Abominable Snowcone
COLIN HAY
Gathering Mercury
2011, Compass Records
Colin Hay’s gruff tenor is known to millions as the voice of multiplatinum Aussie pop-rockers Men at Work (“Down Under,” “Who Can It Be Now?”). But only diehard fans are aware Hay was born in Scotland—and that the creativity and grandeur of his solo output eclipses his work from the early 80s. Indeed, the material on Going Somewhere, Company of Strangers, and Transcendental Highway is the stuff the Grammys were made for. Yet the man-at-work remains overlooked, notwithstanding the occasional movie soundtrack (Morning Glory, Garden State) and television cameo (Scrubs).
Hay did spend a fair amount of time in Australia (later moving to Topanga, California), gigging in pubs with the band that would break through with Business As Usual—but his Scottish sensibilities have always informed his rootsy, acoustic-based songwriting. His latest Compass Records release, Gathering Mercury, is no different—another musical kaleidoscope channeling bluegrass strings, Americana chord progressions, and Latino beats. Some of the fuzzy lead guitar work recalls that of George Harrison in his Abby Road days (think “Octopus’ Garden”).
“Hello to who I’m talkin’ to,” Hay welcomes the listener on opener “Send Somebody,” which showcases the tenor’s range—and stands with the best of his pop-rockers.
The loss of Hay’s father shaped some of the material on the brilliant 2009 disc, American Sunshine (“There’s Water Over You”). Hay’s meditation continues with Mercury—and those caught off-guard will find its centerpiece, the plaintive “Dear Father,” an absolute tearjerker. Sure, it’s a little sad—but the ballad is homage, a celebration of the bond between father and son, as well as an acknowledgement that paternal love can exist even when the male head-of-house is something of a curmudgeon. Just because Dad looks so serious in all those old photographs doesn’t mean he never smiled or laughed. It takes time to properly mourn a loved one who’s passed away. For some, there’s no such thing as a full recovery; reconciliation of grief becomes a lifelong process. Here, that emotional exercise is recreated by Hay’s 12-string gryphon guitar, Oliver Kraus’ string arrangement (cello and viola), and Chad Fischer’s mellotron.
“Family Man” is a more general overview of fathers—in particular, European men uprooted by World War II in the 1930-40s, whose families vacationed at the then-new Butlin’s holiday resorts. Luis Conte decorates “Half a Million Angels” with his imitable percussion. The track also benefits from Jeff Babko’s tinkling ivories—and backing vocals from Hay’s wife, Cecilia Noel (who guests on a couple other tracks as well).
Colin gets calypso on “Far From Home,” a catchy traveling song that’ll appease fans who loved “It’s a Mistake” and “Don’t Be Afraid.” Hay’s crunchy, wet rhythm chords establish an island pace (even though the setting is Highway 92) while Joe Karnes (bass) and Randy Cooke (drums) cook up the reggae-pop rhythm. Hay tries his hand at lap steel and banjo on “Where the Sky Is Blue,” a swamp-country cut whose lyrics reference Glasgow but whose styling suggests the Big Easy.
“One day we’re here and then we’re gone,” Hay ponders while plucking mandola on “Simple Song.” Mercury’s penultimate track—and the last with words—is a lighthearted look at mortality and fitting bookend for the record. “Goodnight Romeo” is a gem of a steel-string guitar instrumental with an ambient assist from the harmonium department. It’s a shimmering, dreamy denouement.
The CD version of Mercury includes four bonus tracks—unplugged editions of “Send Somebody,” “Invisible,” “Where the Sky is Blue,” and “Half a Million Angels.” It’s always a treat listening to these stripped-down mixes; one hears where Hay was coming from before the drums or ornamental keys and horns came on board (not that their presence detracts from the “proper” versions).
Hay’s current road trip will keep him busy through September; the dates are posted on his website (see below). Those unfamiliar with his solo canon are encouraged to attend one of Hay’s live shows; he’s a stellar singer-guitarist, and his between-song banter gives today’s top comics a run for their vegemite sandwich. The man owns the small stage, the intimate environs where the sparse lighting accentuates the lines in his well-traveled, ruggedly handsome face. Watching Hay perform, one gets the sense he’s an old family friend (perhaps an itinerant uncle) come home for respite—yet ready to regale you with some sweet musical storytelling. 3.5 out of 5 Fists.