Fabian Holland: Under the Red Island Bakery (+ Video Premiere)

Fabian Holland – Under the Red Island Bakery

StringBox Records (SBCD001) – 29 May 2020

There is a point about six minutes or so into ‘Two Men in a Boat’, the opening song from British born Berlin-based Fabian Holland‘s third album, where the peril and ultimate tragedy of the two allegorical sailors is illustrated through low spectral drone notes through a lap steel guitar. The touch would be effective enough in itself in evoking the sombre and defeated mood of our two narrators (‘both now agree, they won’t stay on this boat, they’re best off at sea’) and Holland’s view of Brexit, which the song comments on, but this is a one day, one-take-project with no overdubs, which makes it all the more impressive. It also epitomises Under the Red Island Bakery, which is an album full of beautifully written personal songs, arranged with remarkable attention to detail in a deceptively simple format.

Something of an itinerant musician, with a past that has taken him from the Abruzzo region of Italy, where he honed his craft through busking and gigging, to the narrow waterways of England, Holland has now landed in the wonderful city of Berlin, where this was recorded. A one time student of the late great Eric Roche, Fabian is certainly no slouch with the acoustic guitar, and it’s no surprise to find it at the centre of things here, although, as I mentioned, there are other minor stars here within reach that light up proceedings even more. Take the charango (a South American lute-like instrument) playing that illuminates instrumental travelling track ‘Two Thousand Miles‘. Following on from the slower-paced ‘She Don’t Love Me’, a splendidly melancholy Blues number with a cracking doleful guitar piece and vocals that shrug and sigh, the high strung little instrument comes in like a ray of sunlight and proceeds to act as the rhythm of the train, while the homemade lap steel guitar creates drone notes (you can just hear the scrape of the slide on strings, which is delicious). This is one of my favourite pieces on the album because once the acoustic guitar begins a couple of minutes in, the listener has already been on a journey and the tune turns into a small three-part opus, saving most of the drama for the ace finger-style finale.

But in fact, the lap steel is a real hero across the album, injecting several songs with amazing depth and richness. ‘For You’ is described as ‘a love song, pure and simple’, but it has great character and is closely related to ‘She Don’t Love Me’, sharing its mournful, bluesy vocal. Tuned to a low C, the old resonator cum lap steel sounds like the microphone is buried deep in its body, with every rattle and scrape audible. It’s little touches and decisions like this, found across all ten tracks, that set this album apart, giving us its character and showing Fabian as the skilled and considerate musician that he is. Another example of the delicacy and depth of these tunes is ‘Klavier’, the second instrumental track and one written to resemble the nuances and range of a piano. A real acoustic guitar work out, but as lean as a whippet, this tune displays plenty of skill, but it’s also an unhurried piece of music of real intelligence that uses every one of its notes to enhance the song.

Another highlight is ‘Another Monday’, that employs evocative trumpet work from Jake Painter to help evoke the quite singular feeling of a first child being born while the world carries on at the same pace: ‘In this bubble we are and we’ve made it thus far’. The lap steel plays a more straight-up acoustic guitar role here, providing a clear line beautifully picked, while the brass adds an almost bewildering tenderness that hangs suspended over the song. It’s still a minimal arrangement, but the two parts work so well together in framing the slightly weary but wide-eyed vocal.

The only traditional song on here is ‘I must Live all Alone’, which closes the album. A simple tale of a lonely maid mourning her lover overseas (it’s worth finding the original first verse Henry Burstow wrote, considered too saucy for an Edwardian audience), Fabian decided to play this one on an alternatively tuned ukulele in a guitar style, which immediately gives the piece a different feel that is enhanced by the subtle dark drone notes made by the lap steel going through a bass amp (while Fabian simultaneously plays the ukulele part). It’s a clever choice to both use and tamper with the ukulele; this simple adjustment allows the song to find a balance between guitar and ukulele led folk singing that again brings something new to the table. It also fully emphasises those low drone notes, dramatically different from the bright uke strings. This is but another example of how Under the Red Island Bakery manages to use minimal tools to take the listener on a musical journey that seems to stretch far beyond its ten pieces and fifty-six minutes. A work full of delicate musical touches and clearly an album that has been put together by Fabian and Raphael Tschernuth with close attention to detail and plenty of care, Bakery is a cracker. It’s easy to forget that this project was recorded in one day from first takes; the performances are exceptional, with clear, expressive vocals, mature and elegant writing and some beautiful musicianship, often starring a less common instrument (the charango is ace).

A set full of character, depth and textured music made with unpretentious skill and consideration, Under the Red Island Bakery, is a special kind of album that doesn’t appear very often. An enduring treat that will be played to death, this one will stick to your stereo and make itself hard to forget.