Iechyd Da

About

In April 2023, Bill Ryder-Jones was playing the second of two acoustic shows in the compact theater space at East London’s Hoxton Hall. Halfway through, he asked the crowd of a couple of hundred if they had any request. Song titles were volleyed back at him but no one bid for “Daniel,” despite it being one of his most popular song. From 2016’s <i>West Kirby County Primary</i> album, it describes how Ryder-Jones and his family became unmoored by the loss of his older brother, aged just nine, during a family holiday in 1991. Tonight in that intimate room, it felt too invasive to ask for, perhap, too searing a flame of grief and trauma to stand so close to. Neverthele, Ryder-Jones played “Daniel” later in the show, his audience listening in damp-eyed stillne. As the song finished and applause erupted, Ryder-Jones gently raised his fist in salute and said thank you. Alongside the new songs he played that night, that moment offered a clue to where the former The Coral guitarist is on this fifth solo album, released nine months later. He’s still contending with difficult times and regret, creating beautiful music in the gloaming, but he’s also pulling out moments of strength, gratitude, and hope. As a solo artist, Ryder-Jones has proved satisfyingly restle, ricocheting from orchestral instrumentals (2011’s <i>If…</i>) and wistful bedroom folk (<i>A Bad Wind Blows in My Heart</i>, 2013) to the unkempt alt-rock of <i>West Kirby…</i> and the glacially paced sorrow of 2018’s <i>Yawn</i>. He’s been softly dismissive of those final two, despite their excellence, stating that he’s always been striving to match <i>A Bad Wind…</i>. <i>Iechyd Da</i> achieves this and more by returning to that album’s delicacy and melody and decorating them with magnetic layers of sound—including children’s choir, disco sample, and fellow Scouse singer-songwriter Michael Head reading from <i>Ulysses</i>. The songs were written in lockdown, a difficult period for anyone—not least those like Ryder-Jones who live with depression and anxiety. It was also a time in his life when a relatively new relationship grew and then withered, and a prescribed course of Valium slipped into dependency. So there’s understandable vulnerability and self-doubt here. “While I’m too much, I’ll never be enough for you, I know,” he concedes on opener “I Know That It’s Like This (Baby).” Despair reaches its depths on lead single “This Can’t Go On.” Its blend of disoriented fragility and night-sky expanse recalls Mercury Rev’s <i>Deserter’s Songs</i> as Ryder-Jones walks his coastal town of West Kirby after dark, listening to Echo & The Bunnymen and yearning for something more, something different, something everyday—kid, companionship, a driving license. In these intimate song, it’s the little things—biographical detail, nuggets of sound—that pull you in. “I keep the good times closer than the bad/Running your baths before <i>American Dad</i>,” he tells a departed lover on “Christinha.” A sample of Brazilian tropicália pioneer Gal Costa’s “Baby” floats through “I Know That It’s Like This (Baby)” like a ghost from better time. And it’s flooring to hear Ryder-Jones’ brittle whisper crumble to a sigh at the final syllable of “Oh, how I loved you” on “A Bad Wind Blows in My Heart Pt. 3.” .

via Apple Music

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