
Unthank: Smith – ‘Nowhere and Everywhere’ album review: A tediously traditional folk offering
Unthank: Smith’s debut album Nowhere and Everywhere is so steeped in tradition that the vinyl arrived dusty. This folk offering from Rachel Unthank (The Unthanks) and Paul Smith (Maximo Park) is the height of authenticity. It whisks you right back to the days of bonny lads and lasses singing songs of selkie mythology. And there are many moments when you wish it wouldn’t.
In times of old, repetition in folk music was born of necessity—without recording equipment. It was a way of making a tune remain memorable. But now that we have recording equipment, we managed to crack the sonic art not all that recently. So there comes a point midway through hearing an acapella chant of “where has the been, my canny hinny,” over and over, where the whole enterprise proves oddly angering. The purpose of this painful pastiche must be pondered.
As that pondering commences, it also comes to the fore that Smith and Unthank slip in and out of harmony like a sitcom couple. Given the limited instrumentation, this minor clash is made all the more apparent. However, when the textured background waltzes in, the sense of atmosphere created by the creaking tones does prove somewhat beguiling.
The North East is apparently the muse for the album, but it’s a North East of old, and not in the Red House sense, more akin to a long-forgotten mystic fantasy, a sword dancer’s wet dream of the windswept past. But the region is a few thousand Viz issues beyond that now, crafting new lore, and while the past should not be forgotten, if you’re going to offer up a tweed-clad appropriation of it, then perhaps it shouldn’t be so tediously maudlin.
Alongside the well-crafted instrumentation, imagery is the second strong point of Nowhere and Everywhere. The performers do, indeed, achieve what they set out to, in all fairness. In 1780, this mystic wonder would’ve whisked the minds of many wayfaring souls back to the coast of South Shields with its glossy-eyed facsimile. And no doubt today, it will momentarily transfigure the weary thoughts of a traveller watching the chaotic sight of a cable thief at Chichester Metro Station, blessing them with a peaceful and mawkish cartoon from local history.
In this regard, Nowhere and Everywhere is the sort of album that simply has to be ‘your sort of thing’. However, if you prefer things like excitement and melody, then it might leave you wanting. Worse still, you might end up fleeing your beloved northern hometown to relocate somewhere where the folk music is fittingly fun, like Brazil or the odd independent sovereignty of Blyth.
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