Wellington’s American Americana Kiwis, Butter Wouldn’t Melt release their sophomore (oh, the dreaded sophomore) album today, and it’s called Where the Roots Grow Deep.
There’s a lot to unpack here already.
Andrea Reid and Nick Burfield formed Butter Wouldn’t Melt a few years back. A tongue in cheek temptation to prove the old proverb wrong.
How could butter not melt unless there’s a dark side to the mouth?
And now they’ve added Cara and Marz to round out the band, and because Cara is American, so is their music, according to Nick (perhaps with foot in mouth?).
But if you can taste the dirt, a wise man once told me, then it’s Americana, a glorious smorgasbord of Folk, Country, Blues, Soul and mostly, in this case, Bluegrass.
And Kiwi because the sounds of Appalachia are transported to the Waikato Delta and all the places which feel akin to the American mountain regions and dusty plains.
Images of Oh Brother Where Art Thou? Where the roots grow deep? A pact with the devil?
Not so, let me quickly assure you, the curse of the sophomore has been conquered. Not just because the third album is already written or at least conceived(a double album in two separate parts), but because the combined offerings promise to explore both the bright and the dark side.
Two separate worlds. Butter wouldn’t melt, but then again of course it will. And the bright side is simply stunning. So there.
And now, let us begin.
Song for Maurice evokes a hoedown round the campfire or on the porch, the harmonies define the sound, and they’re distinctly American (a nod to Nick), even though butter wouldn’t melt.
Maurice is a guy who grew trees to give away, and this song is for him. Home is just a place where you can grow, and that’s everywhere I go.
Andrea’s vocals are unleashed in Woman of Fire, almost a Rock song, with sinister fiddle and a soft start before erupting in flames of high passion and righteous self-belief and assurance.
Honour your worth. Love, respect and all that you deserve (don’t let the bastards get you down).
As they do in Pieces of You, a beautifully nuanced Country song, an ode to all the silent sufferers of other’s addictions.
Losing myself to find your way in the dark, I’ll be picking up the pieces of you when you fall apart. A reminder that extreme empathy to others comes at a cost to self. A wise woman once told me that this condition is the other side of the narcissist coin. The song is bright, the topic noir, juxtaposition to make dark light.
Take This to Forget is about a drug to dull the senses or blot out the memories. But please don’t forget the memories of a time we all too often neglect, as the passenger steamers glide gracefully down the mighty Waikato, taking ladies to tea, and cannons to the fodder during the Māori Wars. A love story sedated by the evils of conflict.
Butter Wouldn’t Melt write enchanting melodies and sing seductive harmonies strangely comforting while coated in melancholia, like early mists over the mountains awaiting dispersion by the morning sun.
The songs are familiar, almost recognizable. That’s partly because the music is warm and inviting and soothing, but mostly because it’s traditional, and the music therefore begs, steals and borrows from another time.
This is what traditional means, just ask Big Thief, or that other big thief Bob Dylan. It’s all about taking old structures and designing new homes. It’s all about transportation of style into a different context. It’s not magic, but it makes it so.
Butter Wouldn’t Melt also epitomize the Kiwi spirit of do it yourself.
Vertically integrated, a commercial world might suggest, through the past darkly. Or it’s simply a consequence of great talent.
Writing, performing, designing, producing, publicizing, distributing. The only thing they don’t do is write their own reviews. That’s my job. Right, better get on with it.
Farewell slowly, languorously tells the story of powerful rivers fed by powerful storms and the indomitable human spirit which enables voices louder than the falling rain, to no avail, as the water washes them away.
Butter Wouldn’t Melt were at the Auckland Folk Festival when the 2023 anniversary floods occurred, inspiring this song as a portent of things to come. This is not Handsome Family, this is much more serious. Featuring a symphony of Cara, with triple tracked fiddle.
Kind evokes a synthesis of Everly Brothers and Milk Carton Kids and maybe a touch of Radiohead’s 90’s melancholia. Am I thinking too much?
Maybe, but, in the spirit of universal ownership of the published song, or at least the interpretation of such, I refer to the Oracle cards which come with the album, a little treat for the imagination as each song is put into ethereal context along with lyric and music to play these songs yourself.
Unbounded generosity or clever branding you may suggest, bringing further proof of the two-sided nature of the offering. What’s the song about? Go fill your cup! Or just admire the stunning artwork. Just like it used to be.
Which is what the next song is almost about. A daughter taking after her mother, a son who is a better man than me. But if you believe that your purpose in life is to create a better future than the one you were given, then ignore The Way It Used to Be.
But not the song. The song is exquisite.
The Incline tells another sad story from New Zealand’s history, Andrea and Nick singing alternative verses before reuniting in harmony after the lost ones are grieved.
The Rimutaka Incline was one of New Zealand’s most ambitious engineering projects in its day, a steep train ride over the hills. They didn’t factor in the wind, and one fateful day two carriages were blown off the tracks. Some paths are chosen, others are taken by fate.
The wind whistles through Wellington and the past is still clinging in Tertiary Blues with the taste of mulled wine but the past can’t define you while memories abide. It’s fine to remember but better to move on……
And move on we do with the end being just the beginning.
Last track on this precious collection is written by Cara Brasted, and it’s another fiddle led hoedown. They’re lining up to dance on this one, and The Stars are Hanging Upside Down both a childhood fantasy as well as a perfectly round segue into what is to come next year with the second half, Beneath the Stars Above.
This is an immaculate follow up to the excellent debut, 1931. It’s better. While its underlying mood is melancholia, the music is also joyful and easy.
There’s a dark side of the mouth where butter might melt, but it certainly won’t while you’re listening to When the Roots Grow Deep.
These guys are making it, you must see them live, and the quality of the digital sound and production tells me that the vinyl will be exquisitely real.
Available now on all platforms (I see Qobuz has the album all lined up for release as I write this).
But don’t just stream, go buy from the website https://www.oldriverrecords.co.nz/store-MFHja (yes, it’s part of the family) and immerse yourself in the whole experience of Where the
Roots Grow Deep, from Butter Won’t Melt.
Roger Bowie
