David H Mcintrye

The introduction to the magical world of composer David Helpling. Original percussion samples, textural electric guitar and distinct keyboard melodies with rhythmic orchestrations, are all tastefully combined to define this superb work that ranges from driving and energetic passages to ambient and sublime atmospheres. This highly acclaimed debut release was nominated for the 1997 “Indie” album of the year.

Each one of Bohuslav Martinů’s (1890-1959) three cello sonatas belongs to a significant period or event in his life. Composed in May 1939, the first seems indelibly marked by the tension and anxiety which gripped Europe in the months before war broke out, though the composer was also going through a crisis in his personal life, having lately had an intense extramarital affair with Vítězslava Kaprálová, a young composer and conductor.

The years have only been kind to the album considered David Ackles' masterpiece when it was released. Ackles combined an early-'70s singer/songwriter sensibility with a theater music background that placed him as much in the tradition of Brecht-Weill and Jacques Brel as Bob Dylan. Not only are his songs fully realized, dramatic statements, but Ackles proves himself a warm, accomplished singer. When this album got no higher than #167 in the charts, Ackles' fans were heartbroken. Decades later, American Gothic remains one of those great albums that never found its audience. It waits to be rediscovered.

Ackles' self-titled debut LP introduced a singer/songwriter quirky even by the standards of Elektra records, possibly the most adventurous independent label of the 1960s. Ackles was a pretty anomalous artist of his time, with a low, grumbling voice that was uncommercial but expressive, and similar to Randy Newman's. As a composer, Ackles bore some similarities to Newman, as well in his downbeat eccentricity and mixture of elements from pop, folk, and theatrical music. All the same, this impressive maiden outing stands on its own, though comparisons to Brecht/Weill (in the songwriting and occasional circus-like tunes) and Tim Buckley (in the arrangements and phrasing) hold to some degree too. This is certainly his most rock-oriented record, courtesy of the typically tasteful, imaginative Elektra arrangements, particularly with Michael Fonfara's celestial organ and the ethereal guitar riffs (which, again, recall those heard on Buckley's early albums).

The late songwriter David Ackles used his third album to further separate himself from the California tunesmith Cosa Nostra. Ackles was always a horse of a different color anyway. While comparisons to Randy Newman are natural and, in places even valid, they fall short of the mark. Ackles' music is much darker, already deeply entrenched in the American Gothic his fourth album would be named after. While the post-Tin Pan Alley stylings of Newman are evident here, Ackles' inspiration is in the original texts and not his Cali counterparts. Other sides of Ackles come from John Stewart and the folk revival, and no less than Scott Walker's early work and Jacques Brel. Subway to the Country portends itself a rootsier record, but it is rooted only in the tradition of American song itself. From the bleak vaudevillian cabaret of "Main Street Saloon" to the shimmering string arrangements and chamber textures in "That's No Reason to Cry" to the surreal muted winds and brass in "Woman River," Ackles is like a Western Kurt Weill. His knowledge of song form and nuance is encyclopedic, and his command over his singing voice is total. He can rumble smooth, swinging blues in the lower register as he does on the latter track, or shift it into loopy swirls and theatrical splashes as he does on "Inmates of the Institution."