By: Si Forster
John J Presley | website | facebook | twitter |
Released on July 24, 2015 via Vital Music
As I’m sure at least several other people would have been doing during some of Duke Garwood’s recent live performances, I couldn’t help but wonder who the bearded guitarist on stage, who wasn’t Duke Garwood, was. As it turns out, I already was aware of the music of John J. Presley thanks to his previous single that arrived sometime last year both unexpected and unannounced, arriving as it did in an envelope with no covering letter. No matter, as mystery is something that suits this artist well, with music that feels both at home and at odds with the impressively moody Steve Gullick photography that accompanied that single as well as this new EP.
As with his previous single (Left / Devil’s Daughter), White Ink portrays Presley as a soul both unkempt and intense; and while this is certainly true of his music in many respects, it isn’t quite what the unprepared listener might expect as this is some way removed from what his image may project. Whilst keeping in tune with a sort of folklorish blues that is given a psychedelic hue by Mr Garwood, or the introspective horrors as narrated by Josh T. Pearson, John J. Presley prefers his blues a bit more full-blooded and distorted.
As opener ‘Come To Me’ begins, the promise of volume is evident in the gentle menace of the guitar and a voice that seems to be having its own internal power struggle. It isn’t long before the song slips its leash to become a Delta incarnation of something approximating Black Sabbath’s ‘Sweet Leaf’ before slinking back into the shadows, ready to pounce again a minute later. There’s also something of Germany’s ‘Pretty Lightning’ in this track (and later song ‘Rise To My Confession’), guitar and drums filling a space much bigger than you’d expect with something loud, sinister and old.
There is the odd similarity to his occasional bandmate, with the psych-tinged ‘Sweet Superstition’ recalling Duke’s hypnotic, overdriven picking style through a song that struck these ears on first listen as The Doors’ ‘LA Woman’ filtered through an unearthly, unsettling yet ultimately seductive process. A surprising yet welcome comparison comes from within the final track ‘Ill At Ease’, where the cyclic riffs and a curiously English reading of the Blues is evocative of the Smoke Fairies at their most beguiling.
As a whole, it comes across spiritually similar to Gun Club’s ‘Fire of Love’, mining the same swampy horrors and reimagining them as angry, sexy incantations performed with a zeal that barely contains itself. This is helped along here by John’s voice that mirrors this barely-controlled atmosphere, contorting and howling throughout whilst just about keeping enough of a human side to it to ensure that it’s never less than compelling throughout.
White Ink is certainly an interesting record, and will certainly appeal to people fond of their music slightly unnerving and darkly alluring. Like with Garwood, it might take a couple of goes (and a suitably darkened mood) to get the hang of it, but once it gets into the little cracks and unlit corners of your subconscious, you’ll find that you’re quite happily stuck with it.
