Elle Osborne – If You See a Rook on Its Own, It’s a Crow
9th House Recordings – 5 June 2020
If you’ve yet to have the pleasure, in Rob Curry and Tim Plester’s wonderful documentary, The Ballad of Shirley Collins, her close friend and long-time champion, David Tibet (Current 93), tells Collins to her face that he loves her (and, of course, her late sister Dolly’s) music because it is “so intimate, and true, and beautiful, because it’s real,” continuing to say that “when people feel something that is so true…and so innocent…their hearts open, their hearts respond.” Coincidentally, Tibet’s earnest words pretty much sum up how I feel about If You See a Rook on Its Own, It’s a Crow, the 4th full-length offering from another of Collins’ dear friends, Elle Osborne.
It is indeed all of those things – intimate, true, beautiful, and real – so much so that after the first few run-throughs I needed to rationalize whether my elevated emotional reaction to its rarefied wonder was due to some kind of pandemic-evoked state of hypersensitivity, or simply because it’s a bona fide masterpiece. My conclusion, I’m glad to report, is the latter. Truly, this is a very, very special record.
I could animatedly evangelize about every one of the 11 tracks on this album for paragraphs on each but will reign in that temptation to focus on a few highlights of a collection without a single lowlight. Beginning with, well, the beginning, the dyadic opening of Birds of the British Isles and Ing’s Lane usher the listener in imperceptibly, being quiet songs blessed with sparse, atmospheric arrangements. Over a simple electric guitar motif the lyric of the first of the pair sees Osborne confessing both actually and metaphorically to her strengths – I know the heft of heron and the light of blackbird calls – and shortcomings – I don’t know all the birds of the British Isles – but, with a determined grittiness in her vocal delivery she reveals much more by concluding her admissions with, I know what to say to people when they pick on you / And I’ve almost learnt to greet the haters with loving smiles. Powerful. (Appearing in the second line of the second verse, the album title is apparently something the Lincolnshire-born, Brighton-based artist’s father once said to her, and in the case of certain types of crow and other Corvidae, he was bang on.)
Typifying the delightfully casual feel of the performances herein, No Hoof, No Horse is a joyous, danceable tune based on a tipsy violin melody and brushed snare drum, featuring a lyric in reverence to equine majesty and the bliss of their companionship from a woman who is known to be a passionate hippophile: the video for the title track is ample illustration of Osborne’s love of these beautiful beasts. In a clever switch of mood, the lyrics to Comedy & Tragedy (Dr. Elliott’s Remedy) also appear metaphorical, pitting the two major forms of Greek drama against each other in a darkly humorous song that ends with a spirited Greek folk song-style Lie la la lie lie, la la la-lie la-lie singalong. I wish dear Kirsty MacColl were still with us to cover this number, as stylistically it would’ve suited her down to the ground.
While this whole superb affair is an emotional experience from top to tail, two songs in particular really knock me over. Since watching the magnificent 2014 animated film Song of the Sea upon release, I’ve been fascinated by the notion of selkies, the mystical shapeshifting beings from Scottish/Celtic mythology. (Selkie is also the word for seal in the Orkneys’ Orcadian dialect, and since that movie I’ve not been able to look at the harbour seals in my part of the world in the same way: what secrets might these ancient creatures hold?) Osborne’s unfeasibly beautiful song, The Selkie, appears to be an ode for a departed loved one. Besides her also mournfully ululating back in the mix, it contains this crushing verse:
And wherever you are now, I know they’ll love you / And wherever you are now, I hope you’re free / And wherever you are now, I hope they’ve got good whisky / And wherever you are now, I hope you rest in peace.
The Offing is the other intensely moving song, one that alludes to either whomever is relating the lyric, or indeed possibly Osborne herself, addressing having to live with a serious health condition:
I am honeycombed monochrome bones / Written in my chromosomes.
It appears that the narrator has taken stock at a crucial juncture in life – facing up to mortality, both advising on and vowing how to altruistically conduct oneself with grace for however long remains. One of my favourite proverbial phrases, attributed to Plato and a dictum that I strive (and often fail) to observe is, ‘Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.’ Osborne’s adaptation of this philosophy, one that mercifully appears to be emerging in these unprecedented times, ends The Offing thus:
Know that everyone you meet, everyone you meet / Has a life as complex of your own / Be as kind as you can / Kinder than you can / Kinder, kinder than you can
Osborne’s first album for five years, If You See a Rook on Its Own, It’s a Crow is masterfully produced by Stereolab’s Joe Watson, whom I first encountered in the early ’00s via his work with the brilliant cult chamber popster, John Cunningham. He’s done an excellent job, producing a crisp, open sound while allowing Osborne and her contributing cast of percussionists/drummers Alex Neilson (Trembling Bells / Alex Rex / Richard Youngs) and Stephen Hiscock (Mark Eitzel / Aimee Mann / Nanci Griffith); bassist Eddie Myer (Turin Brakes / Son Guarachando), guitarist Alice Emerson (London Mountain Rescue / Alice Mary) and Alasdair Roberts to do their gorgeous thing in a seemingly insouciant, organic manner.
Emerson features on the personally relatable The Taming of the Shrewd, which comes across as if Osborne is backed by the Velvet Underground. Nothing wrong with that fantasy scenario, eh? Like the rest of this extraordinary opus, it’s amazing. And concerning the aforementioned qualities with which David Tibet so justifiably flattered his and Osborne’s mutual friend Shirley Collins – particularly ‘true’ and ‘real’ – in this song, hijacking Harlan Howard’s famous description of country music, Osborne sings, I’ve got three chords and the truth / I’m going to put them to good use, and in the case of this stunning album no truer words could she have uttered.
If You See a Rook on Its Own, It’s a Crow is released on 5 June 2020 via 9th House Recordings / 9th cd3.
Photo Credit: Jodie Saunders