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SONGS THEY NEVER PLAY ON THE RADIO

19. A Mountain of One : People with love

PART ONE 

WHAT I love about getting old is reassessing all manner of stuff and coming to the conclusion that there is always some overlooked magic.

When a band fuse together effects from the greats like early R.E.M. and Natural Life yet still  find a melting point to create songs that come to sound like their very own, then that band deserves high praise. Or an elongated blog piece like this. 

A Mountain of One unsurprisingly found their way onto my turntable with their very first EP. The highlight for me was the opener Ride that more than showcases their stylistic leanings. Sounding both barren and weighty, it was unashamedly AOR in an age of po-faced coolness and locks into a great groove. Like a breezier Beta Band on a good day. To get Martina Topley Bird on board, then waste her with a pointless cover of Ginny's classic Can't Be Serious was a bug-bear. I'm still not sold. 

Their second EP contains two absolute gems. Innocent Reprise actually improves a competent tune and illustrates their studio prowess. It has aged magnificently. Better still, People Without Love is a thought-provoking call and response anthem that treads a similar terrain to the Sandals. It shares the same energy and still sounds relevant. Rhyming couplets like these empower, whereas so much music underarm serves and weakens folk. Probably the only good thing about covid, the underarm serve masterclass, is that it brought them back together.   

Normally when a band reforms, it's for some banal reason like money, but instead A Mountain of One have knocked it out of the park with Stars Planets Dust Me. Their finest to date, it simply had to exist. Hard to believe it's being given away in the Rough Trade knockdowns. Folk are clearly mad not to buy it. As per usual, it has a mighty impressive roll-call of assists, Dip in the Pool being the most successful, with the mesmerizing, shimmering closer Soft Landing. 

Transcending labels like synth pop, nu-disco, and Balearic, the duo retain the weight of their previous work but reach an higher altitude and consistency. Star  is pop brilliance, but my personal favourite is Our Love Must Grow, which has a unique skank all of its own. Only Dennis Bovell creates something even more magical to improve the songs opener Custards Last Stand. So magical it's possibly my best buy of 2022. As per usual, A Mountain of One realize their own vision better than anyone when working the remaining songs.  In fact, other than Dennis Bovell, only Swedish band Studio have been able to add something of lasting value to their music. Their version of  Brown Piano deserves a blog piece all of its own. Until last year, my A Mountain of One  journey ended with it.   

PART 2

IT'S PERHAPS inevitable that after releasing Institute of Joy a full decade would have to elapse to hear anything else.  

Institute of Joy had a scale of ambition that was only half realized and its mixed reviews put me off at the time. However, for the cost of a tenner, I now have in my possession the CD with an Inspirations mix CDR, a mint copy of the vinyl EP, and a Bones picture disc. I buy a few CDs nowadays and the CDR plays ridiculously well too.  

Mo is the perfect collaborator and foil for Zeb, giving him the confidence to settle into a groove. Their explorations usually deliver the perfect blend of epic mountain top music and hypnotic space-dust. Infusing just the right amount of soul and gospel to ensure the tracks fall well short of pastiche. The album's sonic architecture is as rich as it is expressive. The Verve's sprawling, jazz infused hymns influence the mood this album creates. So many bands get linked with Pink Floyd, with most lacking any degree of brevity to justify serious comparison. Not so A Mountain of One. They understand depth and space and have assembled a cast of talent to back up such comparison. 

Bones once reminded me of Coldplay, but now I can appreciate its rolling percussion that loosens it, and then find that all important groove. Zeb's voice soars with a textural warmth that sets it apart. Sometimes my in-built prejudices stopped me from listening properly, I guess. Fool. Like a lot of their tunes, Hail Pleasure appears happy bathed in a proggy swamp before shaking itself free with a psychedelic abandon. It's a spiritual lift for these gloomy times we live in. Even their darkest brew, a heady version of Leonard Cohen's Who By Fire, pummels the depths whilst maintaining a lightness of touch that makes the song their own. Forget PJ Harvey. 

   

Their almighty canon of work is  destined for mutant radio stations to pick up in the future, somewhere.  For sure.