In a sense, the most interesting phase of the Mermaid Avenue project is still unfolding. Up to now, we've been hearing what Wilco and Billy Bragg did to Woody Guthrie by reviving his dormant songs. Now that the principals have moved on, we get to hear the other side of that: what Woody Guthrie has done to Wilco and Bragg.
In Bragg's case, spending time inside the head of America's greatest troubadour has loosened him up considerably. England, Half English is Bragg's first set of his own songs since 1996's William Bloke, and it covers familiar thematic ground -- mostly variations on doing the right thing and how hard that can be, from the perspective of an old-school English leftist.
Nevertheless, England, Half English registers as Bragg's least self-conscious album. The Blokes (featuring the great Small Faces keyboardist Ian McLagan) provides spirited ensemble arrangements on everything from straight-ahead pop to reggae. It's all as comfortable as your neighborhood pub, and Bragg's voice has never sounded more confident. Stretches of England, Half English almost sound like the second album Rockpile never got around to making.
This being Bragg, the record does have a sociopolitical element, starting with its name -- cribbed from a 1961 collection of essays by Colin MacInnes, invoking the diversity brought on by immigration. The title track is calypso funk, more or less, a groove overlaid with horns and exotic accents as Bragg puts on his thickest ugly-Englishman accent: "Dance with me to this very English melody/From Morris dancing to Morrissey/All that stuff came from across the sea."
Other songs get downright polemical, especially "N.P.W.A." (stands for "No Power Without Accountability"), which could practically be about the Enron scandal: "I was told nobody cares/So long as they make money when they sell their shares." Elsewhere, "Take Down The Union Jack" warns against British nationalism, and "Somedays I See The Point" muses on the difficulties of staying optimistic in the face of it all.
But the best bits on England, Half English are the smaller songs. The jaunty album-opener "St. Monday" is the sharpest evocation of the 9-to-5 grind this side of Amy Rigby, positing a timeclock as the void gazing back at you. And "Baby Farouk" conveys the joys of parenthood while avoiding sappiness.
On the whole, Bragg manages to find a kernel of hope in just about anything. The protagonist of the album-closing "The Tears Of My Tracks" laments having to pawn off his albums, but sees a silver lining even there: "My record collection has ended/For someone else it's just begun."
Yes, outreach begins with your record collection. Now more than ever, we need Billy Bragg.
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