The name Brigid Mae Power may be unfamiliar, as well may be many of the songs on her newest album, Songs for You. At least in these iterations. Those already familiar with Ms. Power will need no such prompting, mind, and may just need a pointer towards Songs for You‘s existence.
A quick bio for the novices: Of London Irish stock, Power’s family relocated back home to Kilkenny when she was 11. She produced a ream of self-released EPs between 2010 and 2014, catching the ear of the Irish media, who found her ethereal vocal style possessed a “spiritual resonance.” After meeting Peter Broderick, the US roots singer and multi-instrumentalist, at a gig, he took her to his home studio in Portland, OR, and he produced her international debut, following which a further three albums have appeared, each gathering increasing acclaim. She has since married. But Songs for You has a special extra resonance, in that it is dedicated to the memory of her father.
Anyone attending shows or festivals in the UK over the last 40 years, particularly in London, will be familiar with the name Vince Power, the sometimes controversial figure who opened the Mean Fiddler venue in 1982. With ambition to celebrate both Americana and folk music, particularly Irish, he certainly achieved that. His fiefdom swiftly expanded, as a welter of other clubs opened, and before long his eyes were on the burgeoning festival circuit. In his time he had responsibility for an astonishing roster that included turning around the fortunes of Reading and Leeds, having a say in Glastonbury and setting up his own Phoenix and Hop Farm festivals, amongst many, many others. This included the “chain” of Fleadh festivals worldwide, devoted to a celebration of the Irish in music. Quite a fella, he died in March of this year, remembered to many as the “Godfather of gigs.”
Now his daughter has picked artists that her father held in regard, guaranteeing their ongoing presence on a world stage via his promotions. Largely playing solo, with some bass and drums from Shahzad Ismaily and Ryan Jewell respectively, it makes for both a fitting tribute to her dad and a further introduction to her own haunting vocal style.
Roy Orbison was a grateful recipient of Vince Power’s favors, his late-blooming renaissance at least in part to the Irishman’s patronage. Indeed, Orbison’s last UK gig was at the Mean Fiddler. His “In Dreams” is the opening track here. Already a spookily evocative song, Power gifts it as a wistful lingering waltz, her vocals double tracked for the chorus, with just a strummed guitar and the rhythm section. Few tackle Orbison with success; this “In Dreams” makes it clear that Power is one of the select.
Television and Tom Verlaine might seem an unusual choice for a laid-back acoustic delivery, it taking a moment or two to recognize “I See No Evil.” Drenched in echo, just voice(s) and guitar impart it a Mazzy Star vibe that both works and enhances the song and its lyric. Am I allowed to prefer it? Similarly, if Waylon Jennings’ 1968 “Walk On Out of My Mind” be too hardcore Nashville for you, Power imparts a family-friendlier Dolly-esque patina.
Bert Jansch never gets as many covers as he is/was worth, and “Fresh as a Sweet Sunday Morning” is one of his best songs. By stripping away the pedal steel and L.A. studio sheen, she returns the song into a gaunt folk sensibility that shows off facets different to the original. Ismaily’s bass is glorious. If Jansch is seldom covered, Slim Whitman is a name seldom even heard these days, his idiosyncratic style never quite translating to current tastes. Possibly overly sentimental for some, anyone familiar with the specific of “Irish & Western” will find pleasure with her cover of Whitman’s “Rose Marie,” along with her version of Neil Young’s “Mellow My Mind.” Yes, you read that correctly; Young’s grim tale of hoped-for redemption makes a transformation, creaky chapel organ and all.
I am uncertain if Power is addressing Cass McCombs’ “Angel Blood” directly to her father, it feeling that she might. Once again there is a hymnal feel to it, or, at best, a suggestion of bended knee, the pipe organ retaining a plangent background presence. Her voice is strong and bittersweet, cutting across the instrumentation, and if one is seeking a song to best explain her appeal, this could well be it.
Forsaking the default gospel country hues prominent across the last couple of tracks, it is to Power’s Irish diaspora that she next addresses, with an exquisite version of “Missing You,” the Jimmy McCarthy song that Christy Moore has made his own. Her vocal stretched to the top of her range, the falter and cracks enhance this lament, the lament of the dispossessed Paddy, homeless in London and missing home. Again, it transcends even Moore’s delivery, by virtue the keening sense of regret that permeates every note.
Closer “You Don’t Know Me” returns the baton to Roy Orbison, that surely the version that influenced this near-perfect rendition, so as to start and finish with her father’s favorite. Sure, there have been very many covers of this 1956 hit for Eddy Arnold, including Ray Charles’ incandescent version, but it is Orbison that seeps through loud and clear. If Roy were a Raye, surely this is how he would sound, which is about as good a tribute to her Dad as she can offer.
Looking for a stocking filler for an incurable romantic, steeped in the sounds of the ’60s through ’80s? Songs for You could be it.
