First, let’s talk about the packaging. The CD comes not in a regular plastic case, card sleeve or digipak, but a tin. A chunky, metal tin. It’s quite weighty. It has three hinges, and is well constructed. It has a circular window, like a porthole through which a pattern-weave rug is visible, and a depiction of a spread deck of tarot cards is in view. It’s certainly one way to lure the listener. And there’s more: said tin in lined with a picture inlay, which is visible through the clear plastic liner tray that holds the actual disc in place. The tin also contains a CD booklet, that includes visuals and the album’s complete lyrics. Ok, that’s pretty standard, and is about as ordinary as it gets.
The album’s title is ‘Shuffle’, and while the concept is broadly that Lindley’s stylistically diverse musical journey is akin to having your iPod on shuffle, it works on another level in that there’s a tarot theme running through the artwork. You never know what hand fate’s going to deal, right? Or which personalised tarot card is going to be included in your package. Mine is an VIII, with a stack of cups on it, and a guy in a red cape walking away to the mountains under a sleepy-looking sun. That would be the eight of cups, then, which some brief research reveals ‘evokes an immediate reaction of sadness and a sense of solitude.’ Thanks Steven for personalising my sadness and solitude.
Finally, all of this is encased in an ornate and heavy stock card slip-case, which bears the same design as the booklet. Then there’s the press release. Not a crumpled sheet of photocopied A4, but a full colour print, and laminated. The CD, in a cellophane wrap, is attached to it with three strips of clear double-sided tape. Presentation matters. And this is more than just a little impressive, but it does mean Mr Lindley has his work cut out to deliver music that fulfils the expectations built up by everything that accompanies it.
Does he succeed? Well, he comes close, at least at times. The vision is certainly there. And to begin, the woozy, warping synth and Lindley’s soaring baritone hints at Scott Walker, Jacques Brel… then it bursts into cinematic drama and if it seems a shade overblown, then surely it seems more appropriate than to play conservatively.
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‘Bueonos Nochos’ sweeps into Latin Big Band swing with a proggy jazz vibe. Its ambition and sense of drama prevents it from being an awful mess. ‘Billy Ruffian’ sees Lindley adopt a jaunty troubadour style to deliver a folk narrative of Spanish galleons, and he’s off on countless flights of musical and lyrical fantasy that can a times be quite bewildering.
Lindley’s leanings towards clever cleverness teeters into the cringesome on ‘Resolution Time’, which sounds as though it could be parodic, but I fear isn’t. The lyrics are clumsy and pretentious-sounding, the delivery lacklustre. ‘’Wrapped up in faith ‘gainst those who sneer and now dondemn / But the time is coming when we’ll build a new Jerusalem... With No booze – no bets – no cigarette / Less food – and sex – staying circumsspect...’ he croons against a rather standard acoustic plod, although the swirling synths add some depth of atmosphere. After the swooning effusions of ‘Sentimental Lover’, Lindley springs a surprise with an energetic dance beat as he careens down a very different path on ‘dharma Rama’, an expansive transcendental exploration of Eastern exotica.
The laid back ragtime blues skiffle of ‘Travelling Light’ certainly makes for a contrasting conclusion to the album, and it arrives a surprise. But Lindley proves himself to be a pretty adept bluesman, with a fluency that’s hard to deny and he ably demonstrates his versatility as a musician.
Chance, fate, the rolling of the dice and the stacking of the deck are what this album is all about, and Lindley himself has dealt the listener a curious hand full of curious moments ripe for the laying on of mixed metaphors. To play or to fold, that is the question...
Shuffle Online
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