Bill Ryder-Jones – ‘Iechyd Da’ album review: a life-affirming masterpiece
THE SKINNY: It’s rare to find honesty in music because honesty is hard to share. The truth can feel uncomfortable and uncouth, particularly when it’s placed in something as vulnerable as art. But with lechyd Da, Bill Ryder-Jones doesn’t just embrace naked candour. He taps into the exultant potential of letting it all out with a majesty and profundity that makes his release ours to share.
Exonerated from any notion of playing it safe or drumming up external inspiration, he effectively sobs his heart out in the studio, and the resultant puddle of soul is a soaring beast to behold—much like actual crying, it is far from soppy or sorry for itself, just a bursting relief. The strings stream forth like the sonic actualisation of a flood of tears while he muses on life, bracing the potholes on his own memory lane and holding onto hope as he journeys onwards, towards further peaks and troughs on the horizon, reaffirmed by the process of reconciliation that has gone into this epic record, written over four long years.
Five albums into his solo discography, lechyd Da feels like a purified encapsulation of Ryder-Jones as an artist, with the musician weaving all his highlights into a sonic patchwork and tapestry of his life. As a result, you can feel it fall into place. As the roaring scope of the album washes over you, you picture him staring out beyond the West Kirby Bay, soaking his Spezials in the slurry surrounding the marine lake as he takes a windswept stroll with lyrics formulating in his mind and melodies being lassoed from the sea breeze.
And this is how you take the record in as a listener, too. It makes you want to jog along a promenade. It makes you want to go back to the childhood cottage in Whitby that you holidayed in in your halcyon days of innocence. It makes you want to call your mother, and it also makes you want to enjoy the most fabled thing of all life’s simple treats: just one pint. In this regard, it is life-affirming; it might be utterly heart-breaking at times, but it happily concludes that life might be sad sometimes, but it is always beautiful.
For Fans Of: crying on a Sunday while watching Planet Earth III, pledging an inspired £5 to WWF and binging on Earl Grey, following 12 pints on Saturday.
A concluding comment from Tom’s mother: “A bit maudlin, and he doesn’t half mumble, but he seems like a nice lad, and I wish him all the best”.
lechyd Da track by track:
Release Date: 12 January | Producer: Bill Ryder-Jones | Label: Domino Records
‘I Know That It’s Like This (Baby)’ – A haunting and humble opener. It strums with a sparsity perfectly reminiscent of the detached, party-dodging loneliness it sings of as it gathers towards a gorgeous melody almost by accident. [4/5]
‘A Bad Wind Blows In My Heart pt. 3’ – Ryder-Jones revisits bad wind for a third time, showing a fixation only eclipsed by Gaviscon. But this preoccupation typifies why it is his most truthful album to date, as he embraces the notion of really laying it all on the line. However, the slight auto-tune-like waver at moments slightly distracts. [4/5]
‘If Tomorrow Starts Without Me’ – With crunching strings borne from the Penguin Cafe Orchestra school of thought, ‘If Tomorrow Starts Without Me’ quickly eviscerates the suicide note implied by the title and hauls a fresh sun across the horizon with all the quirky charisma of a milk truck. [5/5]
‘We Don’t Need Them’ – A plodding piano tune is quickly whisked up by the spirit of The Beatles thanks to a bold marching band beat for a song that embodies the line: “You only give up your power when you don’t think you have any.” [4/5]
‘I Hold Something In My Hand’ – Break-ups are wavering, uncertain beasts, but quite often, songs written about them are linear and neat. This anthem avoids that pitfall and remains suitably tortuous. [4/5]
‘This Can’t Go On’ – Our track of the year from 2023. A soaring masterpiece, the subdued British lockdown version of ‘Born to Run’, triumphantly achieving what Bob Dylan dubbed to be the highest purpose of art: to inspire. [5/5]
‘…And The Sea…’ – The record’s experimental cut, that picnics by the seaside with a Warren Ellis-inspired score and the poetic mindset of The Clientele for company, it offers a sweet and serene midpoint marker. [3/5]
‘Nothing To Be Done’ – Bursting into epic life-like trance the morning after the disco, the song seems to attempt to exult itself from a hangover in every which way. It’s a staring out to sea, sobered by the wind moment. [4.5/5]
‘It’s Today Again’ – A track that carries the hallmarks of lockdown, purveying the strange coexistence of drama and inertia that existed in that global stupor. A waltzing melody beautifully pitted with lines like, “There’s something great about life, but there’s something not quite right.” And how about that children’s choir—kids always just sing with feeling! [5/5]
‘Christinha’ – A lovely distant drum sound harks back to the record’s more hushed opening, while lyrical vignettes hark even further back to the very start of Bill’s discography. Meanwhile, the melody waxes and wanes between simple strumming and soaring strings, serving itself up as a patchwork of an artist. [4/5]
‘How Beautiful I Am’ – Almost demo-like in nature, the tactful production and specifics about Die Hard 2 make the song seem like reading a diary, but rather than a perturbing feeling, the prettiness of the melody comes across as empathetic sharing rather than prying. [3.5/5]
‘Thankfully For Anthony’ – A song of love and loss that manages to be earnest enough to bellow the line “I chose love” without sounding like something from a middle-class musical. Somehow, the meek topline melody dominates the cinematic scope beneath, demonstrating Ryder-Jones’ tremendous skill as an indie songwriter, composer, and producer. [4.5/5]
‘Nos Da’ – A lullaby coda that says goodbye with a hearty smile and a nod, holding more weight than the muted mobile sounds would imply, like the final farewell of Cinema Paradiso or a kiss in the doorway. [4/5]
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