” and as in the world of wood preservative advertising, it does exactly what it says on the tin. What we get here is a collection of tracks, some from Small Circle, some new, mainly original, but one sublime cover that extol the ease, the comfort, the passion and the belief that those who have been fortunate enough to witness Clayhill live have already experienced. It’s often the case that live recordings don’t quite catch the real essence of a band firing on all cylinders, that the fire in the bellies and the palpable crackle of electricity that consumes the surrounding air is lost – but this isn’t a live album in the real sense of the word. Convinced that the shows they took out around the country were compelling and captivating Clayhill decided to recreate one in the studio, and here are the results.

I have been lucky enough to catch Clayhill live on more than a few occasions over the past year or so, and in that arena they really do surpass anything else that’s hitting the road today. On record they profess a certain delicate fragility that is wrapped up in a smooth, warm, all embracing intensity, in a bittersweet forcefulness that refuses to let the listener drift away. This is transcribed to their live shows effortlessly, sometimes it looks like they are not even trying, but mainly they don’t need to try; with songs this good, with a natural delivery as homely, as soulful, heartfelt and endearing as this there is no need to push the feelings too hard, they simply ooze from the songs, from the melodies and rhythms and hold you, utterly transfixed. Be aware that if you dip your toe into the deep blue waters that are Clayhill you’ll be swimming in no time, maybe not so much out of your depth, and not entirely pulled under by a rip tide, but certainly, if only slightly out of control and ready to submit at any moment.

The record slowly eases itself to life with the teasing and tempting Figure of Eight, first offered on the Cuban Green mini-album. There is no crashing entrance, no sit up and take notice thunder strikes, just a smooth, soothing melody that although relatively unobtrusive it’s entirely addictive and utterly compelling. As fragile album openers go, this one has balls, it has teeth and attitude, it has a certain feel of menace whilst at the same time an aura of calm that is all enveloping.

Northern Soul and Mystery train follow, both re-takes from the Small Circle album. The former, which had such an impact on the Shane Meadows film of the same name becomes a tantalising urgent thrum, overlain with the characteristically rich, dark, broodingly saccharine tinted vocals of Gavin Clark; whilst the latter conspires to send shrill shivers down your spine, and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention.

...cos I’ve heard all you’ve said, that life’s a spectrum, so lets just watch the colours blurr...

Face of the Sun and Grasscutter, again, from the Cuban Green album follow on neatly, keeping the tempo perfect and the intensity set to high. Grasscutter is maybe the bands most instant moment, and that is not to belittle any of the other tracks here, but it’s impossible not to be drawn in by the infectious runs and lines that fall so perfectly in place to create this song. The acoustic version shows just how timeless songs will always shine no matter who or what is done with them, it’s hard to believe that this could ever sound bad, it has a driving, throbbing, rhythm that is impossible to ignore, noting more, nothing less – tell me what the hell else it’d need?

The album heads towards a climax with Funny How and Clayhills cover of The Smiths’ Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want. You might think that with songs this good then why do they need to cover other peoples, a valid point, but the track in question is absolutely perfect, and fits so well into the Clayhill canon that it could well have been written by them themselves, it doesn’t fit uncomfortably, it doesn’t seem to be shoe-horned in or driven like a wedge, it’s there because it is a perfect song, and it’s performed by the perfect band, I’m sure it’s writers would be hard pushed to disagree.

Final, closing track is Disscordents, all the best album closers fall into one of two categories, they are either the bombastic, fire and brimstone classics, or the fragile, delicate, falling apart at the seams, desolute, desperate pleas to put right all that has gone before, and here we definitely have the latter. Disscordents may seem a quaint little ditty, but taken in context it’s an absolute heartbreaker that makes the whole album read like the perfect novel. Astounding, uncompromising, compelling, mesmerising, endearing, the superlatives simply go on and on.

Laid bare, a band can often expose their real abilities, devoid of studio trickery however Clayhill still manage to exude a sound that is nothing less than a perfect aural acoustic symphony, the luxuriant acoustic strums and thrums, melodious and rhythmic, pinned down by gently urgent and restrained bass throbs and all glued together by vocal tracks that swoop and glide, that ache and ooze with passion and with pleas of hopeless desperation and swaggering self belief. It’s not often you hear songs this good, by musicians this good, these chances don’t present themselves that often, so, in simple terms, go out and get it kids. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

Words by Johnny Mac
 

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