Fionn Regan - 100 Acres Of Sycamore

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Amid all the fears of global financial meltdown and rising unemployment, one small niche sector that still seems to be thriving is that of the acoustic singer-songwriter. From the Dickensian-named Benjamin Francis Leftwich and reinvented boy band brat Charlie Simpson to latest chart sensation Ed Sheeran, it seems not a month goes by without the emergence of a new earnest young troubadour, trusty guitar in one hand, a copy of Nick Drake’s Five Leaves Left in the other.

At the age of 35 and with a Mercury Prize nomination already under his belt for his 2006 debut The End Of History, Ireland’s Fionn Regan is a veritable veteran compared to much of the competition, and it’s this musical maturity that stands him in good stead on his latest record 100 Acres Of Sycamore. While others overstretch themselves in search of emotional profundity and end up sounding schmaltzy and contrived, Regan has the confidence to simply relax and let things flow naturally.

After the folly of 2010’s The Shadow Of An Empire, on which Regan strayed perilously close to tribute act territory while attempting to recreate the dynamic of Bob Dylan going electric, the County Wicklow native has wisely decided to go back to what he does best. But as well as the lilting acoustic guitars and gossamer melodies that made The End Of History a success, we also get the added richness of some much more expansive arrangements, with some delightful, shimmering strings in particular lending 100 Acres Of Sycamore a distinctive, pastoral feel.

As the album title hints, both the music and lyrical content strongly evoke the natural world. After the bleak, portentous title track, which brings to mind a Nick Cave murder ballad, we get Sow Mare Bitch Vixen’s bucolic folk, which shares the aforementioned Drake’s gift for penning a new song that manages to sound like it’s as old as the hills. Regan scales an appropriate early peak on The Lake District, a soaring, piano-led paean to love on which he declares “from the landing I can hear your hay bale laughter singing/it breaks the white horse hearts of all those assembling” before gushing “you are the Lake District/marry me, in a registry, like a foreign film scene”. Depending on your point of view, this is either inspired stream of consciousness poetry or meaningless twaddle, but either way, it sounds gorgeous, recalling the freeform musings of Van Morrison in one of his mellower, Celtic Twilight-inspired phases.

This track is just one of several that invite the listener to lie back and nestle snugly in the feather bed of sonic loveliness that Regan has made up for us. On For A Nightingale he softly coos “you’re a star my little heart would be/when I saw your snow white feet” while we’re softly caressed by a tinkling piano and elegant violins; his yearning voice is delicately counterbalanced on North Star Lover by some ghostly female backing vocals; Dogwood Blossom proves the strength of his song writing still shows up well when it’s just Regan and his guitar alone. The whole mood is one of unhurried introspection, with a number of songs leisurely passing the five minute mark.

There will be some who may find 100 Acres Of Sycamore a little one-paced and lacking dynamism, and to be fair there are times when all the meandering prettiness does start to sound a little samey, and the arrangements slightly over-egged. Yet what Regan has unquestionably created is a landscape of wide-eyed, sincere beauty that is very much his own, delivered with a poise that few of his contemporaries can match.