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Okay. Inter-generational conflict is supposed to be the very stuff of rock ‘n’ roll, right?
So what are we supposed to make of a father and son getting together to debut
a disc of new songs? Reflecting a wry sense of irony too often lacking in contemporary music
but present throughout this scorching album, the band headed up by Adrian D’Aubney
and his son, Gavin, have called themselves The Seven Ages. And, yeah, although it sounds like
the name of a card player who rolled off a New Orleans steamboat, they really are called D’Aubney.The album kicks off as it means to go on. A plaintive, blues harp is sliced in half by a guitar lick from hell.
Shuffling drums and pounding bass kick their way out of the speakers.
Gavin growls and spits like he’s not just lived a lifetime in rock but been carved from it. It gets better.
The startling riff of Turn of the Screw just rolls beautifully out of the opening
Get A Kicking. “Round and round the merry-go-round,†Gavin sings.
But there’s no innocence here, despite the saintly backing vocals.
The rhythm guitars swamp their way round the melody like gigolos circling a courtly maiden.Following it with the dirty grind of No Compromise, the D’Aubneys make their intentions absolutely clear.
Gavin snarls his way through the biting lyric, matching his dad’s razor sharp guitar blow for blow.
After such a breathless start, the pace drops for Incommunicado Blues,
but it’s just as gutsy, despite more nursery rhyme allusions and half hidden jokes.
The title track is the first ‘acoustic’ song but even then the D’Aubneys can’t hold back a chainsaw riff
and the rhythm section shift through the gears like an express train.Few bands can really swing. On I Spy The Seven Ages effortlessly swagger.
Subtle time changes spew out of Adrian’s chugging guitars with
Jem Harris’ drums elegantly matching Dullen Clarke’s strutting bassline.
Hallucinatory lead guitar, aided and abetted by spaced out sax, is the icing on the cake.
Judgement Day is, simply, a rhythm masterpiece.
A flawless match of lyrics to music defines Head In My Hands as a near perfect rock song,
immaculately delivered by Gavin. With the band steaming along behind him it needed to be.Man alive, after all that we need a rest and, thankfully, the band deliver. The Lie shimmers beautifully,
Gavin’s subtle yet strong lead vocal supplemented by some outstanding harmonies
over acoustic guitars and a sax solo that weaves its way in and out of the song’s simple melody
as if it’s lived in it a thousand years. Finally, an epic essay in moody paranoia. Flesh In The Mirror
snakes its way to the end of the album, rising and falling like a tidal wave of emotion.Taste and economy are Bleed The Stone’s standout qualities. There’s not even a genuine guitar solo until
No Compromise, and then it’s so brief you’d blink and miss it. Although it’s as fresh and new as anything
in the upper reaches of the indie charts, like the very best music, it sounds like it’s been around forever.
This is because, in many ways, it has, gestating in D’Aubney senior’s head,
filtering out of the influences Gavin has been soaking in half his life.
Listen out for them. They’re all there, from Howlin’ Wolf, through the Stones,
all the way to Jeff Buckley and the less obvious artists, like Jill Scott.Perhaps, though, the best comparison would be with the neglected Chapman-Whitney classic,
Streetwalkers. Adrian’s overlapping rhythms intricately weave a perfect aural tapestry,
mysterious yet managing to sound simple and clear, his elegant lead tight and to the point.
Gavin’s growling vocals pace restlessly through every song
but he shows a range and sensitivity that suggest he’s a great career ahead of him.
And it’s about the songs. Always about the songs.
The lyrics might be complex and thoughtful, but they sit with the music perfectly.
Fine as the performances are throughout, they are only there to enrich the ten mini epics
that make up this superb album.Credit is due to Andy Foster, and Wim who engineered and mastered the album,
for capturing the energy and verve of what sounds like a series of live performances in the studio
but is, above all, the vision of a father and son who, with their music, make one hell of a holy trinity.
Bleed The Stone is like no other family affair you’ve heard.
Play it loud. Very loud. You won’t be able to help yourself.Chris Hart
London, April 2007
