- Music
- 07 Apr 01
With a guest list worthy of a Paddy Moloney project, this is an album which, on the face of it, could have sunk beneath the pressure of too many big names, too many egos jostling for position.
With a guest list worthy of a Paddy Moloney project, this is an album which, on the face of it, could have sunk beneath the pressure of too many big names, too many egos jostling for position.
But Shannon’s never been known for her ego. Ever the effacing performer, she’s shared stages with the great and the good, but always managed to keep the perimeter of her own fence wide enough to accommodate an eclectic range of styles and rhythms. And in the august company of Steve Earle, John Prine, Jackson Browne, and Carlos Nunez (among others), her playing still manages to steal the show.
Kickstarting with ‘Costa De Galicia’, Shannon’s box playing reveals even more subtle and lithe aerodynamics than before – which is quite something, considering her renown for deft fingering and rhythmic trip hops that defy description.
Elsewhere the partnerships work just as well. ‘A Man Of Constant Sorrow’ could have lumbered beneath the maudlin lyrics of Jackson Browne but instead soars on top of Shannon’s feathery arrangement.
And there’s still room for Steve Earle’s ode to Sharon Shannon, ‘The Galway Girl’ to glisten in the sun. Already on his latest album, this is an ass-whupper of a tune that cosies up effortlessly beside the rake of tunes and songs that Shannon’s gathered round her here.
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And to be fair, it’s still the tunes that grin and shimmy long after the songs have faded. ‘The Pernod Waltz’ is a gorgeous reminder of her consummate phrasing, ‘The Hounds Of Letterfrack’ is box and banjo on the skite, dragging fiddle and bow alongside for the ride, while ‘Fire In The Bellies’ (with Liz and Yvonne Keane) is ensemble playing at its best and most naked.
In a line-up like this, there are still a few bogies. ‘Slan Le Van’ with John Hoban and ‘Say You Love Me’ with Dessie O’Halloran are from the same school that Sean Keane and The Saw Doctors graduated from. And as far as these ears are concerned, these emperors simply have no clothes.
Still, a few dips in quality aside, Diamond Mountain is a magnificent reminder of why Sharon Shannon can spellbind an audience in milliseconds.