I enjoy the process of reviewing; here's the latest post on my website - the excellent new album from my dear friends Phatfish.

In Jesus
Phatfish
It is with great anticipation that I place the new Phatfish CD in the tray and press the correct button. But what’s this? Robert Palmer? Eric Satie?

Ah, I’m getting ahead of myself.

What we have here is a new release from a new line-up, having added two guitarists, a brother-in-law and two sister-in-law’s brother-in-law to the band. Confused? Now read on. So here I am expecting a flashback to the days of Alan Rose, with a lovely raw Les Paul rasp, plus the twang of Telecaster to help fill in any gaps. I’m also expecting Lou’s quality vocals, the best rhythm section in Christendom, Hammond pyrotechnics and class poetry to transport my soul toward the throne of God. Did I get my money’s worth?

Darkness into Light
The cover is clean and simple, with a stage lighting motif, (close-ups of par-cans) which is thematically sprinkled throughout by the crisp design of Jules Burt. God is the light in the darkness, which perhaps inspired her design. An inlay card pic of the band in a boozer, obviously waiting for their drinks order to arrive, shows all the boys in subdued dimness, but Lou sympathetically illumined, which is one way of looking at them.

The title track and opener combines Addicted to Love with Twain’s That Don’t Impress Me Much, but not in a crossover Country ‘n’ Western way. (And not in a way that makes me consider the men in the band doing that knee-waggling dance, either.) But the gusty power chords and B3 provide a instant hook for the content-packed lyric that Nathan’s songs always deliver. Great to hear the angry wasp solo guitar sound again (oh, how I’ve missed it!). It’s a song that will run and run, becoming a loved anthem for big crowds.

Whoops - I did it again
By contrast Who is like the Lord our God may catch a few congregations out, with the inclusion of a few surprise 2/4 bars, which means the lyrics come in a breath or two before you expect them. This gives the song a measure (half-measure, if you’re a yank) of urgency, and demonstrates the signature Phatfish grown-up approach to music, not settling for the easy listening middle ground beloved of so many also-ran worship-song writers, but prepared to give room for something a little inventive or unsettling. Lou’s double-tracked chorus vocals send me misty-eyed as I recognised a sound I love and will listen to for a long, long time.

But then something rather unexpected begins to happen. It’s positive, so, so welcome, almost forgotten and really very skilful. More of this later.

Lou’s close mike technique, clarity of diction and superb breath control are to the fore in Come to Jesus, a simple but powerful declaration of Christ’s ability and desire to be at the centre of our lives. The rhymes in verse two are much more satisfying to my ears (secure/poor/cure/more) and the middle eight is a magnificent piece of work, deserving perhaps of more development, restatement etc.

The good, surprising thing continues, quite splendidly.

Stairway to Heaven
Mission starts with a Led Zep-esque lick, drawing us into a song of grand scale and purpose. Big bee-vees turn up in the chorus, which is reminiscent of There is a Day, which is fair enough and probably a good idea.

The surprising thing – oh, I can’t keep this up, and there’s no reason to keep you in suspense any longer.

The addition of a pair of axemen made me anticipate the rasp of multiple humbuckers, with acoustic strums and sweet arpeggios and perhaps the occasional twang and maybe a grind or chug or even a rip, as well as the licks and powerchords. And all of those are delivered superbly. But what this album also features is quite excellent Sandeman keyboard work, brought once again to the fore, when I had not expected it to be there in such prominence. His Hammond chords are always reliable, but here are hugely interesting synth sounds, piano skills aplenty and interpretive additions and themes which add vast depth to the sense that this album has been produced with time, care, thought, not a little money and considerable musicianship.

Most Phatfish albums have a poetic highpoint beyond the already high standard of writing; often these are the Sandeman tracks. But Lou has penned If I have not love, a powerful creative reworking of part of 1 Corinthians 13, using contemporary examples of behaviour and attitudes which are empty without heart-expression of love. ‘I could look as though I’m listening or cry at my tv/But it really stands for nothing if it’s only serving me.’ Bertie supports alone to begin with, joined by acoustic guitar strumming and then by the rest of the band, which builds the song towards the bee-vee second chorus, middle eight and then an outstanding but disappointingly brief Lightning Seeds-esque piano solo.

Larger than Life
Sandeman theological heavyweightness powers through the anthemic Pardoned, with a huge chorus and glorious statements of Bible truth, accompanied by all-stops Hammond, thrash-all-you’re-worth tambourine and full-on bee-vees, as well as power chords and some understated guitar solos. Nathan’s controlled but appropriately busy work around the kit stands out as well.

Magnificently, we’re back to Shania, with a Man I feel like a Woman lick underpinning No one like our God. Again, it’s not in a bad way. It’s in a way that also reminds me strongly of Bryn Haworth’s No Time, but I suspect that’s just me and wasn’t intentional. I like the way the lick is given room to breathe between chorus and verse in ways that worship songs rarely allow, as they usually feel the need to rush on to the next chunk of worthy lyric. This song also has some experimental moog-style knob twiddling, which is shockingly fresh and inventive, although probably achieved by on-screen slider manipulation via a large black box of electronic trickery.

Strength of Character
A three-way collaboration between Jos, Lou & Nathan has generated There is Mercy, which drives along like a Road Trip soundtrack, complete with angry wasp. A great signature Phatfish tacit moment at 3’09", with a big, explosive re-entry at 3’15”. Fantastically good song, with great musical strength. Will probably open many a festival worship time this summer, and perhaps long into the future.

Bertie stands out again in the tender worship song God you are my God, focussed on the Father’s compassionate understanding that life can be really tough. ‘Though the pain is strong/You give me strength to hope through the storm.’ Knowing about some of the agony Sarah-Jane (to whom the song is dedicated) has had to face this year makes this warm, almost haunting expression of genuine friendship without empty platitudes a moving piece. Hopefully other listeners will appreciate it as an expression of strength for those in various kinds of pain. The piano motif throughout is strongly memorable.

A dotted rhythm and uncharacteristically empty verse arrangement sets up He watches over me. Luke’s almost-walking line is thoroughly engaging, and the middle eight is another triumph of fascinating chords with worshipful expressions of delight. And then, disastrously, it’s over… I was left wanting more, which must be a good thing. So I listened again and enjoyed it even more the next time around.

There’s a maturity about this album that reflects the complicated journey on which the guys have been recently, yet their dependency on God and joy in his mercy shine through all the sadness. It’s not Bride of Heavenbound, understandably, but it’s right up there among the top two Phatfish abums. And in the top five worship albums of all time; oh yes, it’s that good.

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Top Five Worship Albums of All Time
1 Phatfish Heavenbound
2 Kate Simmonds One Day
3 David Fellingham In Power Resplendent
4 Phatfish In Jesus
5 Israel & New Breed Real

Be that as it may

Privet Lives
(with acknowledgements to Jerome K Jerome)

Have you ever been in one of those real-life mazes, with tall hedges? You know there is a middle, and that’s what you’re trying to find, but no matter which way you turn, you keep discovering a dead-end (which, you suspect is the same dead-end every time).

After about an hour, you come across some people who look like they know what they are doing. ‘Three turns to the left and then one to the right. Follow that pattern and this maze is easy!’ they say to each other in a self-congratulatory tone. But when you sneakily follow them, a few paces behind, you discover some tough truths. The method they are using doesn’t work (mostly because after the third left turn they are facing a dead end, with no right turn or left turn). When they realise their method doesn’t work, they improvise randomly, and end up in the same dead end that you’ve been finding every 30 seconds for the last ten minutes. Ho hum.

In your despair, a child of three comes up to you and offers to take you to the middle for 20p. You pay up gladly, but the child disappears through a tiny hole in the hedge behind you. The hole is too small for you to follow, and suddenly you are both lost and diddled. You rush about, fired with a new motive (to find the little child and demand your money back) and accidentally stumble upon the middle of the maze with a surprised look on your face. You quickly recover your composure, and allow a smile to play over your lips, as if you planned all this and have simply strolled round this ‘ridiculously easy’ maze with confidence.

Having reached the middle, you sit down for a rest. You don’t know how you got there, and you know there’s very little chance of ever finding the way out. You begin to resign yourself to spending the rest of your life in this maze (or at least having to wait until closing time, when you hope a friendly park keeper will escort you to the exit). Then three of your friends arrive, with ice creams, having ‘done’ the maze four times already, grown tired of waiting for you to join them, and gone off to get refreshments, and then come back to see where you are.

You are so pleased to see them, and you follow them blindly as they confidently lead you towards the middle again. ‘Funny that,’ says one of your friends. Not that funny. ‘I was sure I knew how.’ After five more futile attempts to find the exit, which always end up back in the middle, you realize that your friends are using the three left, one right method. You suggest that on the way out, shouldn’t that be three right, one left? ‘Of course!’ they say, and you set off with renewed hope and return three more times to the middle.

Feeling hopeless and foolish, you pay the small child once again (his price for finding the exit is £1 per person per trip, because he’s a smart kid), and emerge from the maze 45 seconds later. The small child has pocketfuls of coins, you notice, and consider briefly either

a) mugging him or

b) following him, learning the route and setting up in competition.

But you are foot weary, and slightly claustrophobic from high hedges. You are enjoying allowing your eyes to focus on the middle and far distance much too much to return to the narrow corridors of the privet trap from which you thought escape was impossible.

In the parables Jesus told, the lost sheep was lost like you in the maze - hopelessly unable to find its way back to the fold. And the lost son was lost like you in the maze, as well - despairing of ever returning to his home, on account of bad decisions and foolish choices. But Jesus' parables encourage us that even when we are lost, despairing, feeling cheated and yet responsible for the state in which we find ourselves, he came into this world to rescue us by his a-maze-ing mercy (1 Timothy 1:15)

© 2002 Children's Ministry