Too many folk artists, for want of a better word, head for the extremes of the genre when trying to make music that they think will get them noticed. Either we find them in the realm of tradition and familiarity, conforming to rules that seem to have been laid down generations ago, or they think that they have to completely reinvent the sound by blending it with indie textures or pop tones, or completely deconstructing it altogether. And any of those paths are totally valid; it means that they often overlook a more obvious middle path, the path that Tom Hartman takes here.
‘Storm’ sounds like neither someone adhering much to the sounds of the past nor someone inventing one for the future, but a song that says this is where folk music is today. This is less the approach to music-making being altered than perhaps different tools of the trade being used, sounds and studio techniques merely moving naturally with the times.
Between the Dylan-esque harmonica and The Waterboys’ sense of grandeur, the Richard Thompson blend of sound tradition and sonic adventure, and a no-small tribal vibe beating and booming through it, it brings so many different strands together brilliantly.
Through it all, the instrumentation echoes the sound of the titular storm, both in actuality and as a reflection of its metaphorical turmoil it alludes to; bass lines churn on the tides, drums crash against sea defences, spirits howl on the winds, and salt-soaked guitars ebb and flow, crash, and cascade. And like Phlebas, the Phoenician sailor in T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, we are dragged under into the depths, sinking slowly down.
A gorgeous and grand piece of modern folk music; it’s that simple.
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