On The Cobbles

Like The Artist We Are Once Again Allowed To Call Prince, John Martyn is a musician in competition with his own back catalogue.
Songs like ‘May You Never’ and ‘I Don’t Want To Know’ from Martyn’s seminal 1973 work Solid Air have the capacity to make the hairs not just stand up at the back of your neck, but head off for a bit of a jive, too. These tracks are awesomely funky, gloriously mellifluous and engagingly warm. Nothing the Surrey-born, Glasgow-raised artist has done since has quite lived up to their ultra-high standard. And yet still, as with Prince, the party faithful watches and waits, hopeful that 22 albums into his career, Martyn will craft some truly memorable tunes again.
That said, this opus round, you could hardly blame the man if the songs were of a more sombre bent. In 2003, Martyn contracted an infection that resulted in the amputation of part of his leg. (This record is actually dedicated to the orthopaedic staff at Waterford Hospital.) You could imagine Radiohead wringing ten albums out of an event like this. Martyn, however, prefers to keep the vibe mellow rather than miserablist.
The swinging ‘Baby Come Home’ kicks off On The Cobbles in style and Martyn’s crooner-like vocals are showcased to brilliantly funky effect on the standout track ‘Cobbles’. Martyn’s friends have also come out to play – Paul Weller guests on the sweet ‘Under My Wing’ and Mavis Staples duets with Martyn on his nice-but-not-terribly interesting cover of Leadbelly’s ‘Goodnight Irene’.
But let’s get back to the million-dollar question – are there tunes on this album? Well, there are a few, but not half enough. The musicianship is stellar, the arrangements are gorgeous, but the substance is somewhat lacking. Truth be told, once this review is done and dusted, your correspondent has a suspicion that On The Cobbles will be put back into its CD case in favour of yet another listen to Solid Air.
This may be the new shit. But I kinda prefer the old.