root salad f56 Lleuwen
Why seven years between albums? “Well, I guess I’m lazy,” the Welsh singer tells Ton Maas.
the album some sort of religious statement? Lleuwen: “The only sensible answer I can give is that this is what comes out when I’m writing. I didn’t even realise ‘amen’ is the last word on the album. It just occurred to me when you told me so.”
In terms of style or genre the music on Gwn Glân Beibel Budr is hard to pin down. Apart from her love for ancient hymns it is obvious that Lleuwen’s singing is informed not only by traditional folk music, but also by pop, jazz and soul. “That’s the music I grew up with in the seventies. We lived in a small village where my rock’n’roll parents – who had me when they were very young – were the only atheists. I had to beg them to be allowed to go to the little chapel where those wonderful old hymns were still sung at the time. I was just drawn to it and loved the singing and the stories.”
Y
ou could say that Welsh singer and songwriter Lleuwen, who just released her new album Gwn Glân Beibel Budr (Clean Gun Dirty
Bible), doesn’t rank among the most pro- ductive recording artists. It’s been seven years since her previous CD Tân came out, a collaboration with Vincent Guerin from Brittany, where Lleuwen resides when she’s not at home in Wales. Why the long wait? “Well, I guess I’m lazy,” Lleuwen replies with a grin. “It’s one of the many contradictions in my life and also in my work. Because I do make music all the time, but when it comes to finalising a pro- ject, the process is usually very slow.”
The new album opens with Myn Mair
(By Mary), an old song of prayer that used to be sung at the ‘gwylnos’ night festival before a funeral. The reference to St Mary makes it a Catholic song, which means it predates the Protestant Reformation of the sixteenth century. What about the stark contrast between the thundering intro on acoustic guitar and the rather sweet vocals?
“With this album I really wanted to stir up some deep emotions, rather than trying to be subtle and soothing. It has to do with the time we are living in. And that diaboli- cal guitar sound was actually a gift. I have small kids who are always fiddling with the pegs of my guitar, resulting in the most unusual tunings. Creating the lyrics is also a slow and intuitive process. They gradual- ly evolve over a long period in my mind, and only get written out after the songs have been recorded. I’m convinced that something authentic gets lost in the pro- cess of putting words down on paper – that’s what education does to us. I’m trying to stay as close as I can to natural lan- guage, as in conversation.”
The album begins with a prayer to Mary and ends with a recitation of an ancient Welsh translation of the Lord’s Prayer. The very last word of the final track is “amen”. Somewhere in between is Lleuwen’s own composition Cofia Fi (Remember Me), where she sings, “Remem- ber me to Jesus Christ, remember me”. Is
peaking about the recording of the album, Lleuwen explains her unusu- al choice of musicians: “They come from completely different back- grounds. All of them are outsiders in one way or another, just like myself. Yet there’s a strong sense of togetherness that I’ve never experienced before. Rhys Meiron is a classically trained tenor; eighty-year-old Llio Rhydderch, the reigning queen of the Welsh triple harp, can be heard improvising freely; Aled Wyn Hughes, who produced the album and plays electric guitar, is part of an alternative country rock band, as is drummer Dafydd Hughes; Neil Cowley is a jazz pianist, and fiddler Francesca Simmons comes from the world of folk. We were all operating at a borderline, but at the same time we felt very comfortable there.”
S
What, then, is the meaning of that intriguing album title? Lleuwen: “It’s an old Welsh saying that comes from a famous preacher, John Williams of Brynsiencyn. Williams was taught by his father that there were two things he needed in life: a clean gun so that we would be able to have a good shot when hunting for rabbits, and a dirty bible because the father wanted his son to read it so often it would get dirty from his fingers. But the phrase took on an almost opposite meaning when local peo- ple started to blame the preacher for recruiting a lot of young boys to go to war and get killed. They would say in jest that Williams’ gun was clean because he never had to use it, and that his bible was dirty because there wasn’t any truth in it. Because of that contradiction, I thought it would make a perfect title.”
www.lleuwen.com F
Photo: Emyr Young
Page 1 |
Page 2 |
Page 3 |
Page 4 |
Page 5 |
Page 6 |
Page 7 |
Page 8 |
Page 9 |
Page 10 |
Page 11 |
Page 12 |
Page 13 |
Page 14 |
Page 15 |
Page 16 |
Page 17 |
Page 18 |
Page 19 |
Page 20 |
Page 21 |
Page 22 |
Page 23 |
Page 24 |
Page 25 |
Page 26 |
Page 27 |
Page 28 |
Page 29 |
Page 30 |
Page 31 |
Page 32 |
Page 33 |
Page 34 |
Page 35 |
Page 36 |
Page 37 |
Page 38 |
Page 39 |
Page 40 |
Page 41 |
Page 42 |
Page 43 |
Page 44 |
Page 45 |
Page 46 |
Page 47 |
Page 48 |
Page 49 |
Page 50 |
Page 51 |
Page 52 |
Page 53 |
Page 54 |
Page 55 |
Page 56 |
Page 57 |
Page 58 |
Page 59 |
Page 60 |
Page 61 |
Page 62 |
Page 63 |
Page 64 |
Page 65 |
Page 66 |
Page 67 |
Page 68 |
Page 69 |
Page 70 |
Page 71 |
Page 72 |
Page 73 |
Page 74 |
Page 75 |
Page 76 |
Page 77 |
Page 78 |
Page 79 |
Page 80 |
Page 81 |
Page 82 |
Page 83 |
Page 84 |
Page 85 |
Page 86 |
Page 87 |
Page 88 |
Page 89 |
Page 90 |
Page 91 |
Page 92 |
Page 93 |
Page 94 |
Page 95 |
Page 96 |
Page 97 |
Page 98 |
Page 99 |
Page 100 |
Page 101 |
Page 102 |
Page 103 |
Page 104 |
Page 105 |
Page 106 |
Page 107 |
Page 108 |
Page 109 |
Page 110 |
Page 111 |
Page 112 |
Page 113 |
Page 114 |
Page 115 |
Page 116 |
Page 117 |
Page 118 |
Page 119 |
Page 120 |
Page 121 |
Page 122 |
Page 123 |
Page 124 |
Page 125 |
Page 126 |
Page 127 |
Page 128 |
Page 129 |
Page 130 |
Page 131 |
Page 132 |
Page 133 |
Page 134 |
Page 135 |
Page 136 |
Page 137 |
Page 138 |
Page 139 |
Page 140 |
Page 141 |
Page 142 |
Page 143 |
Page 144 |
Page 145 |
Page 146 |
Page 147 |
Page 148
