Mick Buckingham Retrograde Reviews: Jan Linton - I Actually Come Back

Jan Linton, on the intriguingly titled "i actually come back", returns to offer us a classic ushering of all the artistic tropes that made angelo badalementi, david sylvian and "blackstar" era david bowie's music a greatly worthwhile venture to listen to, regardless of any earlier experience with its genres of influence. it is a highly respectable and inviting listen that warrant mature attention. the now extended to twelve track excursion includes lyrics in the sleevenotes, lyrics that deserve to be read and heard. this is very warming sound that does its best not to dance about architecture, but instead feel like its actually the blueprint to a great work. underlying the question is: does it finish sounding like a work in progress? the reality is very different - this is while rooted in 80s new wave symptomatica of the synth pop and art rock engine (jan linton amongst others had links with the burning shed label that released some of his earlier output, and collaborated with duran duran guitarist john taylor and bill nelson), moves the influences and time forward to a pleasant kind of eden garden romance. what one means with this compliment is to respect the angelic style of vocal, and the serene use of synthesisers. it is a genuinely pleasant piece of art, art that stops trying to be art the moment linton breaks into song. all songs have leo abrahams collaborating with linton, eno protege.

and why is that, we wonder? well, it might be down to the art of lyrics being not inextricably linked to songcraft. some have become very analytical about their lyrics, to the point that there are lyric and song meaning sites all over the internet in the 21st century. this statement questions who is perceiving the lyrics of course, and in most cases, it's the fans. for me the idea of being unpretentious about what one says - "funny, funny how people change" a simple case in point for linton = is the real special thing about this record, because the songcraft, rather than the lyrics alone, tows the whole meaning behind creating a actual point to actually releasing. indeed, "i actually come back". the seed is sown, the instruments untangle listener woes. that title might seem a bit naive to some of us who have spent their twenties at least in dead end jobs, thirties heads who suffer from information amnesia, and the fortysomethings who may as well be managers of the common diplomacy of the interweb by now. not everyone wants to live online, though, and this strays from the point of the album...it's about regeneration. what meaning you take from regeneration is always subjective, to some it will be about "depending on the kindness of strangers", in one of linton's stories. at other times it may be a more ambiental affair, a forest weave as in one of the closing cuts to the 12-track compact disc (subsequent presses have different art than the originals, it can be noted). whatever. the important thing is that coming back, for linton, abrahams and all his influences produced a classic selection, the twelve tracks presented here.

2K17 Mrb Poetry - Nature and death afflictions

Womb kicks

the blow is fetched on someone, the blow regains its power

storms blow and trespass in hemispheres

by the hourly tide 

you shone with your arms out wide

just perched there like a scarecrow

an innocent crucifix with no ribbons

and no bows. 

i would bow in your presence

but it would only sacrifice humility for pretense

the art of pompousness in portent

unrelenting destruction relating to conundrums of the soul

scoring an own goal, kicked off the pitch

wind blown in a ball, all the air kicked out of it

all the air kicked out of it

all the air

kicked out of the very thing that gave life its speed. 

Death waltz

The line
Drab
Inked into dust
Cast on the sky
A dusk constellation either way
Waltzing with sentient beings
Obsessed by atomic death
And clause by cryptographic clusters
Cloying to the mind's eye.

 Apartness

Apart you say
Who are we
Alluding to catastrophe
Dismay dismay dismay

The path seems rocky
Your bones will soon find
Frailty is not proposed by the wind

Nor is calamity produced by snow
Catastrophe, who are we
Dismay, dismay, dismay.

Apart from the seasons we experience treason
All down to psychiatric failure
No rhythm
No reason
Oh dismay
Are you fickle?
Are we a trickle
A raindrop
Dismay dismay

Oh, apart we turned to gray.

Convalescence

The transcription of wit
From an inked glass
Blotted like a murderer's paper
What are these deeds, you ask
A cornucopia caper
A trick of the devil
An illusion of relativity
Or a convalescence of greed.

The bright sun shines outside
Oh widow, won't you weep for me.

Affliction of the distinctive soul

Something comes from nothingness

Always from death to life

Pain to strife

Regenerating forwards and back like a marble lock

The smell of machinery gloats on the dock

Cogs in machines

Cogs in streams

Buried from view

Alligators swallowing marbles

Drowning the marbles of others

This ode to death cannot be recovered

It can only be docked

As a regeneration process from death to life

One which we all experience

At a later time in life.

Copyright Michael Robert Buckingham - MRB poetry 2017 all rights reserved.