You've got to admire a man whose ideal for his new album is "a cross between Planxty and Can", which is how JAMES YORKSTON described his aspirations for his second album for this writer's benefit.
In truth though, while the Krautrock likes of Faust and folk figures such as Anne Briggs were omnipresent on The Athletes' collective stereo while they fashioned "Just Beyond The River" at North Wales's Bryn Derwen studio retreat, the album's overall sound is really the logical extension of the affectingly organic acoustic textures the band utilised so beautifully on 2002's stunning "Moving Up Country."
So who's complaining, basically? Actually, if anything, the intimacy of the debut album is intensified throughout this follow-up. The gentle strum of opener "Heron" is a yardstick most of the following adheres to. Vocally, it's close-miked and slightly frail, but defiant in spirit and when The Athletes make a subtle entrance, it swells with warmth and charm.
This is roughly the blueprint for much of the album, though Yorkston and co are ceaselessly inventive with their subtle, naturally folksy palette of colours, and their ability to introduce crucial new elements in key places ensures the songs here really come alive. If you want examples, try "Hotel", where the guitar and banjo trade off beautifully (recalling Michael Chapman in tandem with Rick Kemp) and "Banjo #1" where (you guessed it) the duelling banjos come across as a windswept Celtic twist on 16 Horsepower's fire-breathing evangelical invective.
Lyrically, Yorkston gets better and better too. The likes of Martin Carthy and Richard Thompson may spring to mind, but his way with a finely-spun intro line or two also rivals the best established pop writers like Costello or Chris Difford. If you don't believe me, try the gorgeously melancholic "Surf Song" ("We found a quiet corner and a quick half hour") or - even better - "Hermitage", where a numbed out Yorkston ventures off with: "We took a walk, you had your choice, I was just one of many others" before Doogie Paul's double bass looms in like a bird of prey. Scintillating stuff and then some.
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The Athletes also plumb the depths of the forgotten folk well for a couple of choice covers. "Edward" has ancient origins, possibly Irish or Scottish and came to Yorkston via Appalachian folk singer Jean Ritchie, but the band's spare treatment only accentuates the ominous content, as Yorkston repeats lines like "How came the blood on your shirt sleeve, oh dear love tell me me me?". One only hopes Nick Cave is taking notes.
The album closes with "The Snow Melts The Soonest", the second cover, and this time a tune learnt via Anne Briggs, Eliza Carthy and Dick Gaughan. Arguably your reviewer's favourite track, it finds The Athletes at full pelt for only the second time on the record (the other being the wild, West Cork folklore-fuelled sea shanty "Shipwreckers") and transforming the subject material into a hypnotic, Velvet Underground-go-Cambridge-folk-festival stunner. Like "I Know My Love" on the debut, it's some way to sign off.
While there is undeniably a rustic, folksy charm to James Yorkston's music, the man himself will rightly tell you the idea of himself as the face of nu-folk is a load of spurious old bollocks. But then a rising profile always comes at a price, and if his Athletes can sustain the form they show on "Just Beyond The River", they'll all have to start getting used to the attention.
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