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RLH
Lost Episodes & Dusty Tales

Last week I unexpectedly received in the mail, a copy of RLH’s latest contribution to the downfall of Western civilization: The Lost Episodes & Dusty Tales.

It took me a few days to steel my nerves to actually insert the CD in my stereo and allow its essence to invade my atmosphere. Half a bottle of bourbon later and I was ready. I have now listened through it about a dozen times and consumed a fair bit more bourbon in the process. One of these sessions was inflicted on my long-suffering partner who continues to be unfazed and perversely likes it (I need to get her checked out). On the first listening, I was merely flabbergasted. On the second, a spiritual numbness set in: “Yes, he really sang that song like that and, with depraved indifference, recorded it too”. Subsequent listening has only continued this downward trajectory.

In a nutshell, Lost Episodes is the obvious logical progression from Silence is Golden…Let’s Get Rich, His first CD release. It includes eight brand new audio ruminations by RLH where, once again, he wrestles with the slings and arrows, the pangs and pong of loss, love, life and the hollow absurdity of it all. As usual we are treated to RLH’s unique vocal styling. We listen and we marvel: there is melody and there is interpretive phrasing, it is music, but perhaps not as we know it. After due consideration we come to the conclusion that, metaphorically, RLH is more Jackson Pollock
then a Wyeth. The vocal picture he paints is expressive, perhaps, a sense of controlled chaos. After much experience, I can report that it is an acquired taste for those who are prepared to endure — much like an appetite for raw oysters or naughty-time with mayonnaise, trampoline & rope.

RLH is accompanied by some fine musicians who bravely try their level best to hold on for dear life as RLH runs amok through melody and metre. However, we shall cut them some slack and give credit where it is due. Clearly, musically accompanying RLH is much like attempting to ride a drunken camel in a sandstorm — you really don’t stand a chance, no matter how adept you are or how tenaciously you flail at the reins. Still, they manage some successes and provide solid musical accompaniment to deliver the inventive arrangements by Luba Dvorak, Dan Jessie & RLH, which are appropriate, and suit the material well.

Some of the tracks that otherwise stand out — include the folk-rock Citywoman featuring Luba Dvorak’s twangy lead lines & slide guitar. Not to be outdone, RLH responds with a uniquely abstract approach to acoustic rhythm guitar, which, even after repeated listening, I still cannot fathom. That his fellow musicians somehow can, is a testament either to their musical acumen or their ability to hold their liquor — not sure which.

We also get the eponymous track The Lost Episodes, a laid back, alt-country affair that reiterates RLH’s quaint, rose-tinted view of the past as he persists in proudly wearing his bittersweet nostalgia like a badge of honour on the lapel of his present. No one does “those were the good old days, old friend, long gone, long gone…” better than RLH. He really believes in those good old days. Personally, I can’t remember what I did yesterday, so I’ll have to take RLH’s word for it.

Following in the tradition of Joe Jackson’s Fools in Love and Loudon Wainwright’s People in Love, RLH adds to this august canon of smug disdain with his own take on the dumbness of falling in love with Fools & Lovers, which is the most upbeat track of the set and kind of fun — assuming, of course, that you find futile sarcasm set to the beat of a Cajun Bo-Diddley accompaniment your idea of fun. Takes all kinds.

Know That You’re Mine is a straight-forward unpretentious love song, which is actually quite beautiful. As I’ve noted before; the majority of RLH’s musical encounters with women and love tend to end in tears, but when things work out, he is actually rather adept at putting it down in words and melody in a way that is quite affecting. He is accompanied here by the female vocalist Yoriko, who provides a ghostly Translation (sung, I believe, in Japanese) to RLH’s rather more earthy call. If Yoriko is in any way as lovely as she sings, she is someone very lovely indeed. What she’s doing hanging around RLH is clearly one of those inscrutable mysteries of the East.

Plyhouse90/Embers and Starwatch are further examples of RLH’s leaning toward melancholy and sombre drama. The arrangements and accompaniment are particularly well realized being, on the one hand, quite restrained and yet still vividly dramatic. The spaghetti western fuzz guitar in Starwatch is especially evocative. I can almost visualize RLH appearing on the edge of a shimmering heat hazed horizon, astride a black horse, wrapped in a poncho with a squinty sneer and churchwarden pipe hanging from his lips. Well, I did say almost.

The collection is bookended by episodes of an ersatz radio show The Adventures of Dusty Withers, Famous Sidekick to which we are treated (or punished depending on your definition of masochism) to, not one, but two episodes, though one is mercifully much shorter than the other. I won’t ruin any possible “enjoyment” you may experience by revealing the “plots” of these adventures. Suffice to say that they feature RLH’s alter-ego, Dusty ‘Ya Coots!’ Withers, along with other dustycratic characters that inhabit some unspecified frontier at some indeterminate time. The shows include atmospheric sound effects, a disturbingly convincing sponsorship commercial and a high-octane ear-worm of a theme song that is disgustingly catchy. Be-gone ear-worm! Be-gone! In fact, the production quality of these radio spots is surprisingly high and they very effectively evoke the 1950’s cowboy radio serial programmes they emulate; but, of course, with RLH’s usual twist (ughhh!). Atypically for RLH, the Dusty episodes reveal him capable of delivering high form over low content. Whatever high plain they’re drifting on, this is definitely dangerous territory. So if you find yourself groaning after listening to these, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

The Dusty shows aside, Lost Episodes is a more serious, dark and melancholic collection than Silence, but it follows on in Silence's tradition: a collection of songs that can't really be described as "slick" or "polished" but are strangely charming and affecting — in the same way your grandpa might have been, rocking in his chair & smoking his pipe out on the porch, telling that tale about what he and his little gang of rascals got up to down by the creek one summer. You don't really want to know, but you hang on every word in spite of yourself and have a strange admiration for his tenacity. RLH raises tenacity to a high art. Listening to this collection, you and I may need some tenacity too. Maybe some of it will rub off.

Q. Butler
London
Feb 2011

So sit yourself down, grab an ice cold beer from the fridge, add a bourbon chaser to that - and while you're at it, grab a handful of barbiturates and do the job properly. Slam that dodo in the CD changer - or for you modern-agers, upload that download into your digital audio doo-whatzit - pump up the volume and just try to relax. Just try. At times you'll want to laugh (though, admittedly seldom), at others cry (for instance: just before you press the "play" button), and at yet others the urge to perform indiscreet acts of cannibalism may overwhelm you. Indeed, "Silence" is an experience not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but with fear and trepidation and barbecue sauce. For, time and time again, like the remorseless pounding of a blue whale in a bungee jump, these tracks - some barely describable as music - will make your ears melt in disbelief. Prepare for audio Armageddon - "Silence" is comin' atcha!

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