An introduction
Music reviewers, whether professional or amateur, often fall into the trap of allowing marketing to speak for a record. As such, I have increasingly found that my reviews open with a paragraph that places the record into its context, referring to the musicians involved (and their storied pasts), and the experience of the producer. These are valid points to make and, more often than not, they may be the difference between someone choosing to pick up a record or to let it pass them by.
However, such an approach can also obscure the essence of a record. Instead of thinking about the one most important element – the music – we find ourselves bogged down in irrelevance. The fact that the producer worked on a masterpiece in the past is no guarantee of success in the present, and the same can be said of any musician. What matters is right in front of us. It is the connection we form with the music at the very instant we hear it, and it is the continued connection that we maintain as we listen over and over again.
Which, somewhat rambling introduction, brings me to the music of Benmont Tench. Since first playing the record about a week ago, I have found myself returning time and time again, always finding some new meaning along the way. As such, I wanted to start this review differently – following the music and not the minutiae although, for those that want it, my original (and less emotionally charged opening) can be found at the end.
The Melancholy Season
It starts with the album cover. An elegant depiction of twilight (painted by legendary Neo-romantic artist Harald Oscar Sohlberg), such is the sympathy between the art and the music that it could have been pained specifically for the album, and it perfectly reflects the music within. From subtle, heartfelt Americana to earthen country, via some surprisingly sprightly blues, The Melancholy Season is one of those albums that leads you by the hand through the darkest hours, whispering words of comfort and allowing you to draw strength from shared experience. It’s beautifully recorded too, so much so that you can hear the very essence of the band, with the resonance of instruments clearly audible even when they’re not being played. At a time when most producers tend to silence anything and everything not directly relevant to the song, it’s a revelation that brings the music to life in a very real and intimate way.
The first side opens with the quiet, piano-led title track. A beautiful piece, it showcases Benmont’s wonderfully seasoned voice – part latter-day Iggy Pop baritone, part Johnny Cash growl – and it builds slowly, with percussion, guitars and, at last, the richly textured sound of the Hammond organ all making an appearance. It’s followed by the up-tempo Pledge, an initially snappy little number that find Jonathan’s brisk percussion echoing the ticking of the clock alluded to in the lyrics. With Jenny O adding snatches of guitar and backing vocals, it’s a tightly wound track that keeps the listener guessing as it twists and turns across its runtime, its latter half adopting a rather more introspective tone as Benmont sings “there’s nothing without, everything’s within” over and over.
Next up, the delightful Rattle finds Benmont in the mood to cut loose, as he leads his band into a surprisingly toe-tapping blues rocker that evokes carefully oiled parquet floors and snappily dressed teens twisting the night away. A simple delight, it neatly dispels the charged atmosphere of its predecessor with an easy charm. Waltzing into view, the slinky Not Enough finds Benmont cramming syllables into a chorus that demands “I want to know, want to know, want to know why love is not enough” as the piano swells and swells beneath. These two songs bring a sense of urgency to the first side, and they’re delivered with panache by the band.
The pace slows once more for the heartfelt If She Knew, which aches with the regret of things left unsaid. Understated and all the more beautiful for it, it takes bravery to be this vulnerable on record, and it’s moments such as this that mean the most, because they speak so closely to something that we have all experienced, yet rarely discuss. The side concludes with the stunning epic I Will Not Follow You Down, which emerges from a funereal beat to find solace amidst the mellifluous melodic interplay between guitar and piano. Yet this is only the beginning for this slow burning wonder, and it builds to some glorious guitar mangling, courtesy of Jenny O. Reminiscent of Sleeps With Angels-era Neil Young, it’s a genuine masterpiece that takes you wholly unawares, to the extent that you’ll find yourself catching your breath as arcing feedback sparks and burns amidst the wreckage.
Opening side two is one of the album’s most beautiful songs. A gentle shuffle, Under The Starlight allows Benmont’s voice to shine as Sebastian, Taylor, and Jonathan weave a gossamer fine melody around him, and the resulting track sounds like a lullaby, soothing the listener after a long and restless day. Recorded with disarming honesty, turn it up loud and you’ll hear the rattle of the snare during the opening bars, making you feel like you’re there in the room with the band. Next up, we get the Dylan-meets-Pink Floyd blues of Back, complete with Jonathan Wilson’s liquid lead, Taylor Goldsmith’s crazily distorted static guitar, and sweet backing vocals from Jenny.
In contrast, the countrified Like Crystal heads back to the dusty world of Johnny Cash, with probing bass adding depth to an otherwise stripped-down arrangement. The slow, lovelorn Wobbles is a wonderfully idiosyncratic love letter, with Benmont’s keen eye capturing a truly human moment that most would miss: “that’s the time when I first saw her, my darlin, she was wobbling down esplanade”. Where rock music so often opts for the obvious, it’s the little details that matter, and Benmont captures something truly magical here.
It’s followed by a calmer ballad – You, Again – which is built around a subtle, rippling piano line reminiscent of Neil Young’s early solo sets – while the lyrics carry a sting in the tale that speaks of heartbreak and loss. With the album wending its way to its end, the evocative The Drivin’ Man allows the pace to pick up a little, with a somnolent beat and earthen atmosphere before Benmont wraps things up with Dallas – “a damn good town to leave”. A finger picked little ditty that, once again, feels as if it’s being played in your living room thanks to the wonderfully sensitive production, it gently draws the curtain down on this remarkable set.
Over the course of this review I have tried to capture some sense of what this album means to me. It’s one of those rare pieces of work that genuinely feels like it is communicating something uniquely personal to the listener – something that comes not only from the song writing, but also the performances, the interplay between the band members, and the disarmingly naturalistic production. In short, every element aligned for The Melancholy Season and the result is a record that defies categories or spurious genre alignments. It simply is great music played with heart and soul by talented musicians and, for that alone, we should be grateful. 10/10
Original introduction
A world-famous session musician and founding member of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, keyboardist Benmont Tench has featured on an astounding array of albums, including efforts by Green Day, Stevie Nicks, Ringo Starr, The Rolling Stones, Don Henley, Screaming Trees, Bob Dylan, and Neil Diamond. Recently ranked as the third greatest keyboardist of all time by The Daily Telegraph, Tench has only rarely stepped out as a solo artist, with The Melancholy Season being only his second such effort (following on from 2014’s You Should Be So Lucky).
For his first solo record in over a decade, Benmont headed into the studio with Jonathan Wilson (Father John Misty, Margo Price, Billy Strings), recruiting Taylor Goldsmith (guitars), Sara Watkins (vocal harmonies), Jenny O (vocals, guitar), and Sebastian Steinberg (bass), along the way. It’s an impressive cast and, together, they have made a wonderful album.
The Package
Beautifully housed in a gatefold sleeve, with photos and credits in the centre, the sleeve also bears a promotional sticker with the Dark Horse logo and album details printed on it. The disc itself comes in a printed inner that features the complete lyrics. The platter itself is pressed on solid, 180 grm black vinyl, and sounds absolutely pristine when placed on the turntable for the first time. Alongside the standard edition, fans can also opt for a rather lovely translucent blue edition, or CD while, additionally, both the black vinyl and the CD can be ordered with a signed print. All in all, this is a fabulous edition of a very special record.
