In a world where gimmicks and quick fixes have become the norm, it’s both refreshing and encouraging to encounter a musician who has patiently developed and improved their craft over a couple of decades. Jim Moray is one such artist. His 2003 debut, Sweet England, was recorded in his bedroom but featured a level of maturity and perfectionism rarely encountered in folk music. It went on to win Best Album at the 2004 BBC Radio 2 Folk Awards. Since then, Moray’s career has been defined by a combination of consistently high quality and stylistic variety. Where his debut made imaginative use of electronics, its self-titled follow-up brought in orchestral elements, and 2008’s Low Culture saw him turn to non-Western instruments like the mbira and the kora. Dalliances with grime and Britpop followed, but what remained the same was Moray’s dedication to the song as a form of vital expression, and to presenting traditional songs in the most interesting and accessible ways.
This is perhaps braver and more radical than it sounds: Moray has spoken of receiving online abuse due to his comments on the democratisation of folk music, a fact that suggests gatekeeping exists even in the most inclusive and liberal of milieus. Moray, to his credit, has always stuck to his guns, and his attitude to music has become even more uncompromising as his career has progressed. 2016’s Upcetera showcased his affinity with Reichian minimalism and mixed traditional folk with experimental chamber music, while Beflean (2023) featured bold new reimaginings of songs from right across his career.
Gallants is Moray’s eighth solo album, and his first collection of ‘new’ material since 2019’s The Outlander, an album that focused heavily on his electric guitar playing. This time round, there isn’t quite such a discernible ‘angle’ as usual, and that allows the songs to speak for themselves even more than before. The dualism that has defined his career so far – that ever-present tension between the contemporary and traditional – is still apparent, but here the material and the way it is performed are given primacy. Moray is an expert at drawing out the inherent beauty of a song, and here, traditional ballads like The Nightingale are teased into stunning new shapes, delicate and melodically daring. He frequently uses a kind of patchwork technique, drawing on multiple sources to create something vibrant and new that nonetheless remains steeped in history.
Moray has developed a habit of sprinkling original songs into his collections of primarily traditional material, and Gallants is no exception. There is one self-penned track here: Three Gallants, which sits at the heart of the album and occupies what feels like an important symbolic space. It acts as a core, and a kind of lodestone, guiding the listener in the direction of Moray’s true musical personality. Three Gallants is a gentle, lightly orchestrated ballad, resting on a bed of acoustic guitar. Moray’s voice – always insistent and impassioned – is given space to tell its story. Most tellingly, the song fits into the general feel of the album absolutely seamlessly, so much so that it is almost impossible to tell that it’s not a traditional song, at least not on the first pass. Moray is so deeply immersed in the culture of folk music that his own songs seem to radiate the best bits of that culture.
If Three Gallants represents the album’s spiritual core, then Omie Wise is its imposing physical centrepiece. A drawn-out murder ballad that drips with a combination of pathos, resignation and tenderness, it is based, like many such American ballads, on true events. Moray gives the story a fittingly serious reading, letting the tragic details speak for themselves, backed by subtle strings and inexorable percussion. As is so often the case with Moray’s songs, he encourages us to think about the injustices that still occur as a result of inequality. Here, he adds a whole new verse of his own, a living, breathing example of folk music’s constant relevance, and the necessity for change. Another tune from the American tradition is Train on the Island. Moray reimagines the song as a stately piano ballad, beautifully emphasising the melancholic narrative.
Despite Moray’s polymathic ability to play pretty much any instrument he picks up (and his penchant for producing his own work) he is no stranger to collaboration, and here he enlists the help of an array of talent, including accordionist Archie Churchill-Moss, drummer Matt Stockham Brown, singer and trans activist Maddie Morris, cellist Clare O’Connell, piper Andy May and violinist David Le Page. Perhaps partly as a result of this collaborative spirit, there is an upbeat feel to much of Gallants. Opening track Flora (The Lily of the West) is a kind of magpie-song, a combination of different parts, with sources in both America and the UK. Moray delivers a bouncy, defiant version that bounds along on crisp drums and fluid accordion. Equally forceful is American Stranger, which begins with Moray’s wiry folk-rock guitar and proceeds along melodically unorthodox lines, with added drama coming from the crashing percussion.
Moray’s affinity for contemporary styles dominates the first bars of When I Was a Little Boy, a song collected in Shetland in 1952. It arrives on squelchy bass synth and prickly programmed percussion. When the stabs of brass hit between the verses, you could almost be in the same territory as Radiohead, circa Kid A. There is an absurdity to it, but it works, especially in conjunction with the surreal swagger of the lyrics, which Moray sings with glee. At the other end of the scale is Spencer the Rover, which relies on minimal and largely traditional instrumentation, at least in its opening verse. As it progresses, however, it opens out into something more florid, a gently euphoric slice of chamber folk, and a perfectly-pitched paean to the importance of home and hearth.
In a review of The Outlander, I suggested that Moray had become an accepted part of folk music royalty. That still stands, but I feel it needs to be expanded on. He is, perhaps, folk music’s errant prince, more at home with the general population than in courtly surroundings. Certainly, an important part of his practice is his well-developed social consciousness. Gallants’ stunning final track – a version of trans folk singer Louisa Killen’s Fortune Turns the Wheel, backed by Maddie Morris and the Trans Choir – is the proof of this. A heartfelt hand extended to the past and a statement of staunch allyship in the present, it highlights the dual roles that have historically been assigned to folk music: to entertain and to challenge the failures of the orthodoxy. Gallants confirms Moray’s position as a living embodiment of those roles, and of so much more.
Gallants (May 1st, 2026) Managed Decline
The album is available for pre-order now in several formats, including CD, eco-mix coloured vinyl, and digital download, with exclusive bundles featuring a new t-shirt design.
Pre-order ‘Gallants’ at: jimmoray.co.uk/gallants
Also available via Bandcamp
For details of Jim’s forthcoming Tour Dates (and Ticket Links), please visit: https://jimmoray.co.uk/shows