Music Club
Albums Review
J Tillman
Cancer & Delirium
The title alone would suggest this album isn’t going to be a barrel of laughs. Add to that assumption the evocative, shadowy, half-obscured photograph of Josh Tillman’s face that adorns the sleeve and you’ll probably be half way to filing this CD under the 'dark, rainy Sunday afternoon’ section of your CD collection.
Bare and unsophisticated, with every crudely recorded finger-picked guitar chord and ramshackle banjo frail, Josh Tillman implies what could be great about Ray Lamontagne and what was great about Neil Young circa 1973. Should either chose to shut himself in a darkened room and pour his heart into making a record as void of fuss and as vital as this, that record would surely be revelatory. The fact that neither have leaves a handy and comfortably sized gap in the market that Tillman fits right into.
Cancer & Delirium, though confessional, is far from being lifeless. Indeed, blood pumps through the veins of this record. Tillman’s songs are sad, but warm and heartfelt, and although clearly personal, have an unlikely resonance that gives the impression that the storytelling sage is whispering wisdom directly into your ear.
Cancer & Delirium isn’t a jolly listen, it doesn’t rock, it won’t have you dancing around the room singing into a hairbrush – unless you’re very strange. It is Tillman’s On The Beach, or Tonight’s The Night only with the electricity shut off and the drummer three doors down.
