Recorded in San Diego, Yorkshire native Elaine Palmer’s Half Moon Rising is a lovely folk-Americana album that floats on the gospel truth of enriched earthy vocals that can possess a melody with magic.
The 29-minute eight-song album begins with “Heart and Soul,” which eases into a home-brewed vibe. Then Palmer’s vocals open the throttle with a passionate chorus that recalls the best of (the also great) Christine Collister and Clive Gregson in their “I Specialize” prime.
The Americana gospel truth continues: “A Love Like That” is a gnostic prayer graced with a heavenly steel pedal. The song springs from deep baptismal waters, with a nice embrace of original sin desire, with a churning melodic passion that mines the depths of a good Richard Thompson tune, as Palmer’s vocals recall Linda Thompson’s heartfelt voice.
Then, “So Long” is immense in its tranquility. Elaine Palmer’s vocals, once again, slow time and pluck thoughtful heartbeats, with a continuous confession of “I don’t know” that caresses the tendrils of the uncertain soul. But “Freeborough Hill” conjures a much darker electric Yorkshire voice about a mysterious hill (between Moorsholm and Whitby) that sparks with an ancient wood-fired sinister cauldron of predestinated doom.
The “howling winds” of this vital (and always appreciated!) tragic and very epic British folk song hint at dark details with the lyrics, “Black and blue my hands are tied / Two by two we wait in line / Judged only by a man of cloth / Who never had to endure things that I have.” Ghostly speculation only enhances the song’s ill-omened sparse cradle of a storyline. Great narrative songwriting conjures that mysterious blood.
“Let Me Fall” is a revisited song, but its power is a “glad day” (Thank you, William Blake!) catchy full-throttled celebration of music. Palmer sings, “I sway to the sound of your voice” and “I want to climb into your beautiful brain / And dance there with the darkness inside.” The personal passion touches some universal soul. Nice!
There’s more folk music magic: “Not Lost” meanders with distilled water patience. The song oozes quiet beauty with even more heavenly steel pedal prayer as it steps with a soft pillow memory. Then, “On the Way Up” twists corn husks into a clandestine folk tune that mourns the resurrection hope with the words, “I’m like a bird that cannot fly/ Waiting for the wind/ to take me back into the sky.” The song has sepia dustbowl eyes.
Finally, “The Last Dance” is a simple vocal acoustic guitar and violin touched stitch worked sampler folk song about “when I die,” woven with an eternal glance into the infinity of the stars in its stark melodic brevity.
My friend Kilda Defnut says, “In the springtime, the garden soil always sings an ancient song.” Indeed, planted roots have deep magic. With Yorkshire memories mixed into Americana San Diego’s eight-day session, Elaine Palmer’s Half Moon Rising continues to sing that wonderful organic ancient enriched earthy soil song.
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