Richard Murray - 'Fire Sale' Album Review

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Richard Murray - 'Fire Sale' Album Review

With lush, full arrangements, creative use of instrumentation and authoritative vocal performances, Richard Murray’s newest album, ‘Fire Sale’ might just be his most impactful to date since his debut in 2007.

Richard Murray is a Northern Irish singer and songwriter who specialises in expanding the pre-conceived ideas people have about country music. Richard pushes the country and western envelope by introducing alternative instruments, song writing approaches and mindsets. This record showcases all of these abilities to a tee and has really coloured-in Jeeni’s country channel.

A favourite of mine on this record is the fourth track, ‘Devils 2’. This a more contemplative and gentler moment in the album where Richard is putting his charismatic and gravelly voice to good use as he communicates an intense emotional yearning. Richard uses bongos as a part of the minimal, yet compelling percussion section along with a steady kick drum. The guitar parts here twinkle and shimmer alongside Richard’s crooning vocals as the two sections enhance each other.

‘Hard Love’, while still acoustic, really harnesses a moody rock ballad tone with a forceful beat, and almost mumbling vocals from Richard. An impressive direction to take; ‘Hard Love’ does a great job in creating a deeper and richer overall flavour to ‘Fire Sale’.

Towards the end of the album, Richard slightly showcases his Celtic heritage with ‘Sea Glass’. A fiddle doubles a jaunty guitar part in between the verses which creates a warm image of a rowdy and patriotic gathering. This track provides a last push in energy for this perfect campfire album, as its last moments wind the project down in an introspective and reflective fashion.

The last track on ‘Fire Sale’, 'You Get Wise' acts as a sort of summary and reflection on the stellar tracks that have come before it. A Jeeni and Bandcamp exclusive, the closing track holds some of Richard’s most thoughtful and tender songwriting and performances, making it a perfect choice to sum up this exciting and heart-warming album.

‘Fire Sale’ is a sentimentally tender project. At times, Richard is longing for home, where other times, he’s just walked through the door and celebrations have begun. The album has a real range in emotions, moods and sentiments and is a must listen for all country fans.

How can Jeeni support artists like Richard Murray

JEENI is a multi-channel platform for original entertainment on demand. We’re a direct service between creatives and the global audience.

• We give creatives, independent artists and performers a showcase for their talent and services. And they keep 100% of everything they make.
• We empower our audience and reward them every step of the way.
• We promise to treat our members ethically, fairly, honestly and with respect.
• Access to artist liaison and a supportive marketing team.

Check out Richard’s Jeeni showcase here: https://jeeni.com/showcase/richardmurraymusic/

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03
Sep

Mel's World

Today, Jeeni has returned to Crowdcube to raise more funds for helping new talent. Jeeni founding director Mel Croucher says, “I admit we're ahead of our original schedule, but there's still so much more to do. We need to scale our online platform globally now and build our mass artist showcases. Then we can hit all our targets, and give our new artists the recognition they deserve.” If you want to see our pitch click HERE. Mel has been writing the best-loved column in top-selling tech magazines for over 30 years. Now he's agreed to share his work with all our members. He's a video games pioneer and musician, and to to find out more about Mel check out his Wikipedia page. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mel_Croucher. Here's one of Mel's latest! This place is neither a home nor a prison. It is some sort of institution. It drips a pallid 1980s atmosphere, and it makes me both afraid and excited. I am completely lost in a badly-lit labyrinth of corridors. It feels like I am being toyed with, and I want to leave. Of course I know the rules by now, and the most important rule of all is that I must keep my social distance of an arms-length and avoid physical contact with any other lost souls who wander these passages. They are creepy. They look more like ghosts than real people. Their eyes are disturbing. Sometimes they stare ahead vacantly, sometimes their staring gazes flick to the left and then to the right in a zombie rhythm. I cannot see their noses or their mouths, because they are covered by coloured masks. My own mouth is not covered at all. My own mouth gapes wide open. I think I feel hungry. I think I am searching for food. Perhaps I will find a piece of fruit, or maybe one of those pills I am encouraged to consume. As I turn a corner, I nearly collide with one of the ghostly figures. But I keep calm. I do not panic. I simply turn away and move as fast as I can. Which is not very fast at all. I can sense another presence around the next corner. The passages are only wide enough for one soul to pass at a time. I feel rather hopeless. I feel quite trapped. I think there is a distinct possibility that very soon I will lose my life. I think I need to build a wall before my time runs out. I know how to build a wall, I have had plenty of practice. The bottom rows of bricks slot into place without much trouble. But the more I seem to succeed, the more difficult my masonic task becomes. The stupid smaller bricks take on a will of their own, and the larger bricks feel clumsy in my hands. My wall is becoming a mess. There are big gaps in the structure where an enemy might get through. There are little gaps in the structure where a virus can penetrate. I think I'd better get out of here. I think I'd better find me a new space, one with some ladders to climb up and ledges to crawl along. Perhaps if I navigate these ladders and ledges, I can find my way out. And will you look up there! High above the ladders, almost out of sight, there is a young woman in a purple frock. She is in obvious distress. She calls out to me. Her flame-red hair cascades around her face, and then blows backwards. Which is bizarre, because there is no wind to speak of. Now she screams out, the same word over and over again. The word is help. Her cry is too theatrical. She has a big nose, like Princess Diana, or Pete Townshend. I am not very interested in her. I am much more interested in the beer. It believe that the beer is stored in big wooden barrels, stacked up in strategic places, and seemingly too heavy to be manhandled. But I am able to pick up any barrel I like, magically, without a problem, because I am unnaturally strong. And I am very, very hairy, from tip to toe. If I was once Pacman, now I am the mighty Kong. It has been many years since the viral invaders arrived from the Far East. The Space Invaders. At first the effects of their invasion were only faintly amusing, but then they grew rather attractive, and strangely exciting, and eventually they became quite addictive, even all-consuming. But as with all invasions, their glamour grew dull and they eventually lost their grip on power and faded into folk-memory. Recently, my domestic patterns have been disrupted, just like everyone else's. I have been procrastinating. I have been clearing out the cupboard under the stairs. Which is how I came across this old crate that has been gathering dust for longer than I can remember. Near the top of the crate there was a sleeping collection of very old videogame cassettes, many of which I had published myself. And beneath those old games there were some vintage machines in their original boxes. Once I'd worked out which of their black power supplies went into which of their grubby little holes, they sprang back into life to display crude blocky graphics on their silly little screens. It's been decades since I played Pacman, or Tetris, or Donkey Kong. And the last time I played Space Invaders, silly haircuts were compulsory and Margaret Thatcher was driving around in a tank. When this shitstorm is over, and when I am able to go free-range again, I wonder how long it will take me to forget about all the ghosts in all the corridors from all those bygone times. As for the flame-haired damsel in distress, I remember her name clearly. Her name was Pauline Daniella Verducci Lady Louise. She was less than an inch tall. She was a drip. The beer was virtual. It still is. Jeeni Creator, Mel Croucher - badly in need of a haircut Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

05
Jun

Exploring the Rivalry and Respect between Paul McCartney and Brian Wilson

by Kelli Richards, Jeeni MD USA Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com A guy named Jeffrey Stillwell has put together a great video essay focused on the so-called “rivalry” between the Beach Boys and the Beatles; and in particular the relationship between Paul McCartney and Brian Wilson. They were most certainly inspired by each other creatively and each wound up bringing out the best in each other as both are quick to confess. When “Pet Sounds” came out, it blew the minds of the Beatles, and that was a big catalyst to what would become “Sgt Pepper” in terms of musical experimentation — both are still such iconic albums that it’s hard to believe it’s been 50 years since each was released. This video biopic also chronicles the relationship and interactions between Paul and Brian over the decades, and ultimately the deep respect they have for each other —and it’s worth investing the 20 minutes to watch it. There’s also a personal tie for me here in a couple of ways. As a teenager, I was hugely influenced by both groups and in particular the Beatles; I became a life-long Beatle-ologist as a result (as a hobby). It also led me to a career in music & music tech (initially wanting to be a record producer having immersed myself in the techniques of production) — first as young A&R exec at EMI/Capitol, and then when I launched and ran Apple’s earliest focus on music and entertainment during my lengthy tenure there (where among my responsibilities, I had to deal with the fall out of the lawsuits between Apple Inc and Apple Records – the Beatles’ company). I also parlayed that early production passion into being a talent producer of award shows and celebrity fundraiser events over several decades. One of the events I was asked to co-produce was called “Adopt-a-Minefield” in conjunction the with the United Nations. Paul’s then-wife, Heather Mills, was heavily involved in the cause, and she organized these annual events (I believe there were five) featuring Paul and his band, and another major artist. I co-produced the event in 2002; Paul had invited Stephen Stills and Brian Wilson to perform with him — and the event was hosted by Jay Leno. The event took place in LA, and was a high-ticket event; I believe it was limited to 500 in attendance. I had some interesting conversations and interaction with Paul that evening, who was determined to ensure all the details to do with the production of the event were flawless and well-thought-out. For the 500 of us in attendance, it was magical to watch Paul and Brian doing a duet on both “God Only Knows”, a favorite of Paul’s, and on “Let It Be”. It’s too bad it wasn’t taped so it could be streamed. There can be no doubt of the creative genius and respect these two have for each other’s music and as individuals. As a final aside, Paul and Brian were born just two days apart in June 1942; geniuses in good company from the very start! (There’s a cute clip in the video essay of Brian calling Paul on his birthday and singing a verse from Paul’s “Birthday” song). Click HERE to visit or return to jeeni.com

10
Jun

Mel's bedtime story

Once upon a time, I created a platform called jeeni.com which is where independent artists perform their music in front of new fans, and get rewarded for their efforts. On a Saturday night we ran a live global music festival featuring 18 acts from both sides of the Atlantic. The oldest performer was over 70, the youngest was under 10. They were brilliant, each in their own way. We broadcast over social media and websites. There were no adverts, there were no fakes, there was no hype. It didn't cost us a penny to run. Everyone had a ball. We are part of a revolutionary process that is killing a corrupt and rotting music industry which has held both audience and performer to ransom since the 1890s. So if you will indulge me, I'd like to tell you how, and why ... I'm an old hoarder, I hoard old music recordings, and when I say old I mean really old. Upstairs, in what was once a studio but has turned into an Irish Setter leisure lounge, there are several hundred wax cylinders from the 1890s. Each cylinder is a unique recording from an age before duplication was possible. If Miss Florrie Forde wanted to sell a hundred copies of Hold Your Hand Out You Naughty Boy to her adoring public, then she had to keep lubricated and trill the bloody thing into a brass horn a hundred times and record it onto wax in real time. But to me the beauty of these cylinders is not that each one is a unique recording, but that each one is mercifully short, rotating at 120 revolutions a minute and lasting a meagre two minutes, because that's all a wax cylinder can hold. And so the two minute pop single was born. At the start of the twentieth century discs replaced cylinders, but not a lot changed. I have another room full of shellac discs that spin at 78 revolutions a minute. When it came to pop singles from artists bringing joy to the world throughout the first half of the twentieth century, they had just under three minutes to do it in. And if they were any good, just under three minutes was plenty. I feel personally to blame for what happened next, because in the hour of my birth in 1948, the microgroove vinyl disc hit the market, spinning at what my Irish chums call dirty tree and a turd revolutions per minute. I have an entire wall of vinyl albums, with their glorious covers and sleeve notes. And yes, they are arranged in alphabetical order by artist and date-order of release. Their storage capacity is approximately twenty-five minutes a side, which is usually twenty-two minutes too long. And on the opposite wall is where all my CDs sulk, each one capable of storing seventy-four minutes of audio, and not one of them played since the turn of this century. Why? Because a hacker called SoloH went and ripped the source code of something called the Fraunhofer MP3 encoder and spread it all over the internet for free. Thanks to SoloH, I can not only digitise my entire collection of recorded music without any restrictions on playing time, I can access the entire library of everything that has ever been recorded, for ever. My phone weighs exactly the same as my 78rpm copy of Little Richard's single Tutti Frutti, which runs for two minutes 28 seconds of total perfection. My phone holds 21,417 tracks in MP3 format, some of them complete symphonies, which are pretty good, some of them prog-rock drum solos, as used by Viet Cong torturers to break the spirit of the enemy. My desktop hard drive and cloud-accounts contain too many tracks to keep track of. I declare that my motivation for amassing this ludicrous collection of music was that one day it would bring me comfort in my old age, when my body and brain become enfeebled and I feel the need to keep hold of past pleasures while dying. As it turns out, I started playing my collection early, during lockdown, and wished I was dead by the end of day three. The singles were great, but the albums were mostly insufferable. Which is when I realised that the music album is stone dead, and the nightmare of a lifetime of audio padding is finally over. Then the real truth hit me. The recorded music industry is dead too. Thanks to COVID19 there has been an explosion of new creativity. Everyone is now a record producer, anyone can run a broadcast music channel, and that's exactly what everyone and anyone seems to be doing, including me. The spongers and leeches and shysters have been exposed as completely unnecessary, as have most of the agents, publicists and managers. They are no longer able to milk performers in our new world of social distancing, because they have lost their power. It's the remote audience that now has the power, and this audience wants instant gratification, not a load of overhyped, overwrought, overlong, flimflam. Jeeni.com is my final project in a very long career. I'm giving my artists three minutes per track to nail it, because that's what my old hoard tells me is right. And I hope you agree that in order to shine, three minutes is all that anyone should ever need.

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