The Bishop of Buffalo

REV HAMMER: “The Bishop of Buffalo” (Cooking Vinyl)

WITH A good line in melodic, well-structured tunes, Rev Hammer comes across as a particularly croaky Bruce Springsteen before The Boss discovered synthesisers. Blessed with a voice which isn’t particularly outstanding, Rev can nonetheless squeeze every ounce of grizzled emotion out, firing his music with a rawness not found in the airbrushed “grunge” of the Pearl Jams and their ilk. This is an unstudied roughness which has more to do with authenticity, but sincere authenticity.

And it’s this genuineness that results in some frightfully right-on lyrics – check ‘Tranquillity of Solitude’: “Well it’s easier to find peace than to find justice.” Out of the mouth of some supreme pop ironist like Neil Tennant or Kingmaker, we could sneer knowingly, but it’s Rev, and I don’t think he’s kidding.

Rev Hammer has the ability to hoodwink one into taking a position on his music. Much as one wants to throw him into the box marked ‘Dodgy Lyrics’ after hearing the mawkish love poetry of ‘Every Step of the Way’, he turns and delivers “Well slow down, my sweet Juliet, there’s a world of indifference, but you haven’t got to it yet” on ‘The Lamb’. His lyrical ability fuses with one of the many examples of solid composition and arrangement on the contented pathos of ‘Drunkard’s Waltz’, a charming paean to lost happiness with such imagery as “like Venus in April with mud on her knees.”

Technically, the tracks are sturdily put together and delivered with all the confident competence one would expect of “real musicians.” One gets the feeling that it is Rev’s own leaden earnestness that results in the refusal of some of the tracks to rise above the careful arrangements and soar! There’s a bubbling undercurrent of untapped energy left unexplored on most of the album, the nearest they get to letting loose is on the cliché-ridden ‘Shanty’, a mishmash of guitar posturing and throaty, guttural yeahs. For a moment it sounded like a bunch of grown-ups revelling in the chance of playing air geetar in front of the mirror, yelling “I wanna be Bob Dylan!” then Rev growls out an extract from ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’ and things romp merrily downhill. Sounds like it was fun though – for them.

Rev usually slips most comfortably into the territory of Marlboro Man imagery, all Western sunsets and moody thoughtfulness. But it’s an inviting scenario, conjuring up a nostalgic glow from some healthy campfire and a wish for some simple pleasures to curl up one’s collar against the world.

This evocative style shines through on ‘Ellan Vannin’, where Rev is “looking out on Port Erin,” dreaming of “the prettiest lady I’ve ever seen.” This is his forte; ordinary man sentiment coupled with straightforward melodies. Don’t expect Rev Hammer to be at the forefront of the next sub-genre in the history of music, not that that’s a problem if one can produce the competent goods evident here.

Where a problem is evident, for example on the lacklustre ballad ‘Every Step Of The Way’, it seems to be a case of trying too hard. What almost saves him is his rawness and his authentically clumsy lyrics – “down through the red tape and the rocks, yeah, every step of the way” – this tentative schoolboy feel outdoes in charm any glossy epic from the Michael Bolton school of uneventfulness.

Rev gives his thanks on the sleeve to none other than the Top 40’s favourite crusties, The Levellers, and given his penchant for sub-anthemic banner wavers and a Back To Basics policy to rival your average Tory government, it seems he has something to thank them for. Unfortunately it seems unlikely that he will be joining them on the set of Top of the Pops, but somehow I think all that bright neon would be most unwelcome.

• Enda Guinan