Richard Dawson & Circle - Henki

PLANT LIFE ENDURING AN APOCALYPTIC WRATH

Only Richard Dawson could make an Art Rock album about some plants. No, seriously, every song off Henki unfurls a story connected - either directly or tenuously so - to a species of plant that's played an important role in the tales of mythological characters ('Ivy'), Dawson's own relatives ('Lily'), or even in the case of 'Methuselah,' other plants. With Finnish Krautrock savants Circle backing his every deranged move, Dawson's storytelling exposé on innocuous plant life is brilliant, beaming, and utterly original.

Truth be told, after the first couple listens I hadn't a clue as to what Henki was actually about. This, due in part to Dawson's notoriously thick, cod Geordie accent, helped not by his scholar-like drabble pulling words typically reserved for the dictionary into his vernacular. But, realistically, it was the raucous performances - both verbally and sonically - that swung my attention away from the mundane. The duality of historical stodginess with riveting composition is fascinating, and something that's defined Dawson's career. But thanks to Circle, both sides have reached an extreme on Henki. There's elements of propulsive Klezmer on tracks like 'Methuselah' and 'Pitcher,' which fly with gusto like a runaway freight train. And the Progressive Rock facets, similar in scope and judiciousness to Genesis, tantalize through moving pastures and unexpected detours.

From start to finish, Henki is a blast of energy. Sans, ironically, the best track; 'Silene.' Set dead center, clearly on purpose, the biography of the plant's origin finds an astonishingly-psychedelic groove of budding patterns and expanding kaleidoscopes that soothes rather than stirs. But let's be honest, the industrious moments elsewhere - be it 'Ivy's' assailant verses, 'Lily's' piercing chorus, or 'Pitcher's' monolithic coda - all excel with striking magnificence. I can only laugh at the idea of a Metalhead, devoured in delirium whilst listening to 'Methuselah's' towering guitar solos and precarious transitions, knowing full well the lyrical content explains, in needless detail, the chopping down of a tree by amateur geography student Donald Currey. The contradiction is where Richard Dawson thrives, and Henki is an exemplary example of that.