Matachin by Bellowhead

Bellowhead’s follow up to their debut Burlesque was destined to be met with high expectations. Burlesque was so hugely successful, that after only having been a band for 4 years, Bellowhead were headlining the first BBC Folk Proms, beating more established and significantly older folkies to the half hour closing set. This big band folk outfit clearly have plenty of promise, unfortunately too little of this is realised in their second album Matachin.

In 2004, two established darlings of the folk circuit; Jon Boden and John Spiers, wondered how the traditional English folk song and Boden’s delicate vibrato would sound when backed by a small folk orchestra. They soon went about recruiting the likes of bouzouki boy Benji Kirkpatrick and percussionist Pete Flood, until they had a group of musicians as talented as they were numerous. Their debut set a tone of theatricality and fun, making them the talk of every morris dance from London to Loughborough. By 2007 they had a hit record, a string of awards and a powerful live show. All that was left was a strong follow up to prove they hadn’t shot their wad. Unfortunately, it would seem that for all their potential, this is something John and Jon couldn’t quite manage.

For the uninitiated, Matachin provides a summation of the English folk tradition, from the ‘night-visit’ tales of dead lovers returning from the grave, to the joyous sea shanty and of course the romantic ballad. And sure enough with the opener comes the sweeter than sugar - ‘Fakenham Fair’. The whirlwind of instrumentation that opens the album showcases the talents of their 11-piece band, however it would seem that down this road lays trouble. In terms of the production, the big band formation seems to limit the way in which the material has been tracked and arranged. Whilst with 'Fakenham Fair' the instruments gel gorgeously, on tracks such as ‘Widow’s Curse’ or ‘Roll Her Down The Bay’ you become very aware you’re listening to 11 musicians as opposed to an 11-member band. Perhaps due to band politics, each instrument is given its own space, and with the absolute clarity with which they have been captured, the overall sound becomes (dare I say it?) almost gimmicky.

The crown jewel of their live performances has always been their sea shanties and dance numbers. The band have often spoken of how they feel folk is simply the oldest form of dance music, and in many ways this is what has made them so refreshing amongst their peers. Whilst other young guns such as Jim Moray and The Imagined Village have tried to bring it to the kids by introducing modern technology and styles into the traditional palette, Bellowhead have managed to draw in a younger audience by being wholly enjoyable. Lucky for us, this philosophy has been continued on into Matachin. Such jaunty numbers as ‘Whiskey is the life of man’ could coax a jig out of even the most reserved listener. Nevertheless, too little of the innate energy of these songs has been captured in the studio.

As the album continues, so do the disappointments. But once again the material isn’t to blame. With the exception of the thoroughly dull ‘Cholera Camp’, the remainder of the album is far from filler. ‘Spectre Review’ sees drummer Pete Flood flaunt his skill in arrangement as well as his passion for percussion, whilst the jazzy ‘Bruton Town’ is one of the most beautiful and exquisitely arranged ballads on the album. But one by one these original successes are strangled by the production.

Comprised of folk tales documenting death, deceit and drinking; Matachin is an album with plenty of grit in its teeth, yet none of this is reflected in the sterile way it has been recorded. It would seem Bellowhead could take note from American counterpart Zach Condon, whose recent big band efforts with his Balkans folk project ‘Beirut’, has created a nostalgic and eclectic sound through embracing less traditional recording techniques.

This latest offering by one the UK’s most promising folk bands is an album with no clue in which direction it is headed. The lack lustre production implies a back-to-basics approach, whilst the funk filled fun of ‘Kafoozalum’ and the melancholic jazz of ‘Bruton Town’ suggest a penchant for folk fusion. With Matachin we see Bellowhead refusing to pick a lane. What results is an album that is essentially an overview of what English folk means to the current generation. It is by no means a bad album, but for a band brimming with talent, it is far too tame.