Having already paid his dues the old-fashioned way through busking on the streets of Canada, the UK and Ireland and playing the Folk Festival circuit in the US and his native Canada, ALISTAIR CHRISTL has been carving out a niche for himself in the increasingly crowded roots-rock scene and more than shows why he's deserving of our respect with his debut album, 'Unmarked Grave.'
Backed by his ace combo The Swingin' Chandeliers, Christl's music plugs itself right into the heart of '50s rock'n'roll, country and rockabilly and calls up a mighty roots-y thunder. Christl himself packs a mean '63 hollow body Gibson, while his hugely capable compadres Connie Nowe (drums), bassist Rachel Melas and producer/ pedal steel maestro extraordinaire Stew Crookes help him realise his vision with consummate skill.
The album immediately starts topplin' tombstones with the full-blooded, Gun Club-style hollerin' of the title track. It's real race-with-the-devil, firewater-spittin' stuff with the Doug Sahm-ish fairground organ and boogie woogie piano going head to head with Christl's magnficient, Chet Atkins via John Fogerty guitar solo. Hot damn and then some, basically.
It's not the only time the band pull out all the stops either, for later they proceed to rev through a great, breakneck Creedence-style rendition of Chuck Berry's 'Maybelline' and follow it up with 'Fool Of Me': a real wired screamer, full of twisted tension and domestic disharmony where Alistair ain't gonna take his woman playing around no more and spills his pent up aggression out in the wonderful, controlled psychosis of his guitar solo.
Rocked-up aggression, though, is by no means the only order of the day. Their masterful cover of the Hank Williams staple 'Ramblin' Man' inserts a two-step, N'Awlins funeral beat and ghostly whirring organs. It's a wonderfully dark'n'moonlit version, though not half as eerie as their brooding take of the Trad. Arr 'Two Ravens' which is all shadows, Macbeth and tolling bells and finds Christl gives it his best Appalachian preacher, repeatedly mourning "the wind shall blow forever more!" through the mist. It's creepy and clammy and just possibly the very best thing here, though it's up against some seriously stiff competition.
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Elsewhere, the band's country and bluegrass pedigree makes its' presence felt in fine, authentic style. On 'Never Got Her Number', the rhythm section bring a joyful Cajun swing to the party as Christl's guitar and Stew Crookes' circle each other beautifully, while the banjo, hillbilly vocal and Peter Jellard's sterling fiddle bring more than a touch or two of Bill Monroe to bear on 'Going Out Tonight' and the honky-tonk delights of 'Love Don't Add Up' could almost be a slightly heavier Handsome Family.
All are fantastically well-executed, but the versatility serves them well to the end with both 'Will He Get The Girl?' and the closing 'If You Think I'm Lonely'. Pound for pound, the former comes close to matching Elvis Costello's 'I Want You' for barely suppressed obsessive power, whilst the lo-fi, home-recorded '...Lonely' sounds like it's being beamed back to us through the surf-y swarf of an old 1950s radio. It's lovely, dreamy and distant and a great way to sign off.
In a world where the Americana floodgates haven't so much opened but been torn off forever by the seemingly endless battalions of roots-rock pretenders, it's becoming harder to sort the wheat from the cowboy-booted chaff. It's still possible to detect the real, authentic roots deal on rare occasions, though, and Alistair Christl's 'Unmarked Grave' marks the spot to one of these. Let's hope he's good for a few more like this before he jumps in.
(www.myspace.com/alistairchristl)
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