- Amplifier

'Bob Collum is so traditional in his use of country and western idioms that you almost expect the weeping slide guitar to be punctuated by somebody tossing a bar stool through the nearest saloon window'

Some years back, Collum swapped Tulsa for Basildon, now, backed by bassist Dan Wilkinson and drummer Paul Quarry, he heads one of the UK's leading Americana outfits. This is his fourth album, the second with the current band, with guest musicians BJ Cole on steel and Grand Drive's Julian Wilson on organ. There's no attempt to rewrite the rule book, just a set of reliable roots country songs, generally to do with busted or blossoming relationships, packed with melodic hooks, ringing guitars and lived in vocals designed to be heard with a cold beer in your fist.

Collum, now firmly ensconced on these shores, continues his exploration of Americana songwriting. He is a bit of a generic shape shifter cloaking himself in the various guises of Americana songwriting and crafting another enjoyable set. From brittle warm country-tinged pop of ‘Damaged One’, a velvet cloak of psych with some slide guitar for ‘Disco Jesus’, throwing off most accoutrements for the gentle acoustic mandolin folk of ‘Nevermore’ then picking up the guitars and turning them right up for the Green Pyjamasy power pop of Jennifer Jones. BJ Cole adds some steel to the title track and some gentle musical tears to the tender ‘Katie I Agree’. The title track alone is food enough for any Americana devotee and that he can follow it with 11 songs which aren’t just variants of the same template is testament to his abilities

One of the biggest problems with music as a whole, is that in order to cater for and to every single individual out there, every single musical avenue has been and is explored, which in turn gives rise to a million different genres and sub-genre’s which only serves to separate and divide the people who spend their days surrounded by the one thing that should be uniting them. These genre’s and sub-genre’s have become so important that people use them to identify and define their personalities, calling themselves punks, metal-head’s, indie-kids or whatever, naming themselves after a form of music. When you break it down, it’s crazy, being dependent on a genre of music to help define your personality, and what’s even crazier, is that I’m just as guilty of it as everyone else…Anyway, I;m sort of meandering, but the point I’m trying to make is this. Bob Collum is one of those increasingly rare musicians who doesn’t believe in, or place much stock in musical genre. Whilst ‘Set The Stupid Free’ may be firmly rooted in alt country in terms of sound, it manages to incorporate a solid pop sensibility, with pop melodies and hooks that’ll have you humming the chorus to each song before the record is halfway through. Imagine Willie Nelson playing Coldplay songs as only he could, and you’re sort of in the right ballpark sound-wise. Sort of. ‘Set The Stupid Free’ has been stuck in my car stereo for the last week, and it’s going to be staying there for a long time…

Loosely (and lazily) lumped in with a host of less engaging Americana bands, Collum's take on country rock is a slow-burning delight. Lyrically wry and off-beat, musically tight and traditional, Collum infuses the Southern-fried boogie of Lynyrd Skynyrd with real observational poise. The swampy strut of Disco Jesus is great, but Damaged One - which sounds like the Eagles covering a Teenage Fanclub song - is utter bliss. 7/10

Bob Collum and The Welfare Mothers Set the Stupid Free

Pop-rocked Americana with little deviation, Bob Collum's lyrics are surprisingly straightfaced given the name of this album. No matter. The words and instrumentation are well-done, and there’s such genuine feeling behind it, Collum never comes off as hokey. Lamenting and sweet, he gently presses his subjects into releasing truth juices in every track.

OKLAHOMA native Bob Collum has travelled all the way to Basildon to hitch his wagon to the burgeoning British alt-country scene. This, his second album since arriving on these shores, finds him harking back to his home with a finely honed collection of southern-fried country rock pitched largely somewhere between the Band and the Byrds, but taking in a whole host of influences along the way. The execution is tight, the lyrics wry and razor-sharp and the palette broad, encompassing crunchy power-pop on Jennifer Jones, jaunty blues on the traditional Well Runs Dry and delicate old-time balladeering on Nevermore and wistful closer Katie I Agree.

From Tulsa to Basildon is a mighty long way down rock and roll but Bob Collum has managed the transition successfully, retaining his country roots while giving them something of the sardonic spin beloved of English writers. Not only that, he's even strayed into the realms of pop, a genre he does remarkably well.

'Set The Stupid Free' starts off though, at the home plate with the title track, a slice of classic country, and follows on with the delightful Virginia Mystery, which has a chorus and groove to die for and sees Collum indulging himself with a  bit of tasteful rock guitar. 'Damaged One' sees the first emergence of Collum's power pop side, and is a track whose toe-tapping tune belies its dark and twisted tale of heartbreak and deceit. Sad side reaches apogee with Jennifer Jones, which is the Dave Clark 5 crossed with The Knack and a natural for a radio play or six. Elsewhere there is a drop or two of western swing and some honky-tonk, to name but two, and the general album vibe is one of simple, uncomplicated roll'n'roll.

But to view 'Set The Stupid Free' as just good time bar music wouldl be to sell it short. Collum is a lyricist of note, and can turn his hand to heartbreak, pain, love and loss with equal facility, all the time while displaying his penchant for the slightly skewed view of things. "Never saw a pair of open arms/ that couldn't wait to put me down" ('Brought Up Wrong') is worthy of Loudon Wainwright, and there are numerous other examples across the album. Overall, a welcome addition to the ranks of British (well, British-ish, given that the welfare mothers are English), country music.

‘hook-heavy, steel guitar-driven, rootsy power pop’

    

Think of Basildon's musical prowess and aside from the global colossus that is Depeche Mode, there's, er, not a lot that springs to mind really. Certainly nothing in the whiskey-soaked roots-rock vein anyway.

Yet, judging by the contents of BOB COLLUM & THE WELFARE MOTHERS' third album 'Set The Stupid Free', there's been a resistence movement gaining momentum in the wilds of darkest Essex after all. Even if their bespectacled frontman actually originates from Tulsa rather than Tulse Hill.

And, despite 'Set The Stupid Free"s rather flippant, self-effacing title, there's little goofy, jokey or throwaway about this rather fine collection of consistent, tune-happy roots-rockers played with skill and aplomb by a tight, compact trio of Collum (guitars, vocals), Dan Wilkinson (bass) and drummer Paul Quarry. Colour is lent in a few places by suitably well-respected UK roots alumni BJ Cole (pedal steel) and Julian Wilson (organ - Grand Drive), but mostly '...Stupid' is lively, harmony-laced stuff that's sure to go down a storm live.

If you need proof, proceed immediately to the opening slew of tunes. The title track leads off and is mid-paced and chiming with spangly guitars, Quarry's toms rolling lugubriously and Cole's liquid steel seeping beutifully into the cracks. This and the ensuing 'Virginia Mystery - where Wilson plays the Benmont Tench organ role to perfection - make no bones of The Welfare Mothers' inherent pop sensibility and make like Nick Lowe fronting The Bottle Rockets. Not a bad prognosis by anyone's exacting standards.

Elsewhere, the potent spectre of mid-period Creedence hovers over the proceedings like cypresses over a swamp, not least on tunes like 'Disco Jesus' (which would almost be off 'Green River') and the woozy stroll of 'Mean River', even if the latter's middle-8 is pure Free.   Still, who's complaining, especially when they get even deeper down and dirty on the Trad. Arr 'Well Runs Dry' where Collum's vocal is shadowed by a slitherin', fork-tongued slide guitar and the band play it laid back, nonchalent and dead-on.

Songs like these - and the edgy, premonition-heavy 'Cemetery Blues' - prove that The Welfare Mothers can brood with the best of them, but they can also switch to downhome and acoustic pretty damn seamlessly as the country canter of 'Damaged One' and the mandolin-assisted 'Nevermore' demonstrate with some potency. To ram the point home, they save a series of fine, country-folk tinged set pieces in reserve for the finale. A jaunty take of Peter Case's 'A Little Wind' ("it was rainin' alligators/ black snakes fell from the trees") is very much in keeping with the record's bayou-infested sound, while the full-on Buck Owens-style cruise of 'Brought Up Wrong' ("brought up wrong on the bad side of a one-horse town") and the contrite, country-boy confessional of 'Katie, I Agree' conspire to bring down the curtain on this beautifully-executed album with authenticity to spare.  

'Set The Stupid Free', then, is more a case of locking several like-minded country-inclined practitioners into a confined space and simply sitting back to enjoy while they do what they do best.   Believe me, playing nonchalently and making it sound urgent's no mean feat, but The Welfare Mothers have it down pat. Impressive stuff indeed.