Iechyd Da

Iechyd Da is the new album by Bill Ryder- Jones, one that came out in mid- January. At the end of December I posted the first single from it, the massively moving, emotionally close- to- the- edge song This Can't Go On. That song sounds like a man at the end of his tether, the lyrics describing being out of control, losing it, declining mental health and the advice of his Dad, 'You've got to go outside/ Got to get some sun/ Get yourself together/ because this can't go on'. 

I got the album two weeks ago, the digital first and then the vinyl. Straight away it's worth pointing out that this an album that needs to be appreciated on vinyl for the sleeve art if nothing else- the oil painting on the cover, a row of cottages with shadows falling, by Dale Bissland, is beautiful and deserves to be seen 12" by 12". The back cover is a collage of family photos which I think offer some clues about the album, the songs and about Bill's attempts to deal with his mental health. I have to say as well that this album has on a couple of occasions left me feeling totally wrung out, it's moved me to tears more than once, and on occasion I had to turn it off, it was too much for me. 

Iechyd Da (Welsh for good health, a toast when drinking a pint) is a beautifully recorded and produced album, the songs a balance of epic and intimate, both grand and close up. It starts with a crackly sample of Baby by Gal Costa, a line about 'walking all night to The Killing Moon', and Bill sounding like late period Velvets, if Lou Reed had been from New Brighton not New York. During the course of the next forty minutes, two sides of vinyl and thirteen songs there is a guest appearance from Mick Head at the start of side two, reading  a passage from Ulysses, there is the Bidston Avenue Primary School Choir (all thanked by name on the credits) and there are some songs, at least three, that unpick Bill's past, a childhood trauma and tragedy, and the impact of that event on his mental health. 

Bill Ryder- Jones joined The Coral as a teenager and found success and a certain level of fame quickly. He unravelled rapidly too- depression, undiagnosed ADHD, complex PTSD and massive stage fright. Add in the lifestyle and the habits of young men in rock n'n roll bands and Bill had a breakdown. Jumping forward a couple of decades he found lockdown 'fucking unbearable', holed up in West Kirby with a new girlfriend who was only supposed to be stopping over. He says they both went mad. Some of the songs on Iechyd Da came from that period.What also unpicks a lot of what has gone into the album is the incident from his childhood. On holiday on Ramsey Island, Bill aged seven was playing with his brother Daniel, aged nine. They were playing near a cliff with some other children and Daniel fell off the edge and was killed. Bill witnessed it. Afterwards his family shut down completely,  everyone dealing with their grief on their own, his Mum refusing to share her grief with anyone, his Dad unable to and Bill, a child, in a fugue state. The family were unable to even say Daniel's name. Unsurprisingly Bill has carried this around with him ever since and the songs on the album (and the photos on the back cover) seem to be an attempt to acknowledge Daniel, to bring the loss to the surface and to reckon with the impact on his mental health. In a recent interview in Mojo Bill said, 'My family definitely has a genetic predisposition to mental ill health but my problems are very specific... I can't picture myself without Daniel's death'.

The songs that seem to deal with this jump out at me through the speakers. The album is melancholic throughout and at times desperate. In This Can't Go On it's not just the lyrics and the vocal, the strings are right at the edge, fraught and about to collapse. In Nothing To Be Done Bill sings, 'Oh no I'm feeling blue/ It's all because of you/ It's no one's fault/ There's sometimes nothing to be done/ I just don't see myself getting past this one'. 

Nothing To Be Done

In the months and now years since Isaac died I recognise this so much it seems like Bill wrote it after looking inside me, after seeing the ball of grief that sits inside my chest most of the time. There is some optimism (I think), some hope- in the same song, later on he sings, 'And I know one day you'll find your way back to me'. On How Beautiful I Am, after a verse that describes being in a hotel room with someone, he sings/ mutters, 'I think about it all the time/ I think about it all the time', and then, 'I'm dancing with shadows/ The sun just sits on your face... I think about it all the time'. 

I don't think these are love songs or about relationships that have come to an end. I think these are about his brother and his death on that cliff three decades ago and what Bill's carried around ever since. There is a darkness and intense emotion that sits at the centre of this album and some/ many of its songs. I feel it when I play it. Sometimes it feels good (and helpful) to listen to it, to recognise it, to match it, to use it as a mirror for my own grief. A couple of times it's been too much, too close to the bone, an unbearable connection with the songs. I played it the other night and loved it and I think it's a very open and accessible album- I think many people could listen to it without having the response to it I have had, that you could just enjoy it as a set of personal songs, beautifully played and recorded with acoustic guitars, a world weary voice, organ and accordion, piano and strings, a children's choir and some clever little touches, a set of songs that look back and reflect, shot with melancholy. The last two songs, Thankfully For Anthony and Nos Da, point to better times. The former, piano and voice and then sweeping strings and Bill singing, 'I know loss but I chose love... I know love', which is making me tear up just typing it. Catharsis. The latter Nos Da, is one and a half minutes of organ, sounding like a half remembered children's tv theme from the early 70s, suddenly swallowed up by cellos. It sounds like a conclusion, a nod to the past and (possibly) a moving forward. 

Iechyd da everyone.