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As far as singer-songwriter aliases go, The Balky Mule is hardly
the most flattering, though likely miles away from being the
strangest. The moniker belongs to one Sam Jones, now resident in
Melbourne, Australia, but formerly of Bristol and bands such as
Crescent and Minotaur Shock. With the formalities out of the way,
let's see what this stubborn off-spring of a male donkey and a female
horse has delivered.
The Length Of The Rail is ostensibly Jones's second album in his
Mule guise, though the first was self-released well over eight years
ago and barely made a splash before sinking under. Now signed with
FatCat records, he's no doubt ready to make more of a go of a solo
career, with tour dates in the UK later this month lending weight to
that notion.
Opener 'Dust Bath Birds' actually kicks things off with a bit of
promise. Well, other than committing the criminal sin of starting with
birdsong. It's quite amazing the number of artists who use this,
thinking it is, like, a really cool metaphor, where the dawning day
represents the opening of the album... and stuff. Once past this blip,
though, the track impresses, albeit by sounding very much like
Beck in the Odelay glory-days: plucked guitar interrupted by
big, dirty riffs, and a sing-song chorus.
If Jones had kept on this path, he could have produced a fairly
passable album. On Before Too Long, however, he's keen to unravel all
that good work as soon as possible. The percussion sounds almost as
though it has been lifted liberally from the sublimely insane Dirty
Projectors classic Jolly Jolly Jolly Ego, with Dave
Longstreth's howling flasetto replaced by Jones's dull, thin
instrument.
This really highlights the two problems that beset the rest of The
Length of the Rail. Firstly: the voice. Jones really can't sing. He's
almost always out of tune; or, is singing the same note most of the
time, so is occasionally in tune by chance. On top of this his voice
is brittle and lacks any real character.
It'd almost be forgivable if the music were good. Alas, Jones is
constantly marching off into the experimental territory that the
Projectors work so well, without really getting further than the
borders. Perhaps it's the ways of the electro-happy Aussies rubbing
off on him, but, for some reason, throwing in a whole slew of
syncopated bleeps and whistles proved too tempting. Combine the voice
and this added aural assault together and you have what verges, at
times, on the unlistenable.
It's a shame, really, because when Jones reigns in his bleep-blip
compulsion and just adds the odd touch on more traditionally
structured songs - such as Jisaboke and Wireless - you can see that he's
actually quite a gifted songwriter. Closer Tell Me Something Sweet is,
as it says on the tin, sweet, melancholic, and well-composed.
However these moments are few and far between in the endurance test
that is Jones on an experimental bent. Looking at The Length Of A Rail
with a sharp eye, you could say that there is probably about an EPs
worth of decent material here, and even then it would do better in the
hands of a more naturally gifted singer. Perhaps this is what Jones
should do. He could call the new group The Frivolous Hinny. Apparently
they are rarer than mules. Much like good albums.
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