Merry Hell – Emergency Lullabies
Independent – 8 November 2020
I’m told that Merry Hell are something of a crowd-puller and listening to this album has certainly had me question how come I have never had the pleasure of seeing them. And now I really want to, imagining the scene, maybe a beer or two down, summer sun dipping down behind the main stage, these songs, that attitude. I cannot fail to see how any audience could resist.
Of course, they have paid their dues and played their 10,000 hours, this being their sixth long player since 2011. Plus, the Kettle brothers, the core of the band, were the nucleus within ‘90s folk-punk pioneers, The Tansads, whom I did see, and what a glorious racket were they. By grit, gravel and sheer hard work they have clawed their way to the forefront of a crowded market, and can grace near any festival in the land and probably have, appealing across the whole Beautiful Days to Cropredy demographic and beyond.
As the title suggests, this plague year has had no small part to play in the genesis of Emergency Lullabies, even if the songs, or many of them, germinated during a band break in the Jura mountains, moving then back to their Wigan base to add flesh to the bones. Rudely interrupted by the March lockdown, this gave the challenge of the individual band members laying down tracks apart, it then being the job of band supremo, Kettle brother John, guitarist and producer, to knit them all together into a vivid technicolour coat of ragged wonder. It sounds live in the studio, no small feat. With five songwriters in the band, rather than fracturing any mood, the collective vibe is of a shared unity. A number of themes run through: as card-carrying exponents of music made by the people and shared by the people, the sense of belonging to and being part of a community resonates, as well as the responsibility that carries, that exemplified by the song, Beyond the Call, a tribute to the NHS and its workforce. Further songs, notably those written and sung by John’s wife, Virginia, are odes to the pleasures of growing old disgracefully, something I give my full support to.
Opener, Go Down Fighting, written the day after the last general election, is a stately and rousing lament, upbeatedly looking ahead with hope. Based around chiming guitar, the vocals gradually join together, with the chorus kicking in, resplendent as the fiddle and rhythm section give an added solid framework. Already I can hear a crowd singing along to it, a song in sound and message not unakin to Oysterband at their best.
This is followed by the fiddle-led Leave It In The Ground, a paean to clean energy and leaving fossil fuels where they belong. Written by said fiddle player Neil McCartney, it is an exuberant romp with echoes of, dare I say it, ‘Gasoline Alley’, that may be intended and not without irony.
The first two songs sung by Andrew Kettle, who surely gargles with a mix of sand and honey, Three Little Lions is sung by his sister in law Virginia Kettle, her strong voice underlining a message of togetherness, the folkiest track on the album, seering fiddle soaring as John Kettle’s guitar then melts through the mix. Folk-ROCK, say the liner notes. Oh yes.
A breather now needed, Handsome Sally is a classic ballad, begging to be covered by Fairport, although whether Simon Nicol could make a better job than Andrew is debateable. A stand out track. Sister Atlas now has us back in the hands of Virginia, and is about Greta Thunberg, a stronger subject than the song perhaps, but with a killer line about her being on the “cover of (running out of) Time magazine”. Brother Bob Kettle, the mandolin player, now gets to pen a song, the deceptively simple Sailor, which is guaranteed to lurk in your head longer than you expect or want, another one for the festival audience choir.
As mentioned above, Beyond the Call addresses the role of our emergency services, notably the NHS, in this time of crisis. Another ballad, this time over a piano setting that adds gravitas, another sombre celebration. With fiddle and mandolin weaving in and out, the sense that this is one self-assured band is never more apparent. This also sees the entry of the Self Isolation Choir and the Keyworkers Chorus, invited ensemble involvement again pitched in remotely and blended together. Is that bit of grit in my eye?
The next two songs, Violet and Younger Than You Are, are the two that expand on the theme of age, the first a study perhaps loosely drawing on the Jenny Joseph poem, ‘I Shall Wear Purple’, as a decidedly unshrinking violet details what you can expect of her. A slim song, I can see some knowing looks being directed at their husbands and partners when played live. The second is a gentler song about love being not just the domain of the young. If the first song has sent the men to the gents, the second will have them welcomed back by their partners.
Green Hills of Home is another soothing, swaying waltz, garnished with piano, returning to a more serious timbre, so perhaps a bit soon to follow it again with another singalong. I Don’t Want To Be Cool, which even the welcome presence of Edward II stalwart, Simon Care, on melodeon, can’t lift for me. Others will differ, it’s already a live favourite.
Another welcome inclusion of the Choir and Chorus decks We Are Different, We Are One, a real show closer, an encore even, to sing down the years, another highlight. And a reminder of the power of an unaccompanied vocal chorale. Maintaining this mood, another waltz, Moonlight Parade sashays along, another latterday Fairport style song in the mould of Chris Leslie. That could have been an ideal time to end this record, but, not content to leave on a lull, the band put us to bed content with the title track, a stark warning wrapped in comfort blankets and cuddles. Lovely.
Forgive me, I have gone on about this recording. But, if you are a fan, you’ll already know why, and, if not, well, maybe now you’re curious. A mature and grown-up piece of work, well-conceived and well put together. I haven’t even mentioned other players, the rhythm section of Nick Davies and Andy Jones, dependably where they need to be, and the elegiac piano of Lee Goulding, also on banjo. A terrific listen for a lockdown winter night, dreaming of a return to outside summer music, hopefully, next year. Make sure Merry Hell are playing where you go; I will be.
Emergency Lullabies is out now. Order via http://www.merryhell.co.uk/shop.html